12049	----	LEGAL STATUS OF WOMEN IN IOWA. COMPILED BY JENNIE L. WILSON, LL. B. Member of the Polk County Bar. DES MOINES: IOWA PRINTING COMPANY. 1894. Preface. This book has been prepared for the purpose of presenting to the women of Iowa, in a brief and concise form, those laws which pertain to subjects in which they are most deeply interested, and about which there is a strong and growing demand for certain and accurate information. In this age of general intelligence, when learning in some degree is so readily attainable, the maxim, that "Ignorance of the law excuses no one," has a measure of justice in it, which could not be claimed for it in former times, and it is most certainly true that, "As the subjects of law, if not as its makers, all ought to know enough to avoid its penalties and reap its benefits." Every woman should understand the law of her own state concerning marriage, divorce, the care and custody of children, and the mutual rights and duties of husband and wife incident to the marriage relation. She should know something of the law of minors and guardianship, of administration, and descent of property, and her knowledge should certainly embrace that class of crimes which necessarily includes her own sex, either as the injured party, or as _particeps criminis_. In the arrangement of this work, a very brief synopsis of the common law upon these subjects is given, as the principles of the common law underlie our entire statute law, and a knowledge of the former is absolutely essential to render much of the latter intelligible. The statute law of the state has been given in the exact words of the statutes, with but few exceptions, and the explanations or notes following these have been gathered from decisions of our supreme court. The references are to sections of McClain's Annotated Code and Supplement. The design of the work is not broad enough to give to the most careful reader that knowledge of the _minutiae_ of the law necessary in the application of its principles to particular cases and under a special state of facts. It is in nowise adequate, even though its contents should be thoroughly mastered, to make every woman her own lawyer, in matters where she would otherwise require legal advice, but it is hoped that its statements are sufficiently plain and free from technical phraseology and legal terms, that even the casual reader may readily comprehend them, and be able to gain a general understanding of the law of our state upon these subjects. J.L.W. Des Moines, Iowa, May 1894. TABLE OF CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. SYNOPSIS OF COMMON LAW. Common law in force--Changes--Marriage--Dissolution of marriage--Power of husband--Disabilities of wife--Custody of children--Property rights--Descent of property--Discrimination in criminal matters--Right of appeal--Reason for subjection of women CHAPTER II. MARRIAGE. Contract of marriage--Legal age--No express form necessary--Who may solemnize--When void CHAPTER III. HUSBAND AND WIFE. Property rights of married women--Remedy by husband or wife against the other--Wife's torts--Conveyances to each other--Conveyances to third parties--Wages of wife--Contracts of wife--Family expenses--Removal from homestead--Conveyance of property when husband or wife is insane CHAPTER IV. DIVORCE, ANNULLING MARRIAGES AND ALIMONY. Jurisdiction of court--Evidence--Causes for divorce--Husband from wife--Maintenance during litigation--Alimony--Custody of children--Annulling illegal marriages--Causes--Legitimacy of children CHAPTER V. MINORS AND GUARDIANSHIP. Majority--Contracts of minors--Natural guardians--Guardians of property--Powers and duties of guardian--Guardians of drunkards, spendthrifts and lunatics CHAPTER VI. APPRENTICING AND ADOPTION OF CHILDREN. Method of apprenticing--Schooling and treatment of minors--Who may adopt--Method and effect of adoption--Home for the friendless--Powers CHAPTER VII. WILLS AND LETTERS OF ADMINISTRATION. Who may make wills--Of what property--Verbal wills--Wills in writing--Revocation--Cancellation--Executors--Administration--Who entitled--Time allowed CHAPTER VIII. SETTLEMENT OF THE ESTATE--DESCENT AND DISTRIBUTION OF PROPERTY. Exempt personal property--Life insurance--Allowance to widow and children--Descent and distribution--Personal property--Real property--Dower--Curtesy--Widow's share not affected by will--Descent to children--To parents--To wife and her heirs--Illegitimate children inherit from mother--When they may inherit from father--When father may inherit from child CHAPTER IX. HOMESTEAD AND EXEMPTIONS. Homestead exempt--Family defined--Conveyance or encumbrance--Liability for taxes and debts--What constitutes homestead--Exemptions to head of family--Insurance--Personal earnings--Pension money--Damages producing death CHAPTER X. CRIMINAL LAW--ILLEGITIMATE CHILDREN. Rape--Intent to commit--Compelling to marry--Carnal knowledge--Producing miscarriage--Enticing female child--Seduction--Marriage a bar to prosecution--Adultery--Evidence in cases of rape or seduction--Bigamy--Lewdness--Houses of ill fame--Penalty for prostitution--Incest--Illegitimate children--Support of--Rendered legitimate by marriage of parents CHAPTER XI. MISCELLANEOUS PROVISIONS. Damages under prohibitory liquor law--Parties in actions for seduction--In actions for injury to minor child--Married women--When husband or wife deserts family--Husband or wife as witness--Communications between husband and wife--Women eligible to office--Police matrons--Right of suffrage CHAPTER XII. CONCLUSION. Common law in Iowa--Law will not always protect married women--It may cause hardship and suffering--Change or modification needed Common Law CHAPTER I. SYNOPSIS OF COMMON LAW. [Sidenote: Common law in force.] Until a comparatively recent period the laws of England in force at the time of the independence of the American colonies, relating to married women, the mutual duties of husband and wife, their property rights and the care and custody of children, were everywhere in force in this country except in those states which were originally settled by other nations than the English. [Sidenote: Changes.] The agitation of the last fifty years, caused by the demand for equality in educational opportunities and in professional, business and trade relations, as well as for the legal and political recognition of women, has brought about great changes in these laws, until they are in many instances almost entirely superseded by statutory enactments more in accordance with the spirit of justice and in greater harmony with the requirements of a higher form of civilization. In many states they have reached a condition in which the legal status of husband and wife is nearly, if not wholly, one of equality. [Sidenote: Basis of statue law.] It must always be borne in mind, however, that the common law is the foundation upon which almost the entire structure of our American system of jurisprudence is based, although it is claimed that it has only been recognized by our courts so far as it has been "applicable to the habits and conditions of our society and in harmony with the genius, spirit and objects of our institutions." As it became apparent from time to time that it was not thus applicable, or where it failed to meet the requirements of the changed conditions of society the strictness of its rules was relaxed by giving to them a broader construction, or, when this could not be done, they were modified or entirely changed by statute. [Sidenote: Marriage] Marriage was regarded by the common law as a civil contract and might be entered into legally by a boy of fourteen or a girl of twelve years of age, provided they were under no legal disability to contract marriage. This was called the age of consent, or discretion, and a marriage contracted prior to this time was inchoate only, and might be repudiated by either party upon arriving at the legal age. If one of the parties was above and the other under the required age, the marriage might still be disaffirmed by either. If after reaching the age of consent the parties continued to live together as husband and wife, this would be regarded as an affirmance of the marriage. [Sidenote: What constitutes.] The mutual consent of the parties themselves, followed by cohabitation, was sufficient to constitute a legal marriage, without the observance of any formalities. The formal ceremonies provided by statute for the celebration of marriages, and the penalties imposed upon clergymen and others who married those who had not complied with these formalities, were solely for the purpose of providing a convenient and certain proof of marriage, should it be afterwards necessary to establish that fact by evidence, rather than to invalidate marriages which would otherwise be legal. [Sidenote: Dissolution of marriage.] Having established the marriage relation, it could only be dissolved by death or divorce granted by act of parliament, or, in this country after the declaration of independence, by act of legislature. No absolute divorce could be granted for any cause arising after the marriage, but a separation might be decreed in case of adultery by either party. [Sidenote: Subjection of married women.] By the rules of the common law, the person and property of women were under the absolute control of their husbands. The maxim, _Uxor non est juris, sed sub potestate viri_, "a wife is not her own mistress, but is under the power of her husband," is but an expression of the actual legal status of a woman from the instant she entered the matrimonial state, until released therefrom by death or divorce. [Sidenote: Legally dead.] Marriage was the act by which she ceased to have a legal existence, by which, we are told, her very being became incorporated or consolidated into that of her husband. From the time her identity became thus merged, she was presumed by the law to be under the protection and influence of her husband, to be so absolutely and entirely one person with him, that she had henceforth no life in law apart from his. [Sidenote: Unity of person.] The legal fiction of the unity of the persons of husband and wife dates back to feudal times, and may, perhaps, have been a necessity of the age and of the peculiar social and political systems of that period. Like many another law having its inception in a sincere desire to secure the greatest good to the greatest number, and apparently necessary for that purpose at the period of social development which gave it birth, it existed for centuries after it had ceased to result in any benefit or afford any protection, and after the reason for its being had passed away and been forgotten. [Sidenote: Power of husband.] We are told that at marriage the husband "adopted his wife and her circumstances together." He might exercise his power over her person by restraining her of her liberty in case of gross misbehavior, or by giving her moderate chastisement in the same degree that he might administer correction to his children. An early decision of one of our state courts interpreted this to mean that a man might whip his wife with a switch as large as his finger, but not larger than his thumb, without being guilty of an assault. [Sidenote: Disabilities.] Husband and wife being one person could not contract nor enter into a business partnership with each other; neither could one convey property to the other without the intervention of a third party. The wife was incapable of receiving a legacy unless it was willed to another person as trustee, for her use and benefit, and if a legacy were paid directly to her, the husband could compel the executor to pay it again to him. [Sidenote: Wife's power to contract.] The wife had no power to contract a legal debt nor to bind herself by any kind of an agreement, neither could she make her husband liable for any debt or contract, except for necessaries. These, the husband was under obligation to provide, and in contracting for them, the law assumed that the wife was acting as his agent. [Sidenote: Release of dower.] She might release her right of dower in lands of her husband, but only when examined separately she acknowledged that the conveyance or release was not secured by his influence or coercion. [Sidenote: Wife's earnings.] Her earnings though acquired by her individual labor and in a business separate and apart from her husband belonged to him, and he could collect them by action. This was the law though husband and wife were living apart. They could be subjected to the payment of his debts, by his creditors, and if he died without a will they descended to his heirs as other personal property. They were not considered the property of the wife, even in equity, without a clear, express, irrevocable gift, or some distinct affirmative act of the husband, divesting himself of them and setting them apart for her separate use. [Sidenote: Power of conveyance and devise.] A wife had no power to convey her real property, nor could she devise her personal property by will, without the consent of her husband. [Sidenote: Domicile.] The husband had the legal right to establish his home or domicile in any part of the world where "his interests, his tastes, his convenience, or possibly, his caprice might suggest," and it was the wife's duty to follow him. If she refused to accompany him, no matter upon what ground she based her refusal, she was guilty of desertion. A promise by the husband before marriage as to the establishment of the place of residence of the family, created a moral obligation only and was a mere nullity in law. Whenever there was a difference of opinion between husband and wife in regard to the location of the common home, the will of the wife had to yield to that of the husband. This law of domicile was based upon the grounds of the "identity of the husband and wife, the subjection of the wife to the husband, and the duty of the wife to make her home with her husband." [Sidenote: Witness.] Neither husband nor wife was competent as a witness to testify either for or against the other in civil or criminal cases. [Sidenote: Husband entitled to society of wife.] The husband was entitled to the society and services of his wife and he might bring an action for damages against anyone who harbored her, or persuaded or enticed her to leave him or live separate from him. If injuries were wrongfully inflicted upon her, two actions might be brought against the party responsible for the wrong, one by husband and wife for the personal injury to the wife, and one by the husband for loss of the wife's services. In either case, the amount recovered belonged to the husband. [Sidenote: Suits at law.] The wife could neither sue or be sued unless her husband was joined with her in the suit. A judgment recovered against her alone was void, because she was unknown to the law apart from her husband. One entered in her favor became the property of her husband. [Sidenote: Wife as executor.] The consent of the husband was necessary to enable a married woman to act as executor, administrator, guardian or trustee. [Sidenote: Duty of husband.] [Sidenote: Liable for anti-nuptial contracts.] [Sidenote: Torts of wife.] The husband became responsible for the maintenance of the wife according to her rank and station, and if he failed to make suitable provision for her, tradesmen might furnish her with necessaries at her request and could collect payment from the husband. He was liable for all of her debts contracted before marriage, and this was the case, though he may have received no property with her. He was responsible for certain wrongs committed by her after marriage, such as libel and slander, and judgment could be recovered against him. If a wrong were committed jointly by both, action might be brought against the husband alone. When a judgment was recovered upon contract, or because of the wrongful act of the wife, if the husband failed to pay it, he might be imprisoned. [Sidenote: Widow's quarantine.] After the death of the husband the law gave the widow a right to remain forty days in his house, during which time her dower might be assigned. This right was known as the "widow's quarantine." [Sidenote: Custody of children.] The father was legally entitled to the custody of his children,--the right of the mother was never recognized, it being expressly stated by Blackstone that "a mother, as such, is entitled to no power, but only to reverence and respect." He might by will appoint a guardian for them after his death, though yet unborn, and might apprentice them or give them into the custody of others without the consent of the mother. [Sidenote: Property rights.] [Sidenote: Wife's paraphernalia] All personal property belonging to the wife vested absolutely in the husband at marriage. He could will it to whom he pleased or, if he died without a will, it descended to his heirs. Even her wearing apparel and ornaments known by the term "paraphernalia," belonged to the husband. During his life he had the power to sell or give them away, but he could not devise them by will. If they remained in the possession of the wife while the husband lived, she was entitled to them over and above her dower, but even then creditors of the husband might claim them, if there chanced to be a deficiency of other assets with which to pay the debts of the estate. [Sidenote: Choses in action.] The wife's choses in action, or evidences of money or property due to her, such as notes, bonds, contracts or the like, belonged to the husband if he reduced them to possession during her life, and they could be taken for his debts. He might bequeath them by will, but if he died without a will they descended to his heirs. If he failed to reduce them to possession while the wife lived, after his death they would revert to her heirs. If she outlived her husband they belonged to her. After the husband's death the wife took one-third of his personal estate if there were children, and one-half if there were no children. [Sidenote: Real property of wife.] [Sidenote: Curtesy.] [Sidenote: Dower.] The husband was entitled to the control, use and enjoyment, together with the rents and profits of his wife's real estate during the marriage, and if a living child were born, he had, after the wife's death, a life estate in such property and might retain possession of it while he lived. This was known as the husband's title by curtsy. The wife took a dower, or life estate in one-third of the husband's lands after his death, whether there were children or not. This estate of dower was forfeited should the husband be found guilty of treason, but his interest in her lands was not disturbed by the treason of the wife. His life interest in her real estate attached to trust estates, but she could claim no interest in trust estates of her husband. If the wife owned leases of land they could be sold or assigned by the husband during marriage. If he survived his wife they belonged to him, if she survived him, they belonged to her, provided he had not disposed of them while living. [Sidenote: Descent of property.] Personal property descended to males and females in equal shares, but the oldest son was entitled to the whole of his father's real property. [Sidenote: Unity of person in criminal law.] The unity of husband and wife was not so strongly affirmed by the common law when it dealt with their relation to criminal matters. When a wife committed an offense against the state she possessed a separate and distinct life and personalty, for the purposes of punishment. It is true that she was still inferior and this distinction was recognized and emphasized by the difference in the penalties imposed for the commission of the same crimes, these penalties being in inverse ratio to the importance of the criminal. [Sidenote: Theft, burglary, etc.] [Sidenote: Presumption of innocence.] If a wife committed theft, burglary or other offenses in the company or presence of her husband, the law presumed that she acted under compulsion and held her not guilty, but this presumption did not extend to cases of murder or treason, and it might always be overcome by proof that she acted independently. The exception in cases of murder or treason, we are informed, was not alone because of the magnitude of the crimes, but rather on account of "the husband having broken through the most sacred tie of social community by rebellion against the state, had no right to that obedience from a wife which he himself, as a subject, had forgotten to pay." [Sidenote: Murder of wife.] [Sidenote: Murder of husband.] If a man murdered his wife it was as if he had murdered a stranger, and he might avail himself of the benefit of clergy, and secure immunity from punishment, provided he could read, but women were denied all benefit of clergy because of their sex, and because they "were not called upon to read." If a wife killed her husband it was a much more serious offense, he being her lord, and she was guilty of treason and subject to the same punishment as if she had killed the king. [Sidenote: Petit treason.] In cases of petit treason the penalty depended upon the sex of the criminal, men being sentenced to be drawn and hanged, while women were drawn and burnt alive. [Sidenote: Larceny, bigamy, etc.] In larceny, bigamy, manslaughter and other crimes, men might claim the benefit of clergy and by taking holy orders, escape all punishment, except branding in the hand and a few months imprisonment, while women might receive sentence of death and be executed for the first offense. Later the law was changed so that in cases of simple larceny under the value of ten shillings, they might be burned in the hand and whipped, stocked or imprisoned for any time not exceeding one year. The disability of sex and of ignorance were both finally removed and all men and women admitted to benefit of clergy. [Sidenote: Adultery and seduction.] [Sidenote: Rape.] By the common law, adultery and seduction were not classed with crimes, but were only civil injuries for which compensation might be recovered by husband, father or guardian, but the woman, who might be wronged, had no right of action for the injury to herself, and the State did not recognize any wrong to society by an injury to the person of one who was civilly dead. The crime of rape was punishable by death, and consent, though proved, was no defense, if the offense was committed upon a child under ten years of age. [Sidenote: Right of appeal.] Magna Charta, granted by King John, while redressing many hardships and grievances incident to feudal times, and confirming and securing to the people many rights and liberties, among which was the right of the wife to dower in her husband's property, denied to women the right of appeal except in case of the death of their husbands. The right of appeal was the privilege of private prosecution for crime. (Analogus to our present method of commencing prosecutions by information.) According to Blackstone, even the disabilities of the wife were for the most part intended for her protection and benefit, and he adds: "So great a favorite is the female sex of the laws of England!" [Sidenote: Reason for discrimination.] The discrimination made by the common law between men and women, was based alone upon the assumption that women were, and must be always dependent by reason of their sex. In the light of a broader humanity, the distinctions seem cruel and barbarous, but that they were the result of any spirit of injustice or intentional tyranny, or of any desire on the part of men to oppress women or impose upon them any hardship or burden because of their physical weakness, is not at all probable. They were merely the outgrowth of the conditions incident to ruder stages of social development, and were, perhaps, as favorable to women at that period, as the laws of our own times will be considered when judged in the light of the civilization of the future, after successive centuries of intellectual and moral growth have been added to the enlightenment of to-day. Law of Iowa. CHAPTER II. MARRIAGE. [Sidenote: Contract.] Marriage is a civil contract requiring the consent of parties capable of entering into other contracts, except as herein otherwise declared. [§3376.] While marriage is defined to be a contract, it is rather a status or relation assumed by the act of marriage. Society is recognized as a third party to the agreement and as having a well defined interest in the duties and obligations of such relation. It is because of this interest, that the law defines the qualifications of the parties, the terms, rights and obligations of the contract, and also for what causes and in what manner it may be terminated. "It stands alone and can be assimilated to no other contract." [Sidenote: Between what ages valid.] A marriage between a male person of sixteen and a female of fourteen years of age is valid, but if either party has not attained the age thus fixed, the marriage is a nullity or not at the option of such party made known at any time before he or she is six months older than the age thus fixed. [§3377.] The common law rule fixing the age of consent to marriage at fourteen for males and twelve for females is not repealed in Iowa. The time in which the parties may disaffirm the marriage is merely extended by the statute. [Sidenote: License.] Previous to any marriage within this state, a license for that purpose must be obtained from the clerk of the district court of the county wherein the marriage is to be solemnized. [§3378.] As under the common law, no express form or ceremony is necessary to constitute a valid marriage, any mutual agreement between the parties to assume the relation of husband and wife, followed by cohabitation, being sufficient, provided there is no legal disability on the part of either existing at the time. It is immaterial how the intention to marry is expressed. It has been held in this state that a marriage was legal, where the woman intended present marriage, though the man did not, where they had assumed the relation of husband and wife, and his conduct had been such as to justify her in believing that he had intended present marriage. Marriages by consent only, are not rendered void by a provision punishing parties for solemnizing marriages in any other manner than that prescribed by law. [Sidenote: Under age.] [Sidenote: Consent of parent.] Such license must not in any case be granted where either party is under the age necessary to render the marriage absolutely valid, nor shall it be granted where either party is a minor, without the previous consent of the parent or guardian of such minor, nor where the condition of either party is such as to disqualify him from making any other civil contract. [§3379.] [Sidenote: Proof of age.] Unless such clerk is acquainted with the age and condition of the parties for the marriage of whom the license is applied for, he must take the testimony of competent and disinterested witnesses on the subject. [§3380.] [Sidenote: Record.] He must cause due entry of the application for the issuing of the license to be made in a book to be procured and kept for that purpose, stating that he was acquainted with the parties and knew them to be of competent age and condition, or that the requisite proof of such fact was made known to him by one or more witnesses, stating their names, which book shall constitute a part of the records of his office. [§3381.] [Sidenote: Proof of consent of parent.] If either party is a minor, the consent of the parent or guardian must be filed in the clerk's office after being acknowledged by the said parent or guardian, or proved to be genuine, and a memorandum of such facts must also be entered in said book. [§3382.] [Sidenote: Penalty.] If the clerk of the district court grants a license contrary to the provisions of the preceding sections, he is guilty of a misdemeanor, and if a marriage is solemnized without such license being procured, the parties so married and all persons aiding in such marriage are likewise guilty of a misdemeanor. [§3883.] The punishment provided for misdemeanors is imprisonment in the county jail not more than one year, or by fine not exceeding five hundred dollars, or by both fine and imprisonment. [Sidenote: Who may solemnize.] Marriages must be solemnized either: 1. By a justice of the peace or mayor of the city or incorporated town wherein the marriage takes place; 2. By some judge of the supreme or district court of this state; 3. By some officiating minister of the gospel ordained or licensed according to the usages of his denomination. [§3384.] [Sidenote: Certificate] After the marriage has been solemnized the officiating minister or magistrate shall, on request, give each of the parties a certificate thereof. [§3385.] [Sidenote: Penalty.] Marriages solemnized with the consent of parties in any other manner than is herein prescribed, are valid, but the parties themselves, and all other parties aiding or abetting, shall forfeit to the school fund the sum of fifty dollars each. [§3386.] [Sidenote: Return.] The person solemnizing marriage shall forfeit a like amount, unless within ninety days after the ceremony he shall make return thereof to the clerk of the district court. [§3387.] [Sidenote: Register of marriages.] The clerk of the district court shall keep a register containing the names of the parties, the date of the marriage, and the name of the person by whom the marriage was solemnized, which, or a certified transcript therefrom, is receivable in all courts and places as evidence of the marriage and the date thereof. [§3388] The register of marriages kept by the clerk is always sufficient to establish marriage, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, but record evidence is not indispensable. The fact of marriage may be shown in various ways. It may be proved by the admissions or uncontradicted testimony of either party, or a legal presumption may be raised by the testimony of either husband or wife with proof of continued cohabitation. The evidence of witnesses who were present and witnessed the marriage is always sufficient. [Sidenote: Peculiar mode.] These provisions so far as they relate to procuring licenses and to the solemnizing of marriages, are not applicable to members of any particular denomination having, as such, any peculiar mode of entering the marriage relation [§3389]. [Sidenote: Husband responsible for return.] But when any mode is thus pursued which dispenses with the services of a clergyman or magistrate, the husband is responsible for the return directed to be made to the clerk and is liable to the above named penalty if the return is not made [§3390]. [Sidenote: When void.] Marriages between persons whose marriage is prohibited by law, or who have a husband or wife living, are void; but if the parties live and cohabit together after the death of the former husband or wife, such marriage shall be deemed valid [§3392]. A judicial decree is not necessary to annul a marriage between parties one of whom has a wife or husband living at the time, as such marriages are absolutely void, nor does such marriage confer any right upon either in the property of the other. A marriage procured by fraud or force is void, because it lacks the essential element of consent. Such marriages may be annulled by a court of equity, but false representations as to character, social position or fortune do not constitute such fraud on the opposite party as to avoid a marriage induced thereby. CHAPTER III. HUSBAND AND WIFE [Sidenote: Property rights of married women.] A married woman may own in her own right, real and personal property acquired by descent, gift or purchase, and manage, sell, convey, and devise the same by will, to the same extent and in the same manner that the husband can property belonging to him. [§3393.] The husband is the legal head of the family and household furniture, pictures and all similar property used in the house occupied by husband and wife, is considered as being in the possession of the husband and under his control. Such property may be sold or mortgaged by the husband without the consent of the wife. Property conveyed to both jointly is held by them as tenants-in-common. Each owns an undivided one-half interest in such property, and this interest may be sold on execution to satisfy claims against husband or wife as the case may be. Property purchased with funds belonging to both husband and wife is owned by them jointly, the interest of each being in proportion to the amount of the purchase price contributed by each. [Sidenote: Real property, Conveyance, or contract.] A married woman may convey or encumber any real estate or interest therein belonging to her, and may control the same, or contract with reference thereto, to the same extent, and in the same manner as other persons [§3106]. [Sidenote: Conveyance by husband and wife.] Every conveyance made by a husband and wife shall be deemed sufficient to pass any and all right of either to the property conveyed, unless the contrary appears on the face of the conveyance [§3107]. While Iowa was still a territory, in 1840, power was conferred upon a married woman to release her dower and to convey her real estate by any conveyance executed by herself and husband and acknowledged by a separate examination and acknowledgment. This law was re-enacted in 1846, and was the first law passed in the State of Iowa for the better protection of married women. This remained the law until 1851, when an act was passed by which she might convey her interest in real estate "the same as any other person." [Sidenote: Interest of either in other's property.] When property is owned by either the husband or wife, the other has no interest therein which can be the subject of contract between them, or such interest as will make the same liable for the contracts or liabilities of either the husband or wife who is not the owner of the property, except as provided in this chapter. [§3394.] The distributive share or dower interest of each in the property of the other, is inchoate and becomes complete only upon the death of the owner of the property; consequently any agreement between the husband and wife relinquishing their respective interests in each other's property, though such agreement should be made in contemplation of separation is invalid. Upon a dissolution of the marriage relation by divorce, the husband and wife may contract with each other with reference to a division of the property, provided the contract is reasonable, just and right. A husband may pay taxes and interest on an incumbrance on a homestead owned by his wife, but occupied by both, and may make repairs upon the same. He may make improvements on land owned by the wife and may expend time and labor in caring for any of her property, without rendering such property liable for his debts, provided there is no collusion between them and no evidence of fraud on the part of either. A wife's property cannot be taken for her husbands debts, although it may be in possession of the husband and the creditors have no notice of the wife's ownership. [Sidenote: Remedy by one against the other.] Should either the husband or wife obtain possession or control of property belonging to the other, either before or after marriage, the owner of the property may maintain an action therefor, or for any right growing out of the same, in the same manner and extent as if they were unmarried. [§3395.] If property or money belonging to the wife, but in possession of the husband is used by him, with her knowledge and consent, in the payment of debts incurred for family expenses, or for other purposes connected with the support of the family, she cannot recover for the same, in the absence of an express agreement on his part to repay her. If a wife advances money or property to her husband to be used as he may choose, the presumption is that she does so in view of the mutual benefits which may accrue from the advancement and she cannot recover the same unless there is an agreement for its repayment. [Sidenote: Husband not liable for wife's torts.] For all civil injuries committed by a married woman, damages may be recovered from her alone, and her husband shall not be responsible therefor except in cases where he would be jointly responsible with her if the marriage did not exist [§3396.] This statute abrogates the rule of the common law, making a husband responsible for civil injuries committed by his wife. The common law presumption that criminal acts done in the presence of the husband were by compulsion, is still recognized in this State but may be overcome by proof to the contrary. [Sidenote: Conveyances to each other valid.] [Sidenote: Conveyances to third parties.] A conveyance, transfer or lien executed by either husband or wife, to or in favor of the other shall be valid to the same extent as between other persons [§3397.] When the rights of creditors might be prejudiced by transfers of property between husband and wife, such transactions will be closely scrutinized, and the utmost good faith must plainly appear, but where no fraudulent intention is shown they will be upheld if based upon an adequate consideration. If a conveyance is made by the husband to the wife when the husband is largely indebted and insolvent, such conveyance is presumptively fraudulent, but a conveyance to a wife in payment of a valid claim, even though made at a time when the husband is largely indebted to others, will not be considered fraudulent the wife having the same right as other creditors to obtain payment. All contracts between husband and wife where no other consideration appears than an agreement to perform some duty already incumbent upon the parties, because of their relations as husband and wife, are against public policy, and will not be enforced in law. Such, for example, as a promise by the husband to pay money to the wife to induce her to live with him, when she has no legal ground for not living with him; or an agreement to allow the husband to obtain a divorce when he has no legal cause for divorce, or a conveyance of property in consideration of future care and support because the husband is growing old; or a contract between husband and wife by which the husband agrees to pay the wife at stated intervals, sums of money, in consideration of the faithful performance by the wife of the obligations incident to the marriage relation. But our courts have held that exempt property may be transferred by the husband to the wife without any consideration; that a deed from husband to wife in consideration of a dismissal by the latter, of a proceeding for divorce, is valid; that a contract between husband and wife by which the wife, for a consideration, after a decree of divorce, agrees to release all her dower interest in the real estate of the husband, is binding. Voluntary conveyances, in favor of third parties, by a man or woman in contemplation of marriage, and with the evident intention of defeating the marital rights of the other party, in such property, will be held fraudulent, and may be set aside in an action by the injured party after marriage. Contracts and conveyances made before marriage and duly recorded, will not be set aside on account of the marriage relation, as the fact of recording is sufficient to charge the wife with notice of the transactions. Ante-nuptial contracts, if free from fraud and imposition, are valid, and such a contract stipulating that each is to have the untrammeled and sole control of his or her own property, real and personal, as though no marriage had taken place, will be enforced. The dower right of each in the other's property is completely waived by such contract. [Sidenote: Abandonment of either.] In case the husband or wife abandons the other and leaves the state, and is absent therefrom for one year without providing for the maintenance and support of his or her family, or is confined in jail or the penitentiary for the period of one year or upward, the district court of the county where the husband or wife, so abandoned or not confined, resides, may, on application by petition setting forth fully the facts, authorize him or her, to manage, control, sell and encumber the property of the husband or wife for the support and maintenance of the family and for the purpose of paying debts. Notice of such proceedings shall be given as in ordinary actions, and anything done under or by virtue of the order of the court, shall be valid to the same extent as if the same was done by the party owning the property. [§3398.] A wife who is abandoned by her husband without her fault, may pledge his credit for necessaries, and if left in the management of his business may make all contracts incident to such management. She may also sell exempt property and apply the proceeds towards the support of the family before absolutely forced to do so by the destitution of the family. [Sidenote: Contracts and sales binding.] All contracts, sales or incumbrances made by either husband or wife by virtue of the power contemplated in the preceding section, shall be binding on both, and during such absence or confinement, the person acting under such power, may sue and be sued thereon, and for all acts done, the property of both shall be liable. No suit or proceeding shall abate or be in anywise affected by the return or release of the person confined, but he or she may be permitted to prosecute or defend jointly with the other. [§3399.] [Sidenote: Decree set aside.] The husband or wife affected by the proceedings contemplated in the preceding sections, may have the order or decree of the court set aside or annulled, but the setting aside of such decree or order shall in nowise affect any act done thereunder. [§3400.] [Sidenote: Attorney in fact.] A husband or wife may constitute the other his or her attorney in fact, to control and dispose of his or her property for their mutual benefit, and may revoke the same to the same extent and manner as other persons. [§3401.] The fact of the marital relation does not, of itself, establish the presumption that the husband is the agent of the wife, for the transaction of business for her, but in order to bind her, he must be expressly authorized to act as agent, or she must, after knowledge of the act, expressly or impliedly ratify it. Such agency or ratification may be established by circumstances, and the degree of evidence required in such cases, is less than is necessary to establish an agency between independent parties, or the ratification by the husband, of acts done by the wife or his agent. [Sidenote: Wages of wife.] A wife may receive the wages of her personal labor and maintain an action therefor in her own name, and hold the same in her own right; she may prosecute and defend all actions at law or in equity for the preservation and protection of her rights and property as if unmarried. [§3402.] The husband is entitled to the wife's labor and assistance in the duties and obligations growing out of the marriage relation, and to her earnings, if she is not engaged in a separate business on her own account; but her earnings for services performed for others than her husband or acquired in carrying on an independent business, belong to her alone. Such earnings may be invested in property and it will be exempt from seizure for debts of her husband. She may bring actions for injuries to herself, whether of person, property or reputation in the same manner as if she were unmarried. If she suffers personal injury by which the husband is deprived of her services or society he has a right of recovery for such loss and for expenses for medicine and medical treatment. The wife cannot recover in such case, unless it appears that she has expended her own money in payment of such expenses. If, at the time of the injury she is engaged in a separate business, and death results, the husband may still recover for loss of society and expenses, but an action for damages can be brought only by the administrator of her estate. Although husband or wife may maintain an action against the other for the recovery of property, neither has a right of action for damages sustained by the infliction of personal injury, and this is true even though the one inflicting the injury has been criminally convicted and fined for the assault. [Sidenote: Property of one not liable for debts of the other.] Neither husband or wife is liable for the debts or liabilities of the other incurred before marriage, and except as herein otherwise declared, they are not liable for the separate debts of each other; nor are the wages, earnings, or property of either, nor is the rent or income of such property liable for the separate debts of the other [§3403.] The husband is liable for necessaries furnished the wife, upon an implied obligation to provide for her a reasonable support. The term "necessaries," is not confined to the supply of things actually demanded for her sustenance, such as food, clothing and medicine, but includes all that may be needful for her comfort and happiness according to her rank and station in society. In determining the extent of the husband's liability, it is always proper to consider the wife's social position and the circumstances and condition of the family, and these will, of course, vary in each particular case. It has been held that jewelry is included in the term necessaries and that attorney's fees in divorce proceedings by the wife, can be recovered from the husband. If the wife is compelled to leave her husband because of cruel and improper conduct on his part, the husband is still presumed to have extended to her a general credit for necessaries, such as meat, drink, clothes, medicine, etc., suitable to his degree and circumstances. [Sidenote: Contracts of wife.] Contracts may be made by a wife and liabilities incurred, and the same enforced by or against her to the same extent and in the same manner as if she were unmarried [§3404.] By this provision a wife is clothed with the same rights enjoyed by her husband, and must, therefore, assume the same liabilities. She has the same freedom to contract in reference to her property, or other matters, and will be held to the same strict accountability. The law will enforce her obligations with the same impartiality, whether such obligations are express or implied. She may contract with reference to all kinds of property, including real estate, and may mortgage her property as security for the debt of another, in precisely the same manner that her husband could do in similar cases. [Sidenote: Family expenses.] The expenses of the family and the education of the children are chargeable upon the property of both husband and wife, or of either of them, and in relation thereto they may be sued jointly or separately. [§3405.] Both husband and wife are personally responsible for family expenses. The credit may be extended to the husband and the contract made with him alone, and the wife will be liable though she may have no knowledge of the purchase and has given no consent thereto. It is sufficient to show that the articles were used, or kept for use in the family, and a judgment may be rendered against the wife alone. But the husband cannot subject the property of his wife to any liability for articles for family use when it appears that such articles were not a necessity, if the wife has objected to the purchase and notified the seller that she will not pay for the same. "Expenses of the family," are not limited to necessary expenses, but whatever is kept or used in the family is included in the term. A piano, an organ, a watch and other jewelry, a cook stove and fixtures, have all been held to come within the term "family expense," for which the property of the wife is liable. But a reaping machine, though used by the husband in the business by which he supports his family, is not a legitimate item of family expense, nor can a plow be included therein. The expense of treatment of a wife at a hospital for the insane, has been held not to be a family expense. Money borrowed by the husband and used in the purchase of articles which, if obtained on credit, would constitute items of family expense, cannot itself form such an item of family expense, that the wife may be held liable, unless the money was furnished at her request, and the account assigned to the party furnishing the money. If a merchant with whom the husband has no account is notified in writing, not to sell goods to the wife and charge them to him, the merchant cannot hold the husband responsible, unless it appears that the latter fails to provide necessaries otherwise for his family. If the family is supported in whole, or in part, by the wife, she cannot recover back the money thus expended, from her husband or his estate, as the law places such duty equally on both. [Sidenote: Removal from homestead.] Neither husband nor wife can remove the other, nor their children from their homestead without his or her consent, and if he abandons her, she is entitled to the custody of their minor children, unless the district court, upon application for that purpose, shall, for good cause, otherwise direct [§3406.] [Sidenote: Conveyance of property.] When either the husband or wife is insane, and incapable of executing a deed, and relinquishing or conveying his or her right to the real property of the other, the sane person may petition the district court of the county where such petitioner resides, or of the county where said real estate is situated, setting forth the facts and praying for an order authorizing the applicant or some other person to execute a deed of conveyance and thereby relinquish the interest of either in the real property of the other [§3407.] [Sidenote: Proceedings and decree.] Upon such application the court has power to appoint some person or attorney guardian of the person alleged to be insane, who shall ascertain as to the propriety, good faith and necessity of the prayer of the petitioner, and who shall have power to resist said application. If the court is satisfied that the petition is made in good faith, and that the petitioner is the proper person to exercise the power and make the conveyance, and that such power is necessary and proper, said court shall enter up a decree authorizing the execution of all such conveyances, for and in the name of such husband or wife, by such person as the court may appoint [§§3408-3409.] [Sidenote: Appointment, Revocation.] All deeds executed by the person thus appointed shall be valid in law, and shall convey the interest of such insane person in the real estate so conveyed; said power shall cease and become void as soon as he or she shall become sane and of sound mind, and apply to the court to revoke said power, and the same shall be evoked; but such revocation shall in nowise affect conveyances previously made. [§3410.] CHAPTER IV. DIVORCE, ANNULLING MARRIAGES AND ALIMONY. [Sidenote: Jurisdiction.] The district court where either party resides, has, jurisdiction of the subject matter of this chapter. [§3411]. State legislatures have power to grant divorces in all cases where such power has not been conferred on the courts of the state by some constitutional provision or legislative enactment. The legislature of this state has been deprived of the power to grant divorces for any cause by Article 3, §27, of the constitution, which provides that "no divorce shall be granted by the general assembly." A divorce obtained from a court not having jurisdiction is absolutely void. The residence necessary to give the court jurisdiction must be permanent, or at least of a sufficient period of time to indicate an intention of continued residence and citizenship. The general rule is that the domicile of the wife and children is to be considered the same as that of the husband, but in a proceeding for divorce the law recognizes that husband and wife have separate domiciles, and a valid divorce may be granted where only one of the parties resides, but if they reside in different states, the court having jurisdiction of the party making application for the divorce may grant the decree, but it has no authority to make a decree as to the custody of the children, if they are non-residents of the state where the decree of divorce is rendered. A decree of divorce can always be set aside for fraud in obtaining it. [Sidenote: Petition.] When the application for divorce is against a party not residing in this state, the petition, in addition to the facts on account of which the applicant claims the relief sought, must state that such applicant has been for the last year a resident of the state, stating the town and county in which he has resided, and the length of his residence therein, after deducting all absences from the state; that he is now a resident thereof; that such residence has been in good faith and not for the purpose of obtaining a divorce only; and it must in all cases state that the application is made in good faith and for the purpose set forth in the petition. [§3412.] [Sidenote: Verification. Evidence. Hearing.] All the allegations of the petition must be verified by oath and proved by competent evidence. No divorce shall be granted on the evidence of the applicant alone, and all such actions shall be heard in open court on the testimony of witnesses or depositions. [§3413.] No divorce can be granted by consent of parties unless grounds therefor can be shown by competent evidence, and if collusion or conrivance on the part of the defendant can be shown, such fact will be a valid defense. [Sidenote: Causes.] Divorce from the bonds of matrimony may be decreed against the husband for the following causes: 1. When he has committed adultery subsequent to the marriage; 2. When he wilfully deserts his wife and absents himself without a reasonable cause for the space of two years; 3. When he is convicted of felony after the marriage; 4. When, after marriage, he becomes addicted to habitual drunkenness; 5. When he is guilty of such inhuman treatment as to endanger the life of his wife. [§3414.] A previous law of our state provided that when it was fully apparent to the court that the parties could not live in peace and happiness together, and that their welfare required a separation, a decree of divorce might be granted, but no valid divorce can now be granted for any other cause than for some one of those enumerated above; and this is true, although it may plainly appear that a party has wholly disregarded his marriage vows and obligations in various other ways. [Adultery.] As the direct fact of adultery can seldom be proved, when a divorce is asked on this ground, it will be sufficient if the fact can be shown by circumstances which would be inconsistent with any rational theory of innocence, and such as would lead the guarded discretion of a just mind to the conclusion of the truth of the facts. The disposition of the parties may be shown, with the fact of their being together and having an opportunity to commit the act. [Sidenote: Desertion.] A reasonable cause for desertion must be some wrongful conduct on the part of the other party, and must be of such a serious nature that it would _prima facie_ entitle the party deserting to a divorce. If husband and wife mutually agree to separate, such separation will not constitute ground for divorce, unless the party applying for the divorce, in good faith expresses a desire to live with the other. Where the wife is compelled to leave her husband on account of inhuman treatment, such as would entitle her to a divorce, such desertion cannot be made the basis of proceedings for divorce by the husband, for in such case he and not she is guilty of desertion, and this may be alleged by the wife, with other causes, in seeking a divorce. A wife may be justified in leaving her husband because of his failure to protect her from insult and abuse, and when she leaves him for this cause, her desertion will not be grounds for divorce. [Sidenote: Felony.] A conviction for felony which may be subject to reversal does not constitute ground for divorce, but such conviction must be final and absolute. [Sidenote: Drunkenness.] If a woman marries a man knowing him to be intemperate, though she does so in the hope of reforming him, the courts will not interfere after marriage to grant her relief from the result of her misplaced confidence, but where the habit has been acquired subsequent to the marriage and has become fixed and the husband is habitually drunk, though not in such condition during business hours, it is such habitual drunkenness as will entitle the wife to a divorce. [Sidenote: Cruel treatment.] Cruel and inhuman treatment, to constitute ground for divorce must be of such a nature as to endanger life, but need not necessarily consist of physical violence. Even where no single act or number of acts can be shown which might cause reasonable apprehension of harm to life, if the ill treatment as an entirety is of a nature to affect the mind and undermine health to such a degree that the life will be ultimately endangered, it will entitle the injured party to a divorce. Ungovernable outbursts of rage, the use of profane and obscene language, applying insulting epithets to the wife in the presence of others, acts of cruelty and neglect in sickness, coupled with failure to provide suitable food and clothing, have all been held to be such cruelty, which, if long continued, would result in danger to life. Condonation is always a valid defense in proceedings for divorce. If the wrong is once forgiven, it cannot afterwards be made a ground for divorce, but the mere fact that a wife continues to live in the same house with her husband, and does the household work, is not such condonation as will defeat her action. [Sidenote: Husband from wife.] The husband may obtain a divorce from his wife for like causes, and also when the wife at the time of the marriage was pregnant by another than her husband, unless such husband had an illegitimate child or children then living, which was unknown to the wife at the time of the marriage. [§3415.] In many other states, divorce will be granted to the husband, for the cause here named, but in no other state is it provided that in such case, a husband who had an illegitimate child at the time of the marriage, unknown to the wife, cannot take advantage of this fact to obtain a divorce. [Sidenote: Cross petition.] The defendant may obtain a divorce for the causes as above stated, by filing a cross petition. [§3416.] [Sidenote: Maintenance during litigation.] The court may order either party to pay the clerk a sum of money for the separate support and maintenance of the adverse party and the children, and to enable such party to prosecute or defend the action. [§3417.] In applying for an order granting temporary alimony it is not necessary to show that the party making the application is entitled to a divorce. It is sufficient if it appears that such party is without means of support and unable to prosecute the action without such allowance. The fact of marriage must be either admitted or proved. The court may allow attorney's fees in proceedings for divorce and alimony, but the party against whom the action is brought, is not liable, if the other party is unsuccessful. Where the applicant for divorce is ordered to pay a certain sum of money to enable the defendant to defend, it he fails to obey this order, the action may be dismissed. If it appears that the father is an unfit person to have the custody of the children, pending a proceeding for divorce, the court has power to provide for their custody and maintenance as may be for the best interest of the children. [Sidenote: Attachment.] A judgment or order for temporary alimony is a lien upon the property of the person against whom the order is directed, and such property may be levied upon by attachment and held to satisfy the decree of the court. [§3418.] Attachment may be allowed without bond and it may be granted in a suit to annul an illegal marriage as well as in one for divorce. It may be levied on the homestead as well as other property. The disposition of property by the defendant may also be restrained by injunction. [Sidenote: Showing.] In making such orders, the court or judge shall take into consideration the age, condition, sex and pecuniary condition of the parties, and such other matters as are deemed pertinent, which may be shown by affidavits in addition to the pleadings or otherwise, as the court or judge may direct. [§3419.] [Sidenote: Alimony, Custody of children, Changes.] When a divorce is decreed, the court may make such order in relation to the children, property, parties, and the maintenance of the parties as shall be right and proper. Subsequent changes may be made by the court, in these respects when circumstances render them expedient. [§8420.] In granting a divorce, full power is given the court over the questions of permanent alimony and custody of children, and the amount of alimony will be determined by a careful consideration of the circumstances of the parties. The allowance is usually for a certain sum of money, but the court may set apart a specific portion of property as alimony. Only in rare cases and under peculiar circumstances will alimony be granted to the party in fault. A judgment for alimony may be made a lien upon specific property, and the court may declare it a lien on the homestead. The court granting a divorce and alimony retains jurisdiction of the same, and upon a subsequent change in the circumstances of the parties, may modify or change the decree in relation to alimony and custody of children as may seem just and proper and for the best interests of all parties. A suit for alimony without divorce may be brought, where the wife has been compelled to leave her husband on account of misconduct on his part justifying the separation. The disposition of the children is entirely within the discretion of the court, and the custody may be given to either party or may be taken from both and given to a guardian, if it can be shown that neither parent is a proper person to care for them. The best good of the child will be the first and most important consideration in determining to whom the custody shall be given. [Sidenote: Forfeiture.] When a divorce is decreed the guilty party forfeits all rights acquired by the marriage. [§3421.] After a decree of divorce neither party can have any interest in the property of the other except that which is granted by the decree, and this applies to claim for dower in case of survival. [Sidenote: Annulling illegal marriages.] Marriages may be annulled for the following causes: 1. Where marriage between the parties is prohibited by law. 2. Where either party was impotent at the time of the marriage. 3. Where either party has a husband or wife at the time of the marriage, provided they have not continued to live and cohabit together after the death of the former husband or wife. 4. Where either party was insane or idiotic at the time of the marriage. [§3422.] If a person marries who has a husband or wife living such marriage is absolutely void. In case of absence of the husband a presumption of death does not arise until he has been absent seven years without intelligence concerning him. Where a party is insane or idiotic, and is therefore incapable of consenting, a marriage with such person will be void. When a marriage is absolutely void by law, it is not necessary to bring an action to annul it, before contracting a subsequent legal marriage. [Sidenote: Petition.] A petition shall be filed in such cases as in actions for divorce, and all the provisions of this chapter shall apply to such cases except as otherwise provided. [§3423] [Sidenote: Validity determined.] When the validity of a marriage is doubted, either party may file a petition and the court shall decree it annulled or affirmed according to the proof. [§3424] [Sidenote: Children. Legitimacy.] When a marriage is annulled on account of the consanguinity or affinity of the parties, or because of impotency, the issue shall be illegitimate, but when on account of non-age, or insanity, or idiocy, the issue is the legitimate issue of the party capable of contracting marriage. [§3425] [Sidenote: Prior marriage.] When a marriage is annulled on account of a prior marriage, and the parties contracted the second in good faith, believing the prior husband or wife to be dead, that fact shall be stated in the degree of nullity; and the issue of the second marriage, begotten before the decree of the court, is the legitimate issue of the parent capable of contracting. [§3426.] [Sidenote: Alimony.] In case either party entered into the contract of marriage in good faith, supposing the other to be capable of contracting, and the marriage is declared a nullity, such fact shall be entered in the decree, and the court may decree such innocent party compensation as in cases of divorce. [§3427.] CHAPTER V. MINORS AND GUARDIANSHIP. [Sidenote: Majority.] The period of minority extends in males to the age of twenty-one years, and in females to that of eighteen, but all minors attain their majority by marriage. [§3428.] The disability of minority may also be terminated by death. [Sidenote: Contracts.] [Sidenote: Disaffirmance.] A minor is bound not only by contracts for necessaries, but also for his other contracts, unless he disaffirms them within a reasonable time after he attains his majority, and restores to the other party all money or property received by him by virtue of the contract and remaining within his control at any time after his attaining his majority. [§3429.] The rule respecting the contract of an infant is, that when the court can pronounce it to be to the infant's prejudice, it is void, and when to his benefit, as for necessaries, it is good, and when of uncertain nature, it is voidable, at the election of the infant. As to what will be "a reasonable time," within which a minor must disaffirm his contract, must depend upon the peculiar circumstances of each case. In case of the marriage of a minor the time for disaffirmance will commence from the date of the marriage. The intention of this law is to limit the time in which a minor may take advantage of his minority and disaffirm his contracts, but the disaffirmance may be either before or after majority, if within a reasonable time after becoming of age. The minor is under no obligation to restore money or property, unless it is the identical money or property received by virtue of the contract, and he may therefore disaffirm his contract without rendering back the consideration, if such consideration is no longer under his control. [Sidenote: Misrepresentations. Engaging in business.] No contract can be thus disaffirmed in cases, where on account of the minor's own misrepresentations as to his majority, or from his having engaged in business as an adult, the other party had good reason to believe the minor capable of contracting. [§3430.] If the fact of minority is known to the other party, the minor will not be bound by his contracts, although he may be engaged in business as an adult. The fact that he is engaged in business on his own account will alone be sufficient evidence to authorize others to conclude that he has attained his majority and will make all contracts to which he is a party, binding upon him. [Sidenote: Natural guardians.] The parents are the natural guardians of their minor children and are equally entitled to the care and custody of them. [§3432.] While a parent is the natural guardian of his child, this guardianship is not absolute, and may be lost by any misconduct on the part of the parent which would render it not best for the child to remain in his care and under his control. The duty of furnishing support to minor children rests equally upon both parents, but neither one is legally liable for the support of their adult children. An adult child living at home in the family of the parent, being supported as a member of the family, and performing services in the household, cannot recover payment for such services in the absence of an express contract on the part of the parent to pay for them. A stepfather stands in the position of a parent to the children of his wife by a former husband, _provided_, he receives them into his family. He is entitled to their services and is responsible for their education and maintenance. The parents can at any time consent to surrender the custody of their minor children and transfer this custody to another by agreement. Articles of adoption properly executed according to the requirements of the law upon that subject, are necessary to invest another with the rights and responsibilities of a parent. [Sidenote: Surviving parent, Guardian appointed.] Either parent dying before the other, the survivor becomes the guardian. If there be no parent or guardian qualified and competent to discharge the duty, the district court shall appoint a guardian. [§3488.] [Sidenote: Of property.] If the minor has property not derived from either parent, a guardian must be appointed to manage such property, which may be either parent, if suitable and proper. [§3434.] [Sidenote: Minor may choose.] If the minor be over the age of fourteen years and of sound intellect, he may select his own guardian, subject to the approval of the district court of the county where his parents, or either of them resides; or, if such minor is living separate and apart from his parents, the district court of the county where he resides has jurisdiction. [§3435.] [Sidenote: Powers.] Guardians of the persons of minors have the same power and control over them that parents would have if living. [§3440.] [Sidenote: Duties.] Guardians of the property of minors must prosecute and defend for their wards. They must also in other respects manage their interests under the direction of the court. They may thus lease their lands or loan their money during their minority, and may do all other acts which the court may deem for the benefit of the ward. [§3441.] All power of the guardian over the estate of his ward is derived from the appointment of the court, but an appointment as guardian will not authorize a sale of property, nor an investment or disposal of money belonging to the ward, without a special order of the court. All expenses for the education and maintenance of the ward must be kept within the income of his estate. If this should not be sufficient the principal may be resorted to, but not without an order of the court. All transactions between guardian and ward, where the former has secured an apparent advantage, by way of gift, or contract or settlement, will be presumed to have been the result of undue influence, and will be set aside by a court of equity, unless it can be shown that they were made in good faith and for a fair and valuable consideration. [Sidenote: Property in state.] The foreign guardian of any non-resident minor, may be appointed the guardian in this state of such minor, by the district court of the county wherein he has any property, for the purpose of selling or otherwise controlling that and all other property of such minor within the state, unless a guardian has previously been appointed under the preceding section. The foreign guardian of any non-resident idiot, lunatic or person of unsound mind may be appointed the guardian of such ward by the district court in like manner and with like effect in all cases where the foreign guardian of a non-resident minor could be appointed the guardian of such minor in this state. Such guardian shall have the same powers and be subject to the same liabilities as guardians of resident minors. [§3457.] [Sidenote: Guardians of drunkards, spendthrifts and lunatics.] When a petition is presented to the district court, verified by affidavit, that any inhabitant of the county is: 1. An idiot, lunatic, or person of unsound mind; 2. An habitual drunkard incapable of managing his affairs; 3. A spendthrift who is squandering his property, and the allegations of the petition have been satisfactorily proved upon the trial, such court may appoint a guardian of the property of any such person, who shall be the guardian of the minor children of his ward, unless the court otherwise orders. Such court may also appoint the guardian of the property of an habitual drunkard as the guardian of his person. If the person adjudged to be an habitual drunkard has no property, the court may appoint a guardian of his person. [§3463 Sup.] [Sidenote: Order for restraint of drunkard.] The district court or any judge thereof, may, from time to time, enter such orders as may be necessary, authorizing the guardian of the person of such habitual drunkard to confine and restrain him in such manner and in such place within the state as may, by the court or judge, be considered best for the purpose of preventing such drunkard from using intoxicating liquors, and as may tend to his reformation. [§3468a Sup.] When it is sought to have a guardian appointed for a person of unsound mind, the test of his mental capacity is not the degree of prudence and foresight he manifests in the management of his affairs, for "the law does not assume to measure the different degrees of power of the human intellect, or to distinguish between them where the power of thought and reason exists," but the question to be determined is whether or not he possesses sufficient ability to understand in a reasonable manner the nature and effect of his acts, or the business he is transacting. "Although the mind of an individual may be to some extent impaired by age or disease, still, if he is capable of transacting his ordinary business, if he understands the nature of the business in which he is engaged and the effect of what he is doing and can exercise his will with reference thereto, his acts will be valid," and he will not be adjudged to be of unsound mind and incapable of managing his business affairs. [Sidenote: Real estate sold. Allowance to family.] Whenever the sale of the real estate of such ward is necessary for his support or the support of his family or the payment of his debts, or will be for the interest of his estate or children, the guardian may sell the same under like proceedings as required by law to authorize the sale of real estate by the guardian of a minor. The court shall, if necessary, set off to the wife and children under fifteen years of age, of the insane person or to either sufficient of his property of such kind as it shall deem appropriate to support them for twelve months from the time he was adjudged insane. [§3467.] [Sidenote: Custody] The priority of claim to the custody of any insane person, habitual drunkard, or spendthrift aforesaid, shall be: 1. The legally appointed guardian. 2. The husband or wife. 3. The parents. 4. The children. [§3470.] CHAPTER VI. APPRENTICING AND ADOPTION OF CHILDREN. [Sidenote: Minors.] Any minor child may be bound to service until the attainment of the age of legal majority as hereinafter described. [§3471.] [Sidenote: Indenture.] Such binding must be by written indenture, specifying the age of the minor and the terms of agreement. If the minor is more than twelve years of age and not a pauper, the indenture must be signed by him of his own free will. [§3472.] [Sidenote: Consent of parent or guardian.] A written consent must be appended to or endorsed upon such agreement, and signed by one of the following persons, to-wit: 1. By the father of the minor; but if he is dead or has abandoned his family, or is for any cause incapacitated from giving his assent, then 2. By the mother; and if she be dead or unable, or incapacitated for giving such assent, then, 3. By the guardian; and if there be no guardian, then by the clerk of the district court. [§3473.] [Sidenote: Natural guardian removed.] Upon complaint being made to the district court of the proper county, verified by affidavit, that the father or mother of a minor child is from habitual intemperance and vicious and brutal conduct, or from vicious, brutal and criminal conduct toward said minor child, an unsuitable person to retain the guardianship and control the education of such child, the court may, if it find the allegations in the complaint manifestly true, appoint a proper guardian for the child, and may if expedient, also direct that said child be bound as an apprentice to some suitable person until he attains his majority. But nothing herein shall be so construed as to take such minor child if the mother be a proper guardian. [§3492.] The same proceedings may take place and a like order be made, when the mother, who for any cause became the guardian of her minor child, is in like manner found to be manifestly an improper person to retain such guardianship. [§3493.] [Sidenote: Schooling and treatment of minors.] The master shall send said minor child, after the same be six years old, to school at least four months in each year, if there be a school in the district, and at all times the master shall clothe the minor in a comfortable and becoming manner. [§3497.] [Sidenote: Adoption of children. Who may adopt.] Any person competent to make a will is authorized in manner hereinafter set forth, to adopt as his own the minor child of another, conferring thereby upon such child all the rights, privileges and responsibilities which would pertain to the child if born to the person adopting, in lawful wedlock. [§3498.] [Sidenote: Consent of parents or officer.] In order thereto, the consent of both parents if living and not divorced or separated, and if divorced or separated, or, if unmarried, the consent of the parent lawfully having the care and providing for the wants of the child, or if either parent is dead, then the consent of the survivor, or if both parents be dead, or the child shall have been and remain abandoned by them, then the consent of the mayor of the city where the child is living, or if not in a city, then the clerk of the district court of the county where the child is living, shall be given to such adoption, by an instrument in writing signed by the parties or party consenting, and stating the names of the parents, if known, the name of the child, if known, the name of the person adopting such child, and the residence of all, if known, and declaring the name by which such child is hereafter to be called and known, and stating also that such child is to be given to the person adopting, for the purpose of adoption as his own child. [§3499] [Sidenote: Instrument acknowledged and recorded.] Such instrument in writing shall be also signed by the person adopting and shall be acknowledged by all parties thereto in the same manner as deeds affecting real estate are required to be acknowledged; and shall be recorded in the recorder's office in the county where the person adopting resides, and shall be indexed with the name of the parents by adoption as grantors and the child as grantee, in its original name if stated in the instrument, [§3500.] A strict compliance in every particular with the provisions of the statutes is essential to constitute a legal adoption and to confer upon the adopted child rights of inheritance. If a minor child has a guardian his consent must be obtained before the child can be legally adopted. [Sidenote: Effect.] Upon the execution, acknowledgment and filing for record of such instrument, the rights, duties and relations between the parent and child by adoption, shall, thereafter, in all respects, including the right of inheritance, be the same that exists by law between parent and child by lawful birth. [§3501]. The right of a child by adoption to inherit from the parents by adoption, depends upon a strict compliance with the requirements of the law in every particular, including the acknowledgment and recording of the articles of adoption. It is also essential that the instrument shall be filed for record before the death of the adopted parent and while the child is a minor. A child by adoption does not lose the right to inherit from his natural parents, but is entitled to all rights of inheritance from both natural and adopted parents. [Sidenote: Maltreatment.] In case of maltreatment committed or allowed by the adopted parent, or palpable neglect of duty on his part, toward such child, the custody thereof may be taken from him and entrusted to another at his expense, if so ordered by the district court of the county where the parent resides; or the court may, on showing of the facts, require from the adopted parent, bond with security, in a sum to be fixed by him, the county being the obligee, and for the benefit of the child, conditioned for the proper treatment and performance of duty towards the child on the part of the parent; but no action of the court in the premises shall affect or diminish the acquired right of inheritance on the part of the child, to the extent of such right in a child of natural birth. [§3502.] [Sidenote: Home for the friendless Powers.] Any home for the friendless incorporated under the laws of this state, shall have authority to receive, control and dispose of minor children, under the following provisions. In case of the death or legal incapacity of the father, or in case of his abandoning or neglecting to provide for his children, the mother shall be considered their legal guardian for the purpose of making surrender of them to the charge and custody of such corporation; and in all cases where the person or persons legally authorized to act as the guardian or guardians of any child are not known, the mayor of the town or city where such home is located, may, in his discretion, surrender such child to said home. [§3503.] [Sidenote: Surrender of child.] In case it shall be shown to any judge of a court of record, or to the mayor, or to any justice of the peace, within such city or town, that the father of any child is dead, or has abandoned his family, or is an habitual drunkard, or imprisoned for crime, and the mother of such child is an habitual drunkard or is in prison for crime, or the inmate of a house of ill-fame, or is dead or has abandoned her family, or that the parents of any child have abandoned or neglected to provide for it, then such judge, mayor, or justice of the peace may, if he thinks the welfare of the child requires it, surrender such child to said home. [§3504] [Sidenote: Home becomes guardian.] When a child has been surrendered to any home for the friendless according to the provisions of these sections, such home becomes the legal guardian of such child, and may exercise the rights and authority of parents over such children and may apprentice or provide for the adoption of the same. [§3505.] CHAPTER VII. WILLS AND LETTERS OF ADMINISTRATION. [Sidenote: Who may make wills.] [Sidenote: Of what property] Any person of full age and sound mind may dispose, by will, of all his property except what is sufficient to pay his debts, or what is allowed as a homestead, or otherwise given by law as privileged property to his wife and family. [§3522.] The validity of a will depends upon the mental capacity of a testator and the fact that he was uninfluenced in making the disposition of his property. If it appears that the testator was incapable of exercising discretion and sound judgment and of fully realizing the effect and consequences of the will, though he may not be absolutely insane, he will not be in such mental condition that he can make a legal will. If he is of weak mind and it appears that he was imposed upon or unduly influenced, such facts will invalidate the will. A testator having testamentary capacity may dispose of his property in any manner, and to any person he may choose, and may deprive his heirs of any share in his estate, without any explanation or any express declaration of disinheritance. The fact that a will is unjust and unreasonable, in the absence of proof of undue influence, or insufficient capacity, will not render the will void. [Sidenote: Subsequent property.] Property to be subsequently acquired may be devised when the intention is clear and explicit. [§3523.] If the intention to convey property acquired after the execution of the will is apparent or may be inferred from a fair construction of the language used, it will be sufficient, although the intention may not be directly expressed. [Sidenote: Verbal wills.] Personal property to the value of three hundred dollars may be bequeathed by a verbal will, if witnessed by two competent witnesses. [§3524.] [Sidenote: Soldier or mariner.] A soldier in actual service, or a mariner at sea, may dispose of all his personal estate by a will so made and witnessed. [§3525.] [Sidenote: In writing. Witnessed. Signed.] All other wills, to be valid, must be in writing, witnessed by two competent witnesses and signed by the testator, or by some other person in his presence and by his express direction. [§3526.] It is necessary that the witnesses shall subscribe the will, but not that they shall have any knowledge of its contents, nor that they shall see the testator sign it. It is sufficient if the signature is adopted or acknowledged in their presence. If a will is made with the intention of disposing of real property it must be executed according to the requirements of the laws of the state where the real property is situated. [Sidenote: Interest of witness.] No subscribing witness to any will can derive any benefit therefrom, unless there be two disinterested and competent witnesses to the same. [§3527.] But if, without a will, he would be entitled to any portion of the testator's estate, he may still receive such portion to the extent in value of the amount devised. [§3528.] [Sidenote: Revocation.] Wills can be revoked in whole or in part, only by being canceled or destroyed by the act or direction of the testator with the intention of so revoking them, or by the execution of subsequent wills. [§3529.] The birth of a child after the execution of a will but before the death of the testator, operates as a revocation of the will, and the birth and recognition of an illegitimate child has the same effect. Declarations of the testator to the effect that he intended to revoke the will, will not be sufficient to prove a cancellation. [Sidenote: Cancellation.] When done by cancellation, the revocation must be witnessed in the same manner as the making of a new will. [§3530.] [Sidenote: Executors.] If no executors are named in the will, one or more may be appointed to carry it into effect. [§3532.] [Sidenote: Posthumous children.] Posthumous children unprovided for by the father's will, shall inherit the same interest as though no will had been made. [§3534.] [Sidenote: Heirs of a devisee.] If a devisee die before the testator, his heirs shall inherit the amount so devised to him unless from the terms of the will a contrary intent is manifest. [§3537.] The word heir in this section does not include the widow of the testator, and she cannot inherit from a child to whom property has been devised by his father, but who has died before the father. [Sidenote: Married women.] A married woman may act as executor independent of her husband. [§3545.] [Sidenote: Minors.] If a minor under eighteen years of age is appointed executor, there is a temporary vacancy as to him until he reaches that age. [§3546.] [Sidenote: Administration. Who entitled. Order.] In other cases where an executor is not appointed by will, administration shall be granted: 1. To the wife of the deceased; 2. To his next of kin; 3. To his creditors; 4. To any other person whom the court may select. [§3555.] [Sidenote: Classes united.] Individuals belonging to the same or different classes, may be united as administrators whenever such course is deemed expedient. [§3556.] [Sidenote: Time allowed.] To each of the above classes in succession a period of twenty days, commencing with the burial of the deceased, is allowed within which to apply for administration upon the estate. [§3557.] CHAPTER VIII. SETTLEMENT OF THE ESTATE--DESCENT AND DISTRIBUTION OF PROPERTY. [Sidenote: Exempt personal property.] When the deceased leaves a widow, all the personal property which, in his hands as head of the family, would be exempt from execution, after being inventoried and appraised, shall be set apart to her as her property in her own right, and be exempt in her hands as in the hands of the decedent. [§3575.] This provision secures an advantage to the wife which does not exist in favor of the husband. Upon the death of the wife all personal property belonging to her, whether exempt or not, passes to her administrator to be distributed by him among her heirs. A widow is not entitled to pension money, although the same was exempt in the hands of her husband, the exemption being for the benefit of the pensioner as such, and not as head of a family. [Sidenote: Life insurance.] The avails of any life insurance or any other sum of money made payable by any mutual aid or benevolent society upon the death of a member of such society, are not subject to the debts of the deceased, except by special contract or arrangement, but shall in other respects, be disposed of like other property left by the deceased. [§3576.] A policy of insurance on the life of an individual, in the absence of an agreement or assignment to the contrary shall inure to the separate use of the husband or wife and children of said individual, independently of his or her creditors. And the avails of all policies of insurance on the life of an individual payable to his surviving widow, shall be exempt from liabilities for all debts of such beneficiary contracted prior to the death of the deceased, provided that in any case the total exemption for the benefit of any one person shall not exceed the sum of five thousand dollars. [§1756, Sup.] The contract between the assured and the insurance company, cannot be changed in any particular without the consent of the company, and a testator cannot, by will, change the beneficiary named in the policy unless it is expressly so provided in the contract. Where a policy is made payable to the assured or his legal representatives, the proceeds of the policy will pass to the administrator of his estate, and will be paid to the wife and children, but no part can be distributed to other heirs. If the assured leaves a wife or husband and no children, the entire proceeds of the policy will go to the wife or husband, and after they have passed into the hands of the beneficiary, they will not be subject to execution for the payment of his or her debts, provided they do not exceed the sum of five thousand dollars. A wife is not her husband's "legal heir" and the entire proceeds of a policy or certificate of insurance made payable to the assured or his "legal heirs" will go to the children of the deceased. [Sidenote: Allowance to widow and children.] The court shall if necessary, set off to the widow and children under fifteen years of age, of the decedent, or to either, sufficient of the property of such kind as it shall deem appropriate to support them for twelve months from the time of his death. [§3579.] The allowance to the widow takes priority over all other claims against the estate, and should be paid immediately. If the widow and children have no other means of support the allowance may be made though the estate is insolvent. It is no part of the dower interest, but is a separate and distinct right which may be made in addition to dower, or even in cases where by contract made before marriage, all rights to dower and inheritance have been relinquished. Real estate may be sold if necessary, where the personal property is not sufficient to provide for the allowance to the widow and children, and the widow may claim the allowance although there are no children, and she may have property of her own, if the income of such property is not sufficient for her support. [Sidenote: Expenses of funeral.] As soon as the executors are possessed of sufficient means, over and above the expenses of administration, they shall pay off the charges of the last sickness and funeral of deceased. [§3622.] [Sidenote: Allowance.] They shall, in the next place, pay any allowance which may be made by the court for the maintenance of the widow and minor children. [§3623.] After the funeral expenses and the allowance to the widow and children have been paid, the claims against the estate will be discharged in the order provided by law, after which, the balance of the property, devised by will after all expenses of administration have been paid, will be distributed to the different legatees. [Sidenote: Descent and distribution. Personal property.] The personal property of the deceased, not necessary for the payment of debts, nor otherwise disposed of as hereinbefore provided, shall be distributed to the same persons and in the same proportions as though it were real estate. [§3640.] A husband cannot, by will, deprive his wife of her share in his personal estate, after his death, but he may dispose of it during his lifetime in any manner he may choose. [Sidenote: Payment.] The distributive shares shall be paid over as fast as the executors can properly do so. [§3641.] [Sidenote: In kind.] The property itself shall be distributed in kind whenever that can be done satisfactorily and equitably. In other cases the court may direct the property to be sold, and the proceeds to be distributed. [§3641.] [Sidenote: Partial distribution.] When the circumstances of the family require it, the court, in addition to what is hereinbefore set apart for their use, may direct a partial distribution of the money or effects on hand. [§3643.] [Sidenote: Share of husband or wife.] [Sidenote: Dower and curtesy.] One-third in value of all the legal or equitable estates in real property, possessed by the husband at any time during the marriage, which have not been sold on execution or other judicial sale, and to which the wife has made no relinquishment of her right, shall be set apart as her property in fee-simple, if she survive him. The same share of the real estate of a deceased wife shall be set apart to the surviving husband. All provisions made in this chapter in regard to the widow of a deceased husband, shall be applicable to the surviving husband of a deceased wife. The estates of dower and curtesy are hereby abolished. [§3644] While the estate of dower is abolished by statute, and a wife takes her distributive share of the property in its stead, yet this distributive share is still commonly designated by the term "dower." The dower interest of the wife is not subject to the debts of her husband. A wife may release her right of dower in real property by joining in a joint deed with her husband, although the deed may contain no express relinquishment of dower. Contracts between husband and wife, though for a legal and valuable consideration, or with a view to separation are invalid, the interest of either during the lifetime of both, being merely contingent and inchoate, but an agreement previous to marriage by which each waives all right in the other's estate, or by which the wife relinquishes her right of dower, is valid. A woman can claim no dower in her husband's estate, after his death, if she has procured a divorce from him while living and the divorce is in force at the time of his death. Where the provisions of a will gives the wife a certain interest in the estate, she may always elect whether she will take her dower interest or under the will. [Sidenote: Homestead.] The distributive share of the widow shall be so set off as to include the ordinary dwelling-house given by law to the homestead, or so much thereof as will be equal to the share allotted to her by the last section, unless she prefers a different arrangement. But no different arrangement shall be permitted where it would have the effect of prejudicing the rights of creditors. [§3645.] If the distributive share of either husband or wife is set out to the survivor from the homestead, it will still retain its homestead character, and will be exempt from execution for the payment of debts. [Sidenote: Widow of alien.] The widow of a non-resident alien shall be entitled to the same rights in the property of her husband, as a resident, except as against a purchaser from the decedent. [§3646.] The term "non-resident alien" does not refer to one who resides out of the United States, but to non-residents of the state, who may reside in other states; the purpose of the statute being to encourage the purchase of lands within the state from non-resident owners, and to protect purchasers of such real estate from claims for dower or distributive share therein. [Sidenote: How set off.] The share thus allotted to her may be set off by the mutual consent of all parties interested, when such consent can be obtained, or it may be set off by referees appointed by the court. [§3647.] [Sidenote: Application] The application for such measurement by referees, may be made any time after twenty days and within ten years after the death of the husband, and must specify the particular tracts of land in which she claims her share, and ask the appointment of referees. [§3648.] [Sidenote: Widow's share not affected by will.] The widow's share cannot be affected by any will of her husband, unless she consents thereto within six months after notice to her of the provisions of the will by the other parties interested in the estate, which consent shall be entered on the proper records of the district court. [§3656.] This provision applies equally to the husband's rights under the will of the wife, and it applies to wills made before marriage, as well as to those executed after marriage. Where there is no express provision in the will that a devise to the wife is in lieu of dower, she will take her distributive share of the estate in addition to the property devised to her by will, unless the allowance of dower would be inconsistent with other provisions of the will. The devise of a life estate to a wife will not defeat her right to her distributive share in the real estate owned by the husband at the time of his death. [Sidenote: Descent. To children.] Subject to the rights and charges hereinbefore contemplated, the remaining estate of which the decedent died, shall, in the absence of other arrangements by will, descend in equal shares to his children. [§3657.] [Sidenote: Share of deceased child.] If any one of his children be dead, the heirs of such child shall inherit his share in accordance with the rules herein prescribed in the same manner as though such child had outlived his parents. [§3658.] The mother of a child which dies while both of its parents are living cannot, upon the death of its father, claim any share in his estate, as heir of such child. [Sidenote: Wife and parents.] If the intestate leave no issue, the one-half of his estate shall go to his parents and the other half to his wife; if he leaves no wife, the portion which would have gone to her, shall go to his parents, [§3659.] The one-third which the wife takes as her distributive share is all that may be held exempt from debts. The additional share of the estate which she takes in case there are no children, is subject to claims by creditors of the husband. [Sidenote: Surviving parents.] If one of his parents be dead, the portion which would have gone to such deceased parent, shall go to the surviving parent, including the portion which would have gone to the intestate's wife had she been living. [§3660.] [Sidenote: Heirs of parents.] If both parents be dead, then the portion which would have fallen to their share, by the above rules shall be disposed of in the same manner as if they had outlived the intestate and died in the possession and ownership of the portion thus falling to their share, and so on through ascending ancestors and their issue. [§3661.] [Sidenote: Wife and her heirs.] If heirs are not thus found, the portion uninherited shall go to the wife of the intestate, or to her heirs if dead, according to like rules; and if he has had more than one wife who either died or survived in lawful wedlock, it shall be equally divided between the one who is living and the heirs of those who are dead, or between the heirs of all, if all are dead, such heirs taking by right of representation. [§3662.] [Sidenote: Advancement.] Property given by an intestate by way of advancement to an heir, shall be considered part of the estate so far as regards the division and distribution thereof, and shall be taken by such heir, towards his share of the estate at what it would now be worth if in the condition in which it was given to him. But if such advancement exceeds the amount to which he would be entitled, he cannot be required to refund any portion thereof. [§3663.] A gift to an heir by way of advancement, cannot be considered as any part of the estate for the purpose of increasing the distributive share of the widow, but is to be estimated as part of such heir's share of the property, after the allowance to the wife of her interest. [Sidenote: Where there are no heirs.] If there be property remaining uninherited, it shall escheat to the state. [§3665.] [Sidenote: Illegitimate children. Inherit from mother.] Illegitimate children inherit from the mother and the mother from the children. [§3670.] A child born at any time during lawful wedlock is presumed by the law to be legitimate, but where questions of inheritance are involved, this presumption may be overcome by proof to the contrary. [Sidenote: Inherit from father.] They shall inherit from the father whenever the paternity is proven during the life of the father, or they have been recognized by him as his children, but such recognition must have been general and notorious or else in writing. [§3671.] The recognition in writing need not be a formal avowal. Any writing, as by letter or otherwise, is sufficient. For the purposes of inheritance an illegitimate child stands on exactly the same footing as if it were legitimate after it has been recognized by the father, and the birth and recognition of such child revoke a will in the same manner as the birth of a legitimate child, subsequent to the execution of the will. [Sidenote: Father inherits from child.] Under such circumstances, if the recognition of relationship has been mutual, the father may inherit from his illegitimate children. [§3672.] CHAPTER IX. HOMESTEAD AND EXEMPTIONS. [Sidenote: Homestead exempt.] Where there is no special declaration of the statute to the contrary, the homestead of every family, whether owned by the husband or wife is exempt from judicial sale, [§3163.] A homestead right may exist in property purchased under a bond for a deed, if payments have been made and the purchaser is in possession. Actual occupancy is necessary to invest property with the homestead character, but as the exemption right is for the benefit of the whole family and not alone of the owner, the fact that the head of the family is absent, and may even have acquired property and residence in another state with the intention of removing his family there, will not divest the homestead of its exemption right, so long as the family continues to occupy it. And the fact that the husband has abandoned the homestead will not affect the homestead right, so long as the wife and family remain in occupancy. The homestead right may belong to one of several tenants in common of undivided property, or in a leasehold interest. It may attach to portions of a building--as where rooms or floors in a building are used for homestead purposes and the rest of the building is not so used. Where part of a building is owned or occupied by a family as a home, and the other part is used for a different purpose, that part used as a home may be exempt, while the other portion may be sold under execution. The exemption right may be lost by the execution of a mortgage or contract expressly making the homestead liable, in which both husband and wife join; or it may be forfeited when the homestead is used as a saloon or for any other purpose in violation of the prohibitory liquor law, with the knowledge and consent of the owner, and this is true even though such unlawful use is without the consent of the wife of the owner. In such case it is subject to judgment obtained because of such illegal use. [§2419.] If the homestead is sold, the proceeds are exempt only when invested in the purchase of another homestead, but the exemption does not follow the proceeds out of the state, and where the homestead was sold and the proceeds invested in a homestead in another state, and this was afterwards sold and the proceeds again invested in a homestead in this state, it was held that the homestead exemption did not attach to the second homestead in Iowa. Removal from the homestead without intention of returning will be sufficient to forfeit the homestead right, but the length of time of absence, in itself, will not constitute abandonment, so long as the intention to return exists. [Sidenote: Family defined.] A widow or widower, though without children, shall be deemed a family while continuing to occupy the house used as such at the time of the death of the husband or wife. [§3164.] [Sidenote: Conveyance or incumbrance.] A conveyance or incumbrance by the owner is of no validity unless the husband and wife, if the owner is married, concur in, and sign the joint instrument. [§3165.] Any conveyance or contract, such as a mortgage, lease, assignment of contract of purchase, or any act in any manner affecting the title or right of occupancy of the homestead by either party, will be absolutely void, unless concurred in by the other. If the consent of the wife is fraudulently obtained by the husband, the conveyance or incumbrance will be valid, unless it appears that the purchaser or mortgagee had knowledge of the fraud. A mortgage given for the purchase money will be valid though given alone by the party taking the legal title. [Sidenote: Liable for taxes.] The homestead is liable for taxes accruing thereon, and if platted as hereinafter directed, is liable only for such taxes and subject to mechanics' liens for work, labor, or material, done or furnished exclusively for the improvement of the same, and the whole or a sufficient portion thereof may be sold to pay the same. [§3166.] All the taxes against the owner of the homestead become liens thereon, unless it is platted as directed by statute. [Sidenote: Liable for debts.] The homestead may be sold on execution for debts contracted prior to the purchase thereof, but it shall not in such case be sold except to supply the deficiency remaining after exhausting the other property of the debtor liable to execution. [§3167.] Debts contracted after the acquisition of the property, but before it has acquired the homestead character by actual occupancy, may be enforced against the property. A judgment upon a debt contracted prior to the purchase of the homestead, although such judgment is not rendered until after the property has acquired the homestead character, is a lien upon the homestead. [Sidenote: Debts created by written contract.] The homestead may be sold for debts created by written contract, executed by the persons having the power to convey and expressly stipulating that the homestead is liable therefor, but it shall not in such case be sold except to supply the deficiency remaining after exhausting the other property pledged for the payment of the debt in the same written contract. [§3168.] Any written contract other than a mortgage or other conveyance, will be sufficient to render the homestead liable for debts, provided it contains the necessary stipulations, and is signed by the proper parties. [Sidenote: What constitutes.] The homestead must embrace the house used as a home by the owner thereof, and if he has two or more houses thus used by him at different times and places, he may select which he will retain as his homestead. [§3159.] The husband may select his homestead and make the same his home without the consent of his wife, and the absence of the wife will not affect its homestead character. The fact that the husband is the legal head of the family invests him with the power of establishing his home wherever he may choose, with or without the assent of his wife. Use is essential to give property a homestead character, and an intention to occupy is not sufficient in the absence of actual residence. [Sidenote: Embraces what.] It may contain one or more lots or tracts of land with the buildings thereon and other appurtenances, subject to the limitations contained in the next section, but must in no case embrace different lots or tracts, unless they are contiguous, or unless they are habitually and in good faith used as a part of the same homestead. [§3170.] [Sidenote: Extent.] If within a town plat it must not exceed one-half an acre in extent, and if not within a town plat, it must not embrace in the aggregate more than forty acres. But if, when thus limited, in either case, its value is less than five hundred dollars, it may be enlarged until it reaches that amount. [§3171.] [Sidenote: Dwelling appurtenances.] It must not embrace more than one dwelling house, or any other buildings except as such are properly appurtenant to the homestead; but a shop or other building situated thereon, and really used and occupied by the owner in the prosecution of his own ordinary business, and not exceeding three hundred dollars in value, may be deemed appurtenant to such homestead. [§3172.] [Sidenote: Selecting. Platting.] The owner or the husband or wife, may select the homestead and cause it to be marked out, platted, and recorded as provided in the next section. A failure in this respect does not leave the homestead liable, but the officer having an execution against the property of such defendant, may cause the homestead to be marked off, platted and recorded and may add the expense thence arising to the amount embraced in the execution. [§3173.] [Sidenote: Description. Recording.] The homestead shall be marked off by fixed and visible monuments, and in giving the description thereof, the direction and distance of the starting point from some corner of the dwelling-house shall be stated. The description and plat shall then be recorded by the recorder in a book to be called the "homestead book," which shall be provided with a proper index. [§3174.] [Sidenote: Changes.] The owner may from time to time change the limits of the homestead by changing the metes and bounds, as well as the record of the plat and description, or may change it entirely, but such changes shall not prejudice conveyances or liens made or created previously thereto, and no change of the entire homestead made without the concurrence of the husband or wife, shall affect his or her right or those of the children. [§3175.] [Sidenote: New homestead exempt.] The new homestead, to the extent in value of the old, is exempt from execution in all cases where the old or former homestead would have been exempt, but in no other, nor in any greater degree. [§3176.] [Sidenote: Survivor to occupy.] Upon the death of either husband or wife, the survivor may continue to possess and occupy the whole homestead until it is disposed of according to law. [§3182.] The survivor may elect to retain the homestead in lieu of his or her distributive stare of the estate, but in such case the interest is not one which confers any title to the property which can be conveyed or which will descend to heirs or be subject to the lieu of a judgment, but it is merely a life interest which may be terminated whenever the survivor ceases to use and occupy the homestead as such. Whenever the survivor elects to retain the homestead during life in lieu of dower, it cannot be changed for another homestead, and the right will be lost by abandonment. [Sidenote: Election to retain. Descent. Exemption.] The setting off of the distributive share of the husband or wife in the real estate of the deceased, shall be such a disposal of the homestead as is contemplated in the preceding section. But the survivor may elect to retain the homestead for life in lieu of such share in the real estate of the deceased; but if there be no such survivor, the homestead descends to the issue of either husband or wife according to the rules of descent, unless otherwise directed by will, and is to be held by such issue exempt from any antecedent debts of their parents or their own. [§3183.] [Sidenote: When sold.] If there is no such survivor or issue the homestead is liable to be sold for the payment of any debts to which it might at that time be subjected, if it had never been held as a homestead. [§3184.] [Sidenote: Devise.] Subject to the rights of the surviving husband or wife, as declared by law, the homestead may be devised like other real estate of the testator. [§3185.] The homestead will remain exempt in the hands of the heirs because of the homestead right of the ancestors, although the property is not occupied as a homestead by such heirs. [Sidenote: Exemptions. To head of family.] If a debtor is a resident of this state, and is the head of a family, he may hold exempt from execution the following property: All wearing apparel of himself and family kept for actual use and suitable to their condition, and the trunks or other receptacles necessary to contain the same; one musket or rifle and shot-gun; all private libraries, family bibles, portraits, pictures, musical instruments, and paintings, not kept for the purpose of sale; a seat or pew occupied by the debtor or his family in any house of public worship; an interest in a public or private burying ground, not exceeding one acre for any defendant; two cows and calf; one horse, unless a horse is exempt as hereinafter provided; fifty sheep and the wool therefrom and the materials manufactured from such wool; six stands of bees; five hogs, and all pigs under six months; the necessary food for all animals exempt from execution, for six months; all flax raised by the defendant on not exceeding one acre of ground and the manufactures therefrom; one bedstead and the necessary bedding for every two in the family; all cloth manufactured by the defendant, not exceeding one hundred yards in quantity; household and kitchen furniture, not exceeding two hundred dollars in value; all spinning-wheels and looms, one sewing machine and other instruments of domestic labor kept for actual use; the necessary provisions and fuel for the use of the family for six months; the proper tools, instruments or books of the debtor, if a farmer, mechanic, surveyor, clergyman, lawyer, physician, teacher or professor; the horse or the team consisting of not more than two horses or mules, or two yoke of cattle, and the wagon or other vehicle with the proper harness or tackle, by the use of which the debtor, if a physician, public officer, farmer, teamster, or other laborer habitually earns his living; and to the debtor, if a printer, there shall also be exempt a printing press and a newspaper office connected therewith, not to exceed in all the value of twelve hundred dollars. Any person entitled to any of the exemptions mentioned in this section does not waive his rights thereto by failing to designate or select such exempt property or by failing to object to a levy thereon, unless failing or refusing so to do when required to make such designation or selection by the officers about to levy. [§4297.] The husband and not the wife is recognized by law as the "head of the family," but upon the death of the husband the wife becomes the head of the family and as such is entitled to these exemptions. [Sidenote: Life Insurance.] All life insurance is exempt from the debts of the assured and from those of his widow contracted prior to his death, provided such exemption does not exceed the sum of five thousand dollars. [§1756 Sup.] [Sidenote: Family defined.] The word "family," as used in section 4297, does not include strangers or boarders lodging with the family. [§4298.] [Sidenote: Perpetual earnings.] The earnings of such debtor for his personal services, or those of his family, at any time within ninety days next preceding the levy, are also exempt from execution and attachment. [§4299.] [Sidenote: Unmarried persons. Non-residents.] There shall be exempt to an unmarried man not the head of a family, and to non-residents their ordinary wearing apparel and trunk necessary to contain the same. [§4300.] [Sidenote: Persons starting to leave the state.] When the debtor, if the head of a family, has started to leave this state, he shall have exempt only the ordinary wearing apparel of himself and family, and such other property, in addition, as he may select, in all not exceeding seventy-five dollars in value; which property shall be selected by the debtor and appraised; but any person coming into this state with the intention of remaining shall be considered a resident. [§4801.] [Sidenote: Purchase money.] None of the exemptions prescribed in this chapter shall be allowed against an execution issued for the purchase money of property claimed to be exempt, and on which such execution is levied. [§4302.] [Sidenote: Absconding debtor.] Where a debtor absconds and leaves his family, such property shall be exempt in the hands of the wife and children, or either of them. [§4303.] [Sidenote: Sewing machine.] If the debtor is a seamstress, one sewing-machine shall be exempt from execution and attachment. [§4304.] [Sidenote: Pension money.] All money received by any person, resident of the state, as a pension from the United States government; whether the same shall be in the actual possession of such pensioner, or deposited, loaned, or invested by him, shall be exempt from execution or attachment, or seizure by or under any legal process whatever, whether such pensioner shall be the head of a family or not. [§4305.] [Sidenote: Homestead.] The homestead of every such pensioner, whether the head of a family or not, purchased and paid for with any such pension money, or the proceeds or accumulations of such pension money, shall also be exempt as is now provided by law of this state in relation to homesteads; and such exemption shall also apply to debts of such pensioner contracted prior to the purchase of such homestead. [§4306.] [Sidenote: Damages.] Where a wrongful act produces death, and the deceased leaves a husband, wife, child or parent, the damages shall not be liable for the payment of debts. [§3731.] CHAPTER X. CRIMINAL LAW-ILLEGITIMATE CHILDREN. [Sidenote: Rape.] If any person ravish or carnally know any female of the age of thirteen years or more, by force and against her will, or carnally know and abuse any female child under the age of thirteen years, he shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary for life or any term of years. [§5160.] [Sidenote: Intent to commit rape.] If any person assault a female with intent to commit a rape he shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary not exceeding twenty years. [§5172.] [Sidenote: Compelling to marry.] If any person take any woman unlawfully and against her will, and by force, menace or duress, compel her to marry him, or to be defiled, he shall be fined not exceeding one thousand dollars and imprisoned in the penitentiary not exceeding ten years. [§5161.] [Sidenote: Carnal knowledge.] If any person have carnal knowledge of any female by administering to her any substance, or by any other means producing such stupor or such imbecility of mind or weakness of body as to prevent effectual resistance, or have such carnal knowledge of an idiot or female naturally of such imbecility of mind or weakness of body, as to prevent effectual resistance, he shall upon conviction, be punished as provided in the section relating to ravishment. [§5162.] [Sidenote: Producing miscarriage of pregnant woman.] If any person with intent to produce the miscarriage of any pregnant woman, wilfully administer to her any drug or substance whatever, or, with such intent, use any instrument or any means whatever, unless such miscarriage shall be necessary to save her life, he shall be imprisoned in the state prison for a term not exceeding five years, and be fined in a sum not exceeding one thousand dollars. [§5163.] [Sidenote: Enticing female child for prostitution.] If any person take or entice away any unmarried female, under eighteen years of age, from her father, mother, guardian, or other person having the legal charge of her person, for the purpose of prostitution, he shall upon conviction be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary for not more than three years, or by fine of not more than one thousand dollars and imprisonment in the county jail not more than one year. [§5164.] [Sidenote: Enticing away child.] If any person maliciously, forcibly or fraudulently lead, take, decoy, or entice away any child under the age of fourteen years, with the intent to detain or conceal such child from its parent, guardian, or any other person having the lawful charge of such child, he shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary not more than ten years, or by a fine not exceeding one thousand dollars or by both such fine and imprisonment. [§5165.] [Sidenote: Seduction.] If any person seduce and debauch any unmarried woman of previously chaste character, he shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary not more than five years, or by fine not exceeding one thousand dollars and imprisonment in the county jail not exceeding one year. [§5166.] [Sidenote: Marriage a bar.] If, before judgment upon an indictment, the defendant marry the woman thus seduced, it is a bar to any further prosecution for the offense. [§5167.] An offer, by the defendant, to marry the woman, will not be a bar to a prosecution for seduction, as nothing but actual marriage will constitute such bar. [Sidenote: Adultery.] Every person who commits the crime of adultery shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary not more than three years, or by a fine not exceeding three hundred dollars and imprisonment in the county jail not exceeding one year; and when the crime is committed between parties, only one of whom is married, both are guilty of adultery and shall be punished accordingly. No prosecution for adultery can be commenced but on complaint of the husband or wife. [§5317.] [Sidenote: Evidence in cases of rape or seduction.] The defendant in a prosecution for a rape, or for an assault with intent to commit a rape, or for enticing or taking away an unmarried female of previously chaste character, for the purpose of prostitution, or aiding or assisting therein, or for seducing or debauching any unmarried woman of previously chaste character, cannot be convicted upon the testimony of the person injured, unless she be corroborated by other evidence tending to connect the defendant with the commission of the offense. [§5958, as amended by act of the Twenty-fifth General Assembly.] The corroboration required by this section need not be by evidence of witnesses to the act, but may be wholly by circumstances and facts which tend to connect the accused with the commission of the crime. [Sidenote: Bigamy.] If any person who has a former husband or wife living, marry another person, or continue to cohabit with such second husband or wife in this state, he or she, except in cases mentioned in the following section, is guilty of bigamy, and shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary not more than five years, or by fine not exceeding five hundred dollars and imprisonment in the county jail not more than one year. [§5318.] [Sidenote: Exceptions.] The provisions of the preceding section do not extend to any person whose husband or wife has continuously remained beyond seas, or who has voluntarily withdrawn from the other and remained absent for the space of three years together, the party marrying again, not knowing the other to be living within that time; nor to any person who has been legally divorced from the bonds of matrimony. [§5319.] [Sidenote: Knowingly marrying husband or wife.] Every unmarried person who knowingly marries the husband or wife of another, when such husband or wife is guilty of bigamy thereby, shall be imprisoned in the penitentiary not exceeding three years, or by fine of not more than three hundred dollars and imprisonment in the county jail not exceeding one year. [§5320.] [Sidenote: Lewdness.] If any man or woman not being married to each other lewdly and viciously associate and cohabit together, or if any man or woman, married or unmarried, is guilty of gross lewdness and designedly make an open and indecent, or obscene exposure of his or her person, or the person of another, every such person shall be punished by imprisonment in the county jail not exceeding six months, or by fine not exceeding two hundred dollars. [§5321.] [Sidenote: Keeping house of ill-fame.] If any person keep a house of ill-fame, resorted to for the purpose of prostitution or lewdness, such person shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary not less than six months nor more than five years. [§5322.] [Sidenote: Houses of ill-fame.] Houses of ill-fame kept for the purpose of prostitution and lewdness, gambling houses, or houses where drunkenness, quarreling, fighting or breaches of the peace are carried on or permitted, to the disturbance of others, are nuisances, and may be abated and punished as provided in this chapter. [§5472.] [Sidenote: Lease rendered void.] When the lessee of a dwelling house is convicted of keeping the same as a house of ill-fame, the lease or contract for letting such house is, at the option of the lessor, void, and such lessor may thereupon have the like remedy to secure possession as against a tenant holding over after the expiration of his term. [§5323.] [Sidenote: Leasing house for such purpose.] If any person let any house, knowing that the lessee intends to use it as a place of resort for the purpose of prostitution or lewdness, or knowingly permit such lessee to use the same for such purpose, he shall be punished by fine not exceeding three hundred dollars, or imprisoned in the county jail not exceeding six months. [§5324.] [Sidenote: Enticing to house of ill-fame.] If any person entice back into a life of shame any person who has heretofore been guilty of the crime of prostitution, or who shall inveigle or entice any female, before reputed virtuous, to a house of ill-fame, or knowingly conceal or assist or abet in concealing such female, so deluded or enticed for the purpose of prostitution or lewdness, he shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary not less than three nor more than ten years. [§5325.] [Sidenote: Penalty for prostitution.] If any person, for the purpose of prostitution or lewdness resorts to, uses, occupies or inhabits any house of ill-fame, or place kept for such purpose, or if any person be found at any hotel, boarding house, cigar store or other place, leading a life of prostitution and lewdness, such person shall be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary not more than five years. [§5326.] [Sidenote: Incest.] If any person marry his father's sister, mother's sister, father's widow, wife's mother, daughter, son's widow, sister, son's daughter, daughter's daughter, son's son's widow, daughter's son's widow, brother's daughter, or sister's daughter, or, if any woman marry her father's brother, mother's brother, mother's husband, husband's father, son, husband's son, daughter's husband, brother, son's son, daughter's son, son's daughter's husband, daughter's daughter's husband, brother's son, or sister's son; or if any person, being within the degrees of consanguinity or affinity in which marriages are prohibited by this section, carnally know each other, they shall be deemed guilty of incest, and shall be punished by imprisonment in the state penitentiary for a term not exceeding ten years and not less than one year. [§5351.] [Sidenote: Illegitimate children. Complaint.] When any woman residing in any county in the state is delivered of a bastard child, or is pregnant with a child, which, if born alive, will be a bastard, complaint may be made in writing by any person to the district court of the county where she resides, stating that fact, and charging the proper person with being the father thereof. [§6113.] [Sidenote: Judgment.] If the accused be found guilty, he shall be charged with the maintenance of the child in such sum or sums and in such manner as the court shall direct, and with the costs of the suit. [§6119.] [Sidenote: Marriage of parents.] Illegitimate children become legitimate by the subsequent marriage of their parents. [§3391.] CHAPTER XI. MISCELLANEOUS PROVISIONS. [Sidenote: Action for damages under prohibitory liquor law.] Every wife, child, parent, guardian, employer or other person who shall be injured in person or property or means of support, by any intoxicated person, or in consequence of the intoxication habitual or otherwise, of any person, shall have a right of action in his or her name, against any person, who shall, by selling intoxicating liquors, cause the intoxication of such person, for all damages actually sustained, as well as exemplary damages; and a married woman shall have the same right to bring suits, prosecute and control the same, and the amount recovered, as if a single woman, and all damages recovered by a minor under this action, shall be paid to such minor, or his parent, guardian, or next friend, as the court shall direct, and all suits for damages under this section shall be by civil action in any court having jurisdiction thereof. [§2418.] Under this section a woman is entitled to recover for the death of her husband, or for personal injuries to him, or to herself caused by intoxication. She may recover damages for mental anguish, shame, or suffering, resulting from injuries to the person, and for injuries to, or loss of property, and means of support. [Sidenote: Parties in action for seduction.] An unmarried female may prosecute as plaintiff, an action for her own seduction and recover such damages as may be found in her favor. [§3760.] In a civil action for damages it is not necessary that an unmarried woman be of previously chaste character to enable her to recover for loss of health, physical suffering, etc., but without that she cannot recover for loss of character. [Sidenote: For injury or death of minor child.] A father, or in case of his death, or imprisonment, or desertion of his family, the mother may prosecute as plaintiff, an action for the expenses and actual loss of service resulting from the injury or death of a minor child. [§3761.] [Sidenote: Married women] A married woman may, in all cases, sue and be sued without joining her husband with her, to the same extent as if she were unmarried, and an attachment or judgment in such action shall be enforced by or against her as if she were a single woman. [§3667.] [Sidenote: Defense.] If husband or wife are sued together, the wife may defend for her own right; and if either neglect to defend, the other may defend for that one also. [§3768.] [Sidenote: When husband or wife deserts family.] When a husband has deserted his family, the wife may prosecute or defend in his name any action which he might have prosecuted or defended, and shall have the same powers and rights therein as he might have had; and under like circumstances the same right shall apply to the husband upon the desertion of the wife. [§3769.] [Sidenote: Evidence. Husband and wife.] Neither the husband nor wife shall in any case, be a witness against the other, except in a criminal prosecution for a crime committed one against the other, or in a civil action or proceeding one against the other; but they may in all civil and criminal cases, be witness for each other. [§4891.] In prosecutions for adultery or bigamy the husband or wife, as the case may be, is a competent witness against the other. [Sidenote: Communications between husband and wife.] Neither husband nor wife can be examined in any case as to any communication made by one to the other while married, nor shall they after the marriage relation ceases, be permitted to reveal in testimony any such communication made while the marriage subsisted. [§4892.] [Sidenote: Women eligible to office.] Women are eligible to all school offices in the state, including those of county superintendent and school director. [§§2828, 2829.] No person shall be disqualified for holding the office of county recorder on account of sex. [§471.] [Sidenote: Police matrons.] Mayors of all cities having a population of twenty-five thousand or more, are authorized, by act of the Twenty-fifth General Assembly to appoint police matrons to take charge of all women and children confined at police stations. They are to search the persons of such women and children, accompany them to court, and "give them such comfort as may be in their power." No woman is eligible to this office who is under thirty years of age. She must be of good moral character, and sound physical health. Her application must be endorsed by at least ten women of good standing and residents of the city in which such appointment is made. When appointed she shall hold office until removed by death, resignation or discharge, but she can be dismissed only after charges have been made against her conduct and such charges have been investigated. She has the right to enter work houses where women are confined, at all times. She shall be subject to the board of police or to the chief of police. Her salary shall not be less than the minimum paid to patrolmen. [Sidenote: Right of suffrage.] In any election hereafter held in any city, incorporated town, or school district, for the purpose of issuing any bonds for municipal or school purposes, or for the purpose of borrowing money, or for the purpose of increasing the tax levy, the right of any citizen to vote shall not be denied or abridged on account of sex, and women may vote at such elections, the same as men, under the same qualifications and restrictions. [Act of the Twenty-fifth General Assembly.] CHAPTER XII. CONCLUSION. [Sidenote: Common law in Iowa.] [Sidenote: Unmarried women. Property rights.] [Sidenote: Married women.] [Sidenote: Law will not protect them.] The rules of the common law have never prevailed in all their harshness in Iowa. At the time when the young state was born, public sentiment already demanded a code more just, and, as before noted, the first law for the protection or extension of the property rights of married women, was passed in 1846. Modifications and changes have followed each other through the entire history of our state legislation, until our present law approaches a condition so nearly one of equal and exact justice between the sexes, that it might serve as a model for other states less progressive than our own. Except in the way of political disabilities our law makes no discrimination against or in favor of women. They have all the rights and privileges enjoyed by men, and are subject to the same duties and responsibilities. Before the law they are equal, but, as a matter of fact, where the law does not interfere, how is it in regard to the property rights of the wife? The unmarried woman has control of her property, if she has any, to the same extent that an unmarried man has control of his. If she accumulates money or property by an expenditure of her time and labor, it belongs to her alone. She can keep it, give it away, will it, spend it, enjoy it, with the same unquestioned right and freedom enjoyed by her brother. But a married woman possesses no such independence, notwithstanding the laws in her favor. The circumstances of her life may be such, that the law will be powerless to protect her in the enjoyment of property which by right belongs to her. The relations and respective duties of husband and wife are such that the husband usually and necessarily controls the business and the family income. The amount of that income over and above the expenditures for family expenses, he invests as he chooses. If it is his will to invest it in real estate, the law says she may have a share of it after his death. If he deposits it in a bank or purchases stocks, bonds, mortgages, or other personal property, the law again says part of it shall be hers, if she survives him, and he has not disposed of it while living, as he has a legal right to do. In either case, she cannot control a single dollar during the life of her husband, if he chooses to deprive her of that privilege. The property accumulated during the marriage may be acquired by the wise judgment, strict economy and self-denial of the wife in connection with the time and labor of the husband. It may even be obtained wholly by her efforts, even though not arising from the profits of any "separate business" recognized by the law. Her contribution to the family income may, and generally does, come into the possession of the husband and he invests it in property to which he naturally and as a matter of course takes the title. During his life he controls it. After his death one-third will belong to the wife, if there are children. If there are no children one-half will go to his heirs no matter how distant the relationship may be. [Sidenote: Law may result in hardship and suffering.] In cases where the joint accumulations of husband and wife are only sufficient to support the wife in comfort after the death of her husband, the law of descent as it now stands, may result in positive hardship and suffering. No matter how small the amount of property belonging to a deceased husband may be, one-half of it will descend to his heirs, if he has no children, and the wife be left with no means of support. Of course the result would be the same in the case of the husband upon the death of the wife, if she held the title to all of the common property. That this law of descent has not operated to the disadvantage of the husband, but invariably to the disadvantage of the wife, is not due to any defect in either the letter or spirit of the existing law, but is the natural and inevitable result of the custom which gives the husband the title to and the control of the joint earnings of himself and wife. [Sidenote: Change or modification needed.] It is difficult to suggest a remedy or to conceive of any law which would adjust and equalize the relations of husband and wife in the ownership and control of common property during the lifetime of both, but if some just and wise legislator can devise some change or modification of the present law, which will not interfere with the husband's proper and necessary position as breadwinner and manager of the business of the family partnership, and which will give to the wife control of a portion of the family income while the husband lives, and when the total amount of property held by either, is only sufficient to afford a comfortable support to the other, will after the death of the owner of the property, secure it all to husband or wife, as the case may be, he will add to the laws of the state the one requisite necessary to secure to women equal property rights with men, and a more just distribution of intestate property. 
18174	----	Some Winter Days in Iowa BY Frederick John Lazell CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA THE TORCH PRESS NINETEEN HUNDRED SEVEN COPYRIGHT, 1907 BY FRED J. LAZELL. 1907 FOREWORD I am glad to have the privilege, thus in advance, of looking over Mr. Lazell's delightful essays. He has surely a gift in this sort of thing. We are grateful to the man who shows us what he sees in Nature, but more to the man who like our present author shows us how easy and blessed it is to see for ourselves. Mr. Lazell reminds me of Thoreau and Emerson, and I can suggest no better foreword than the passage from the last named author, from the _Method of Nature_, as follows: "Every earnest glance we give to the realities around us with intent to learn, proceeds from a holy impulse and is really songs of praise. What difference can it make whether it take the shape of exhortation, or of passionate exclamation, or of scientific statement? These are forms merely. Through them we express, at last, the fact that God has done thus or thus." THOMAS H. MACBRIDE IOWA CITY, IOWA OCTOBER 17, 1907 I. THE WOODLANDS IN JANUARY Humanity has always turned to nature for relief from toil and strife. This was true of the old world; it is much more true of the new, especially in recent years. There is a growing interest in wild things and wild places. The benedicite of the Druid woods, always appreciated by the few, like Lowell, is coming to be understood by the many. There is an increasing desire to get away from the roar and rattle of the streets, away from even the prim formality of suburban avenues and artificial bits of landscape gardening into the panorama of woodland, field, and stream. Men with means are disposing of their palatial residences in the cities and moving to real homes in the country, where they can see the sunrise and the death of day, hear the rhythm of the rain and the murmur of the wind, and watch the unfolding of the first flowers of spring. Cities are purchasing large parks where the beauties of nature are merely accentuated, not marred. States and the nation are setting aside big tracts of wilderness where rock and rill, waterfall and cañon, mountain and marsh, shell-strewn beach and starry-blossomed brae, flowerful islets and wondrous wooded hills welcome the populace, soothe tired nerves and mend the mind and the morals. These are encouraging signs of the times. At last we are beginning to understand, with Emerson, that he who knows what sweets and virtues are in the ground, the waters, the plants, the heavens, and how to come at these enchantments, is the rich and royal man. It is as if some new prophet had arisen in the land, crying, "Ho, every one that is worn and weary, come ye to the woodlands; and he that hath no money let him feast upon those things which are really rich and abiding." While we are making New Year resolves let us resolve to spend less time with shams, more with realities; less with dogma, more with sermons in stones; less with erotic novels and baneful journals, more with the books in the running brooks; listening less readily to gossip and malice, more willingly to the tongues in trees; spending more pleasureful hours with the music of bird and breeze, rippling rivers, and laughing leaves; less time with cues and cards and colored comics, more with cloud and star, fish and field, and forest. "The cares that infest the day" shall fall like the burden from Christian's back as we watch the fleecy clouds or the silver stars mirrored in the waveless waters. We shall call the constellations by their names and become on speaking terms with the luring voices of the forest fairyland. We shall "thrill with the resurrection called spring," and steep our senses in the fragrance of its flowers; glory in the gushing life of summer, sigh at the sweet sorrows of autumn, and wax virile in winter's strength of storm and snow. * * * * * We shall begin our pilgrimages lacking in Nature's lore, many of us, as were four men who recently walked down a city street and looked at the trees which lined the way. One confessed ignorance as to their identity; another thought he knew but couldn't remember; a third said they looked like maples; and a fourth thought that silence, like honesty, as the copybooks used to tell us, was the best policy. And yet the name linden was writ large on those trees,--on the beautiful gray bark, the alternate method of twig arrangement, the fat red winter buds, which shone in the sunshine like rubies, and especially on the little cymes of pendulous, pea-like fruit, each cyme attached to its membranaceous bract or wing. Of course, if the pedestrians had been in the midst of rich woods and there found a trunk of great girth and rough bark, surrounded by several handsome young stems with close-fitting coats, the group looking for all the world like a comfortable old mother with a family of fresh-faced, willowy, marriageable daughters, every member of the quartet would have chorused, bass-wood. But no one need be ashamed to confess an ignorance of botany. Botanical ignorance is more common than poverty. It has always been prevalent. And the cause of it may be traced back to the author of all our short-comings, old Adam. We read that every beast of the field and every fowl of the air were brought to Adam to see what he would call them; and whatsoever Adam called every living creature, that was the name thereof. But why, oh why, didn't he name the trees? If he had known enough of the science to partake of the fruit of the tree of life he might have lived long enough to write a systematic botany, satisfactory alike to the Harvard school of standpat systematists and their manual-ripping rivals in nomenclature. But he didn't; and no one else may ever hope to do it. Eve had never read a book on how to know the wild fruits, and her first field work in botany had a disastrous termination; it complicated the subject by the punishment of thorns and thistles. Cain's conduct brought both botany and agriculture into disrepute. Little more is heard until Pharaoh's daughter went botanizing and found Moses in the bulrushes. Oshea and Jehoshua showed some advancement by bringing back grapes and figs and pomegranates from the brook Eschol as the proudest products of the promised land. But Solomon was the only man in the olden times who ever knew botany thoroughly. We are told that he was wiser than all men. "Prove it," says some doubting reader, moving for a more specific statement. So the biographer adds: "He spake of trees, from the cedar that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall." Four centuries later, Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego anticipated Emerson's advice about eating bread and pulse at rich men's tables. The historian tells us that they were men skilful in all wisdom, cunning in knowledge, and understanding science. Possessing such wisdom, Daniel knew it would be easy to mix up the wicked elders who plotted against the virtue of the fair Susanna by asking them a question of botany. One said he saw her under a mastick tree and the other under a holm tree. This gave Shakespeare that fine line in _The Merchant of Venice_, "A Daniel come to judgment; yea, a Daniel." But in these latter days we rarely read the story of Susanna, and Shakespeare's line is not understood by one play-goer in fifty. When the diminutive Zaccheus climbed into a shade tree which graced a town lot in Jericho he gave the translators for "the Most High and Mighty Prince James" another puzzle, for they put him on record as going up into a sycamore tree. We had always supposed that this was because the sycamore's habit of shedding its bark made smooth climbing for Zaccheus. But scientific commentators tell us now that it was not a sycamore tree, but a hybridized fig-mulberry! * * * * * But all this is digression. The best time to begin keeping that New Year's nature resolution is now, when the oaks are seen in all their rugged majesty, when the elms display their lofty, graceful, vase-like forms, and when every other tree of the forest exhibits its peculiar beauty of trunk, and branch, and twig. Often January is a most propitious month for the tenderfoot nature-lover. Such was the year which has just passed. During the first part of the month the weather was almost springlike; so bright and balmy that a robin was seen in an apple-tree, and the brilliant plumage of the cardinal was observed in this latitude. Green leaves, such as wild geranium, strawberry and speedwell, were to be found in abundance beneath their covering of fallen forest leaves. Scouring rushes vied with evergreen ferns in arresting the attention of the rambler. In one sheltered spot a clump of catnip was found, fresh, green, and aromatic, as if it were July instead of January. Sunday, the sixth, was a day of rare beauty and enticement. Well might the recording angel forgive the nature lover who forgot the promises made for him by his sponsors that he should "hear sermons," and who fared forth into the woods instead, first reciting "The groves were God's first temples," and then softly singing, "When God invites, how blest the day!" * * * * * They err who think the winter woods void of life and color. Pause for a moment on the broad open flood-plain of the river, the winter fields and meadows stretching away in gentle slopes on either side. There are but few trees, but they have had room for full development and are noble specimens. All is gaiety. A blue-jay screams from a broad-topped white ash which is so full of winged seeds that it looks like a mass of foliage. The sable-robed king of the winter woods, the American crow, in the full vigor of his three-score years, maybe, (he lives to be a hundred) caws lustily from the bare white branches of a big sycamore, that queer anomaly of the forest which disrobes itself for the winter. The merry chickadees divide their time between the rustling, ragged bark of the red birches and the withered heads of heath-aster and blue vervain below. In the one they get the meat portion of their midday meal, and in the other the cereal foods. No wonder they are sleek and joyous. A few steps farther and we leave this broad alluvial bottom to enter the cañon through which the river, ages ago, began to cut its course. These ridges of limestone, loess and drift rise a hundred feet or more above the level of the plain from which the river suddenly turns aside. They are thickly covered with timber. There is no angel with a flaming sword to keep you from passing into this winter paradise! The river bank is lined with pussy willows; they gleam in the sunshine like copper. Farther back there are different varieties of dogwood, some with delicate green twigs and some a cherry red. The wild rose and the raspberry vines add their glossy purplish and cherry red stems to the color combination, and a contrast is afforded by the silvery gray bark of stray aspens. A still softer and more beautiful shade of silver gray is seen in the big hornet's nest of last year which still hangs suspended from a low sugar maple. On all of these the sunlight plays and makes a wondrous color symphony. "Truly the light is sweet and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun." To be sure, this colorful arrangement of the stems and twigs is not brilliant, like the flaming vermilion blossoms of the _Lobelia cardinalis_ in August, the orange yellow of the rudbeckias in September, or the wondrous blue of the fringed gentian in early October. It is more like the delicate tints and shadings of an arts and crafts exhibition, stained leather, hammered copper and brass, art canvas, and ancient illuminated initials in monks' missals. The tempered winter sunlight is further softened by the trees; as it illuminates the soft red rags of the happy old birch it seems sublimated, almost sanctified and spiritual, like that which filters through rich windows in cathedrals, and makes a real halo around the heads of sweet-faced saints. * * * * * There are strange sounds for January. All the winter birds are doing their share in the chorus and orchestra; crows, jays, woodpeckers, nut-hatches, juncos, tree-sparrows. But suddenly a woodpecker begins a new sound,--his vernal drumming! Not the mere tap, tap, tap, in quest of insects, but the love-call drumming of the nidification season, nearly three months ahead of time. Swollen by recent rains, the river is two feet higher than usual. There is a sheet of ice on either shore, but the water swiftly flows down the narrow channel in the middle with a sound halfway between a gurgle and a roar, mingled anon with the sound of grinding cakes of ice. Suddenly away up at the bend of the river there is a sharp crack, like the discharge of a volley of musketry. Swiftly it comes down the ice, passes your feet with a distinct tremor, and your eyes follow the sound down the river until the two walls of the cañon meet in the perspective. In a small way you know how it would feel to hear the rumble of an approaching seismic shock. Only there was no terror in this. It was the laughter of the sunbeam fairies as they loosened the architecture of "the elfin builders of the frost." The recent rains have vivified the mosses clinging to the gray rocks which jut out, halfway up the slope. Very tender and beautiful is their vivid shade of green. Winter and summer, the mosses are always with us. When the last late aster has faded, the last blue blossom of the gentian changed to brown, the green mosses still remain. And the more they are studied, the more fascinating they become. Take some home and examine them with a hand lens, then with a microscope. You will be charmed with the exquisite finish of their most minute parts. Nature glories in the artistic excellence of infinitesimal workmanship. The most beautiful part of her handiwork is that which is seen through a microscope. There is beauty, beauty everywhere; the crystals of the snow, the cell structure of the leaf, the scales of the butterfly's wing, the pedicels, capsules and cilia of these mosses. No wonder that many distinguished men have been led to give their whole lives to the study of mosses and have felt well repaid. * * * * * Here are Nature's only two elementary forms of growth, the cell and the crystal, wrestling for the mastery over each other in a life and death struggle. The moss is built up of cell, the rock of crystal forms. Below this Devonian limestone, its crystals sparkling in the sunshine, with its coral fossils, its fragments of crinoids, and its broken shells of brachiopods, down through the Devonian, the Silurian, the Ordovician, and the Cambrian rocks, down to the original crust formed when first the earth began to cool, if any there be remaining; all these miles of rocks are inorganic, built up of crystals. But here on the surface, the tender green mosses and the bright lichens have begun the struggle of the cellular system for supremacy. These humble little rock-breakers will not rest until they have pulverized the rocks into soil sufficient to sustain higher forms of vegetable life. Once before, many millions of years ago, the cell life had won a partial victory over the crystal. In the great sub-tropical sea which once covered this spot, corals lived and flourished as they do now in similar seas. Myriads of brachiopods lived, moved, and had their being. Gigantic fish sported in the waters. Meanwhile older rocks were being denuded and disintegrated. Millions of tons of sediment were brought by the rivers and streams to the shores of the Devonian sea. Upheaval, change, transformation followed, and the tide of battle turned. Cell life was powerless before the vanquishing crystals of the infiltrating calcite. Only the inorganic part of that vast world of organic life here remains in these fossils to tell the story--the walls of the corals, the shells of the brachiopods, the teeth of the monster fishes. Then came succeeding ages, and finally the great glaciers which brought down the drift, rounded the sharp ridges, filled up the deep valleys and gorges, and gave to Iowa her fertile and inexhaustible soil. The earth was prepared to receive her king. The glaciers receded. Man came. Now here, on this bit of limestone rock, the struggle is on again. The mosses and the lichens have proceeded far enough in their work of disintegration to provide substance for the slender red stem of dogwood, which is growing out of the soil they have made. The fallen leaves of the surrounding trees follow the pioneer work of the mosses. The rain and the cracking frosts are other agencies. By and by the organic will triumph over the inorganic, the cell over the crystal, the plant over the rock, and where now the fossils lie beautiful flowers will bloom. The short winter day draws rapidly to a close and there is time for only a brief survey of the beauty of the upland trees. The fairy-like delicacy of the hop hornbeam, with its hop clusters and pointing catkins; the slender gracefulness of the chestnut oak; the Etruscan vase-like form of the white elm; the flaky bark and pungent, aromatic twigs of the black cherry; the massive, noble, silver-gray trunk of the white-oak; the lofty stateliness, filagree bark, and berry-like fruit of the hackberry; the black twigs of the black oaks, ashes, hickories and walnuts etched against the sky,--all these arrest your attention and retard your steps until the sun is near the horizon and you look over the tangled undergrowth of hazel, sumac, and briers, far through the trunks of the trees to the western sky which is bathed in flame color, as if from a forest fire. You are alone and yet not alone. A rabbit scurries across your pathway. A faint little squeak voices the fright of a mouse. There is a swoop of wings which you neither distinctly hear nor clearly see, yet you are aware, in a less marked degree than was the mouse, that an owl was near. You feel certain that the downy woodpecker is asleep in that neat little round hole on the southwest side of a tree trunk, just a little higher than you can reach. In the early afternoon you saw a red squirrel go gaily up a tall red oak and climb into his nest of leaves. You fancy he is snugly coiled there now. This recent hill of fresh dirt--strange sight in January--was surely made by a mole, and you know that they are all somewhere beneath your feet: moles, pocket gophers, and the pretty striped gopher which used to sit up on his hind legs, fold his front paws, and look at you in the summer time, then give a low whistle and duck; meadow mice in their cozy tunnels through which the water will be pouring when the spring freshets come; the woodchuck in his long, long sleep, and the chipmunk with his winter store of food. And so watching, listening, and musing you come at length to the western edge of the woodland and look across the prairie, far as the eye can reach, to where the red ball of the sun hangs scarce a yard above the horizon. You look upon a scene which is peculiar to this part of Iowa alone. It is not found in any other state or nation on earth. "These are the gardens of the desert, for which the speech of England has no name--the Prairies." _"Lo they stretch In airy undulations, far away, As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed, And motionless, forever."_ The "rounded billows fixed" are the paha ridges which the glaciers made. They are not high enough to obstruct the view, nor to mar its ocean-like effect. In the middle distance you may see a farm windmill from sail to platform, but away across the snow-plain sea you catch only the uppermost part of the white sails. The rest is concealed from view by the illusory rise of the foreground toward the horizon--for this twenty-mile stretch of prairie has an illusory curve similar to that seen from all ocean shores. But now the sun has disappeared and the windmills, houses, groves, and fences which looked like black etchings against the flame-colored sky slowly vanish, first far away toward the bluffs on the yon shore of the prairie sea, then nearer, nearer, comes the gloom until the fence across the first field is scarcely discernible. The bright vermilion fades at length to misty gray and lights appear in the windows of the farm homes. * * * * * This sunset and twilight scene, peculiar to Iowa, is succeeded by the pageant of the stars. These are not peculiar, in neighboring latitudes, to any clime or time. They are the same stars which sang together when the foundations of the earth were fastened; the same calm stars upon which Adam gazed in remorse, the night he was driven from the garden of Eden. The Chinese, the Chaldeans, the Egyptians, the Hebrews, the Greeks, the Romans counted the hours of the night by the revolutions of the Greater and the Lesser Bear around Polaris, and guided their crafts and caravans by that sure star's light: _"And therefore bards of old, Sages and hermits of the solemn wood, Did in thy beams behold That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray The voyager of time should shape his needful way."_ These _"Constellations of the early night That sparkled brighter as the twilight died And made the darkness glorious"_ were mysteries to Ptolemy and to Plato, as well as to Job. All ages of mankind must have watched and wondered, pondering over the unsolved problems. When the First Great Cause projected all these whirling fire-mists into illimitable space with all the laws of physics, chemistry, evolution in perfect working order, did he choose this earth as humanity's only home? Is this the only planet with a plan of salvation? Is this mere speck among all the myriads of worlds in the solar system, and the other systems, the only creation of His hand which has known a Garden of Eden, a Bethlehem, and a Calvary? When the sun has lost his heat and the cold crystals of the earth have fought their last fight with cellular structures, and won; when all the fairy forms of field and forest are only fossils in the grim, gray rocks; when the music of bee and bird and breeze shall have waned into everlasting silence; when "all the pomp of yesterday is one with Nineveh and Tyre;" when man with all his achievements and triumphs, his love and laughter, his songs and sighs, is forgotten even more completely than his Paleolithic ancestors; then, shall some portion of the nebula which now bejewels Andromeda's girdle become evolutionized into a flora and a fauna, a civilization and a spirituality unto which the visions of the wisest seers have never attained? Shall this subtle, evanescent mystery which we call life, which glorifies so many varied forms, be wholly lost, or shall it pass joyfully through the ether to some brighter and better world? Is it true _"That nothing walks with aimless feet; That no one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete?"_ We are scarce a step ahead of our forefathers. We do not know. _"Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last--far off--at last to all, And every winter change to spring."_ II. FEBRUARY IN STORM AND SHINE. February often opens with a season of cold gray days when stratus clouds, dark and unrelenting as iron, hang across the sky and bitter winds from the northwest blow down the Iowa valleys and over the frost-cracked ridges. In the city the wheels crunch on the scanty snow, and every window is made opaque by the frost. Trains are many hours late, and dense clouds of steam from locomotive funnels condense into vivid whiteness in the wintry air. Nuthatches, woodpeckers, and chickadees join the English sparrows in begging crumbs and scraps around the kitchen door. In the timber the wind rustles shiveringly through the leaves which still cling to some of the oaks. The music of the woods is reduced to a minimum. Life is a serious business for everyone who has to work in order that he may eat; there is little time or spirit for song. In the late forenoon and again in the middle of the afternoon the rattle of bills may be heard on the branches; at other times the woods are almost silent, save for the cracking of the earth as it heaves under the frost, and the boom of the ever thickening ice on the river. * * * * * Then the south wind steals across King Winter's borderland, and the iron clouds begin to relax. But at first there seems little improvement. "The south end of a north wind," say the experienced, and shiver. But wait. Every hour the wind grows warmer and the clouds softer. They come closer to the earth, hanging like a thick curtain across the sky. On the prairie the diameter of the circling horizon seems scarcely three miles long. The clouds hug the far sides of the nearest ridges and shut you in, above and around. It must have been such a day as this when Fitzgerald made that line of the Rubaiyat read: "And this inverted bowl they call the sky." Today the bowl seems very small and dreary. * * * * * By and by a snowflake falls, then a few others, soft as the spray of the thistle in the early days of October. Gently as the fairy balloons of the dandelion they float through the air and rest upon the withered leaves of the white oaks. Soon they come faster, and now the forest-crowned ridge half a mile away which was in plain sight a minute ago is screened from view by the fast falling white curtain. "He giveth snow like wool." Very beautiful is this snow as it softens the rugged, corky limbs of the mossy cup oaks. It is not like the hard, granular snow which stung your face like sand when you were out in the storm a month ago, when the trumpets of the sky were doing a fanfare, the wind raged from the northwest, the top of a tall black cherry snapped like a shipmast and crashed through the forest rigging to the white deck below, while the gnarled limbs of the big elms looked like the muscles of giants wrestling with the storm king. This storm to-day is not "announced by all the trumpets of the sky." It comes softly as the breath of morning on a May meadow. It silences every sound and curtains you into a rare studio where you may admire its own exceeding beauty. There have not been so many beautiful snow crystals in any storm of the winter. You may see half a dozen different varieties on your coat sleeve with the naked eye, and you pull out a strong lens the better to observe the exceeding beauty of these six pointed stars. They are among Nature's most exquisite forms, and they are shown in bewildering variety. The molecules of snow arrange themselves in crystals of the hexagonal system, every angle exactly sixty degrees. The white color of the snow is caused by a combination of the prismatic colors of these snow crystals. Some of them are regular hexagons, with six straight sides; others are like a wheel with six spokes, with jewels clinging to each spoke. Many men have spent a lifetime in the study of these fairy forms. W. A. Bentley, of the United States weather bureau, after twenty years of faithful work, has more than a thousand photographs of these crystals, no two alike. Every storm yields him a new set of pictures. * * * * * For a little while the snow grows damp and the flakes grow larger, making downy blankets for the babes in the woods--the hepaticas, the mosses, the ferns. The catkins of the hazelbrush are edged with white. The slender stems of the meadow-sweet begin to droop beneath the weight of the snow. The delicate yellow pointed buds of the wild gooseberry look like topaz gems in a setting of white pearl. The snow falls faster and the wood becomes a ghost world. The dull red torches of the smooth sumac are extinguished. The fine, delicate spray of the hop hornbeam is a fairy net whose every mesh is fringed with immaculate beauty. The little clusters of fine twigs here and there in the hackberry grow into spheres of fleecy fruit. The snow sticks to the tree trunks and makes a compass out of every one, a more accurate compass than the big radical leaves of the rosin weed in the early fall. As the day darkens the ghost-like effect of the storm in the woods is all the more marked. The trees stand like silent specters, and at every turn in the path you come upon strange shadow shapes of shrub and bush. The snow is piling high under the hazelbrush and the sumac, stumps of trees become soft white mounds, and the little brook has curving banks of beauty. There is a thrill and an exaltation in such a storm. The depressing influences of the earlier day are no more. As you resolutely walk homeward through the storm and the deep snow, you feel the heart grow strong as it pumps the blood to every fiber of your being. You know why the men of the north, Iowa men, have virile brain and sovereign will. The snow is deep and the way is long, but yet you smile--a reverent smile--as you think of Hawthorne writing of a snow storm by taking occasional peeps from the study windows of his old manse. * * * * * Next morning the world seems to have been re-created. It is as fresh and pure and full of light and beauty as if it had just come from the Creator's hand with not one single stain or shame or pain. It is one of the few rare mornings that come in all seasons of the year when Nature's every aspect is so beautiful that even the most unappreciative are charmed into admiration; a great white sparkling world below, and a limitless azure world above. The clouds have all been blown away and you rejoice in the loftiness of the big blue dome. It is so very high that there seems to be no dome. You are looking straight through into the boundless blue of interstellar space, the best object lesson of infinity which earth has to offer. The ocean that washes the shores of continents has its bounds which it may not pass, and mariners have well-known ways across it. The ocean of human thought is vaster, but it, also, has finite bounds and man shall hardly make great voyages upon it without crossing, perhaps following, the track of some earlier Columbus. But this limitless ocean which we call the sky has no finite bounds, no tracks, no charts, no Cabots. It is measureless and all-embracing as Divine love. You and Polaris are enwrapped by both. The farthest star is but a beacon light on some shore island of this sublime sea of space; and it beckons upward and outward to the unknown beyond. * * * * * Yesterday's three-mile diameter of the horizon has been multiplied by ten. There is a far sweep of the landscape which makes the soul thrill. This is the supreme pleasure of the prairies. The Iowa man who goes to the Rockies is at first awed and charmed by the mountain grandeur, but soon he pines like a caged bird. The high peaks shut him in as a prison. He sighs for a sight of the plains, for the feeling of room and liberty that belongs to the wider sky-reach. On the prairies the love of truth and liberty grows as easily as the morning light. The sun rose clear and golden and now is almost white, so clear is the atmosphere. The snow crystals break the white light into all the prismatic colors,--rubies and garnets, emeralds and sapphires, topaz and amethyst, all sparkle in the brilliant light. The shadow of the solitary elm's trunk, here on the prairie, has very clear cut edges and is tinted with blue. The finely reticulated shadows of the graceful twigs are sharply shadowed on the snow beneath,--a winter picture worthy of a master hand. In the enjoyment of such beauty as this is the only real wealth. Money cannot buy it. Hirelings cannot take it from the lowly and give it to the proud. No trust can corner it. No canvas can screen it from the eye of him who has not silver to give the cathedral care-taker. February, like June, may be had by the poorest comer. But it is like Ruskin's Faubourg St. Germain. Before you may enjoy it you shall be worthy of it. _"Such beauty, varying in the light, Of living nature, cannot be portrayed By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill; But is the property of him alone Who hath beheld it, noted it with care, And in his mind recorded it with love."_ Leave the prairie and enter the forest which crowns the neighboring ridge. Here are more of those blue shadows on the snow. The delicate blue sky is faintly reflected on the snow in the full sunlight, but it is more obvious in the shadow; in some places its hue is almost indigo. This sky reflection is one of the most beautiful of Nature's winter exhibitions. Towards sundown the snow-capped ridges will sometimes be tinged with pink. And in a red sunset the winter trees will sometimes throw shadows of green, the complementary color, on the snow. * * * * * You are early in the woods. Nature's children are not yet astir. The silence is profound; but it is a fruitful, uplifting silence. There are no sounds to strike the most delicate strings in that wondrous harp of your inner ear. But if your spiritual ear is attentive you should catch those forest voices that fall softer than silence and speak of peace and purity, truth and beauty. Soon the silence is broken. Curiously, the first sound you hear comes from advanced civilization, the rumble of a train fifteen miles away. On a still morning like this one can hardly stand five full minutes on any spot in the whole state of Iowa without hearing the sound of a train. There are no more trackless prairies, no more terrors of blizzards. Pioneer days have passed away. The railroads have brought security, comfort, prosperity, intelligence, and the best of the world's work, physical and mental, fresh at the door every morning. Whirr! There goes a ruffed grouse from the snow, scarce a rod ahead. In a moment, up goes another. Too bad to rout them from their bed under the roots of a fallen tree. Farther on a rabbit scurries from another log. There is his "form" fresh in the snow. The river, away down below, begins to boom and crack. The ice is like the tight head of a big bass drum, but the drummer is inside and the sound comes muffled. The frost is the peg which tightens all the strings of earth and makes them vibrant. The tinkle of sleigh bells on the wagon road fully a mile away comes with peculiar clearness. When the sun is more than half way from the horizon to the meridian, Nature begins to wake up. A chickadee emerges from his hole in the decaying trunk of a red oak and cheeps softly as he flies to the branch of a slippery elm. His merry "chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee" brings others of his race, and away they all go down to the red birches on the river bottom. The metallic quanks of a pair of nuthatches call attention to the upper branches of a big white oak. A chickadee and one of the nuthatches see a tempting morsel at the same time. A spiteful peck from nuthatch leaves him master of the morsel and the field. But the chickadee does not care. He flies down and spies a stalk of golden-rod above the snow on which there is a round object looking like a small onion. Chickadee doesn't know that this is the spherical gall of the _trypeta solidaginis_, but he does know that it contains a fat white grub. He knows, too, that there is a beveled passage leading to a cell in the center and that the outer end of this passage is protected by a membrane window. After some balancing and pirouetting he smashes the window with his bill, runs his long tongue down the passageway, gulps the grub and away he flies to join his comrades down in the birches, chirping gaily as he goes. Downy woodpecker "pleeks" his happiness as he excavates the twig of a silver maple. Probably he has found the larvæ which the wood wasp left there in the fall. The big hairy woodpecker flies across the clearing with a strident scream. Next to the crow and the jay he is the noisiest fellow in the winter woods. He hammers away at a decaying basswood and the chips which fall are an inch and a half long. His hammering is almost as loud as the bark of a squirrel in the trees across the river. The blood-red spot on the back of his head has an exquisite glow in the sunshine, and you get a fine look at it, for he is busily working little more than a rod from where you stand. He does wonderful work with that strong bill. One decaying basswood found recently was eighteen inches in diameter and the woodpeckers had drilled big holes clear through it. The pile of their chips at the base would have filled a bushel basket. By the time you have reached the spring the woods are full of life and sound, and the spring itself adds to the winter music. The rocks where it bubbles out are thickly covered with hoar frost. One of the big blocks of limestone in its causeway is covered with ice, clear and viscid as molten glass. The river is bridged over with ice twenty inches thick, save only the little gulf stream into which the spring pours its waters. From the surface of this stream thin smoky wreaths of vapor rise and are changed into crystals by the frosty air. But the waters of the spring gush forth as abundantly and musically now as they did in the hot days of last July, and the clam-shell with which you then drank is still in its place by the rock. The pure, melodious, beautiful spring makes its own environment, regardless of surroundings. Its sources are in the unfailing hills. It suggests the lives of some men and women whose friendship you enjoy, and who are ever ready to refresh you on life's way. * * * * * The wind of last night has carried much of the snow over the top of the ridge and deposited it in this sheltered slope of the river cañon. Here are wind-formed caves of sculptured snow, vaulted with a tender blue. Turrets and towers sparkle in the splendid light. All angles are softened, and everywhere the lines of the snow curves are smooth and flowing. The drift sweeps down from the footpath way on the river bank to the ice-bound bed of the river in graceful lines. Where the side of the cañon is more precipitous there is equal beauty. Each shrub has its own peculiar type amidst the broken drift. The red cedar, which is Iowa's nearest approach to a pine, except in a few favored counties, hangs from the top of the crag heavily festooned with feathery snow. Those long creeping lines on which the crystals sparkle are only brambles, and that big rosette of rusty red and fluffy white is the New Jersey tea. Those spreading, pointed fingers of coral with a background of dazzling white are the topmost twigs of the red osier dogwood. The strip of shrubs with graceful spray, now bowed in beauty by the river's brink, is a group of young red birches, and this bunch of downy brown twigs, two feet above the snow, sparkling with frost particles, is the downy viburnum. The great tangle of vine and lace work mixed with snow is young hop hornbeam, supporting honeysuckle. * * * * * Viewed from the window of a railway train, the February fields and woods seem dead and dreary. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Every twig is lined with living buds, carefully covered with scales. Inside those scales are leaves and blossoms deftly packed, as only Mother Nature could pack them. Split one down the middle and examine it with your lens. You will see the little tender leaves, and often the blossoms, ready to break out in beauty when the warm days come and flood the world with color. Men try to photograph nature, but no photograph could do justice to the clustered buds of the red maple or the downy buds of the slippery elm. The long green gray buds of the butternut, pistillate flowers in some, staminate flowers in others; the saffron buds of the butternut hickory; the ruby buds of the bass wood; the varnished bud scales of the sycamore and the poplar; the big gummy scales which protect the pussy catkins of the aspen; the queer little buds of the sumac and the rusty buds of the ash; every one of these refutes the aspersions cast upon the winter woods by those who never go out to see. In their noble beauty of massive and graceful form, with their exquisite symmetry of outline, their varied arrangement of branches and twigs, giving to every species an individual expression, every twig studded with these gem-like buds, how very beautiful are the winter trees! One might almost find it in his heart to feel sorry that this rare mingling of sculpture and fretwork and lace is soon to be draped with a mantle of green. * * * * * Why did Bryant dwell so often on the theme of death in Nature? The reminders of death are very few compared with the signs of life. Break off a twig from the aspen and taste the bark. The strong quinine flavor is like a spring tonic. Cut a branch of the black cherry, peel back the bark, and smell the pungent, bitter almond aroma, which of itself is enough to identify this tree. Every sense tells of life; the smell of the cherry, the taste of the aspen, the touch of the velvety mosses and the gummy buds on the poplars, the color of the twigs and buds, the music of the birds, all these say, "There is no death." Every time you plant your feet upon the snow you press down thousands of seeds, minute forms of life, each with its little store of starch or albumen, carefully compounded in Nature's laboratory, sufficient to sustain the embryonic life until the tiny plantlet learns to draw nourishment from the breast of Mother Earth and to breathe health and vigor from the sunshine and the air. By the wayside, in stony places, among thorns and on good ground, Nature sows her seeds with lavish hand. Every tree and shrub and herb, itself held fast to one place, tries to give its offspring as great a start in the world as possible. Even in late February one may see some of Nature's airships, designed to carry seeds. They are all built on the same principle, not to rise in the air, but to fly as far away from the tree as possible when falling from the branch. The basswood puts its seeds into little hollow wooden balls, then makes a sail out of a leaf and sets it at just the right angle to balance the seeds and catch the breeze. The winged samaras of the ash and the box elder are other modifications of the same principle. The round balls of the sycamore hang till the high winds of March loosen their strong stalks and then they break open and the club-shaped nutlets inside spread their bristly hairs to the breeze. The hop-like strobiles of the hop hornbeam seem especially made to blow over the surface of the frozen snow; they drop off the queer little oblong bags as they go and thus the smooth small nuts inside are planted. The oaks, hickories, walnuts, butternuts, hazelnuts, trust their fruits to the feet of passersby and to the squirrels and blue jays which fail to find many of their buried acorns and nuts. The big three-valved balloons of the bladdernut can sail either in the air, on the water, or over the frozen snow. The pretty clusters of the wild yam, seen climbing over the hazelbrush in the rich winter woods, have two ways of navigating in the wind; either the three-sided, papery capsule floats as a whole, or it splits through the winged angles and then the flat seeds with their membranaceous wings have a chance to flutter a foot or two away where haply they may find a square inch of unoccupied soil. The desmodium, the bidens, the agrimony and the cocklebur, which stick to your clothes even as late as February, are only using you as a Moses to lead their children to their promised land. These herb stalks above the snow, the corymbose heads of the yarrow, the spikes of the self-heal, the crosiers of the golden-rod, the panicles of the asters, the racemes of the Indian tobacco, the knotted threads of the blue vervain and the plantain, the miniature mandarin temples of the peppergrass--all these have shed, or are shedding, myriads of seeds to be silently sepulchred under the snow until earth's easter April mornings. The withered berries of the bittersweet, the cat-brier, and the sumac, like the drupes of the early fall, are scattered far and wide by the birds. All these speak not of death, but of an eager, expectant life. * * * * * The snow is winter's great gift to states like Iowa. He is unwise who complains of the tender, protecting, nourishing, fructifying mantle of immaculate white. Where the snow lies deepest in winter, there shall you find the greatest flush of new life in the spring. Down under the snow Nature's chemical laboratory is at work. Take a stick and dig under the thick white blanket into the black soil. Here are bulbs and buds, corms and tubers, rootstalks and rhizomes, which were pumped full of starch and albumen in the hot days of last August. So far as modern science is able to tell, chemical changes are in constant progress in all these forms of underground life, preparing for the coming glory of the living green. Nature never dies. She scarcely sleeps. Tracks on the all-revealing snow tell of an equal abundance of animal life. These rabbit tracks, scarcely two feet apart, tell how happily bunny was going. But farther on a dog came across at an angle and gave chase. The tracks are now farther apart, three feet, four feet, as up bunny goes to his burrow under the shelving rock. One last bound, nearly five feet, and he was safe. That was once when "heaven was gained at a single bound." Bunny was too far away from home that time. Here is his usual runway from the burrow to the brook, and the nibbled barks of the saplings tell of a tender breakfast before he went prospecting. Rabbits usually run in beaten paths. These narrow tracks where dainty feet printed a double line of opposite dots across the snow were made by the whitefooted mouse, and the little continuous line between them was made by his dragging tail. The legend is like this, :-:-:-:-:-. Farther on are similar tracks, but alternate instead of opposite, like this,',',','. They were made by the short-tailed shrew. Still farther along a queer little ridge is seen in the snow across the wood road. It is the tunnel of the meadow mouse. Part of its fragile roof has fallen in and you may stoop and look into the little round tunnel which ran from the burrow to some granary under a log. There goes a squirrel, angling away from you, his red bushy tail high in the air as he runs through the deep snow down the side of the ridge to a big, corky-barked oak, up which he goes to wait in his hollow up there until you have passed by. He did not seem to be going very fast but when you walk over to his tracks you find they are farther apart than you can step. The groups of four are about as broad as your hand, and they are deep where the snow lies thick. But on the firmer snow at the crest of the ridge, before the squirrel became alarmed, they did not break through the crust, and the marks of the dainty toes are plainly seen. There are also the remains of a sweet acorn which the squirrel dug out of the deep snow under a white oak. Back to the river where the stream from the spring makes open water you find some queer tracks on the fresh snow; there is a round spot as big as a quarter in each one, faint radiating lines in front ending with the marks of sharp toes; these were made by the soft-padded foot and webbed toes of the mink. * * * * * Most of the insect life is snugly hidden, but much is in plain sight. A clump of pussy willows bears many queer-shaped clusters which the entomologist calls pine cone galls; in the center of each one a larva dwells in his silken case. On the red oaks over head are other galls,--the oak apples. The buttonbush has the ash-colored cocoon of the giant silkworm, made out of a rolled leaf, the petiole of which is fastened to the branch with silk. Many others are to be found for the looking. All tell the story of Nature's abundant life,--even the morning after a February snow storm. All speak _"Of one maternal spirit bringing forth And cherishing with ever constant love, That tires not, nor betrays."_ But snowstorms will soon be over. The nature-lover's spring begins near the end of the month, sometimes just before, sometimes just after. The snow and the ice will be honeycombed by the sun and we shall begin to look for the sap trickling from the maple, and to strain our ears for the first note of the wild goose and the blue-bird, _"While winter, slumbering in the open air Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring."_ The frequent rambler through the winter woods can scarcely fail to become acquainted with all the winter birds. The different species are not numerous, few of them are very shy, they are easily seen because of the bare trees, and their habits tend to call attention to them; especially is this true of the woodpeckers. It is true, of course, that one may sometimes walk in the woods for hours, scarcely seeing a single bird. But it is also true that if he starts out some sunny morning, and seeks a tract of heavy timber near a river, he will be very likely to see and hear nearly all of them. Such a ramble was enjoyed during the halcyon days we had this year (1907) in February. By 10 o'clock the woods were fairly ringing with bird-calls. Over a meadow, near the entrance to the woods, a red-tailed hawk was circling about twenty-five feet from the ground, as if in search of meadow mice. The field glass showed the black band on his breast and tail, which, with his bright red tail, sufficiently established his identity. The first bird seen in the woods was a white-breasted nuthatch, working on the trunk of a red birch on the river bottom. Next to the chickadee, he is the tamest bird of the woodlands. One may easily get within six feet of him, as was done on this occasion, and admire his beautiful ashy-blue coat, his white vest and white cheeks, with his black cap and nape. He pulled a fat white grub from the birch with his long, slender bill and ate it with evident relish. Then he uttered his soft "quank, quank" and gently flew to another tree. Sometimes these "quank, quanks" come in a loud and rapid series and may easily be heard a quarter of a mile on a still day. A flock of juncos were busy among the dead leaves and the snow. They are sparrow-size, like the nuthatch, and their faint chirpings are much like those of the chickadee. The slate gray of their head, throat, back and breast is an interesting color, and is relieved from somberness by the white under parts and the yellow bills. The white outer tailfeathers show plainly as they fly. They frequent the road through the timber and have some of the habits of the English sparrow. The winter woods would miss them. Chickadees were busy in the birches. Surely the chickadee is one of the dearest little fellows that fly. He has four modes of expression: 1. The well-known "Chick-a-dee-dee-dee." 2. The "pe-ho," which ought to be written "la sol," pitched at about upper D and C, above the soprano staff, and timed like two quarter notes. 3. The faint chirpings as he works. 4. A happy little gurgling song, which can hardly be translated into words. The chickadee wears a black cap with a white vest and a blue-gray coat, completing his costume with a black necktie, and he is perfectly willing to sit for you and have his picture taken. Mr. Blue Jay sat in a clump of dogwood, doing nothing. He was not so tame as the others and yet he permitted a twenty-foot view of his blue-gray coat, his aristocratic crest, his dusky white vest, his white-tipped tail and the black band across the back of his head, down the neck and across the breast--like a black collar worn very low down. It was a spring-like morning, the thermometer rapidly rising toward forty-five, and Mr. Blue Jay was in one of his imitative moods. There is hardly a limit to his vocabulary, and it would not be surprising if some of his imitative stunts should be mistaken for the call of an early robin. Among these calls is a liquid gurgle, like hard cider coming out of the neck of a big brown jug. Another, and a common one, is two slurred eighth notes, repeated, "sol te, sol te"--upper G and B in the key of C. Meanwhile the woods had been resounding with the lively tattoo of the woodpecker, and finally Downy was found at the top of a dead dry elm, busily doing this reveille, fast and loud as the roll of a snare drum. His head was going so fast that it looked like a quick series of heads and the tree rattled so it could be heard afar. Most writers regard this as the woodpecker's love call, a sign of spring, as it were--but Downy is usually heard and seen doing it on warm days every month in the winter. The females are seen at it almost as often as the males; the latter are known by the scarlet band at the back of the head. Perhaps it is not a love call after all; it may be only the exuberance of spirits caused by a fine breakfast and a warm morning. Downy kept it up, heedless of the human observer. But when a red squirrel ran up the tree to within four feet of the spot chosen for a sounding board, Downy suddenly left. The squirrel sat in the sunshine and smoothed his fur with his nose and his paws, like a cat. Two big hairy woodpeckers were on a neighboring tree, but they were not so fearless. One can hardly get nearer than thirty feet. The field glass is a great help in such cases, and no one should go to the woods without one, or at least a good opera glass. These two were both males. That could be easily told by the bright scarlet band on the back of their heads. The rest of the plumage is much like the downy woodpecker. Both have beautiful black wings, spotted and striped with white and a broad white stripe down the back. Downy's white outer tail-feathers are barred with black; the Hairy's are all white. Downy is sparrow-size; Hairy is robin-size. Downy is usually a gentle creature; Hairy is aggressive and militant. Downy is a little Lord Fauntleroy; Hairy is a Robin Hood. One other woodpecker was seen on this lucky bird-day. It was the red-bellied woodpecker, more rare and more shy than either of the others. His breast is a grayish white tinged with red, and his back is barred white and black like a ladder; but the black is not so deep and vivid as that of the other woodpeckers. He has no white stripe down the middle of his back. His nape and crest are both scarlet and he utters a hoarser squeak than either the downy or the hairy. One of the events of the day was the sight of the winter wren, the first time he had been seen this winter. He was working among the stumps of trees at the brink of the river, under the ice which had been left clinging to the trees when the high water receded. There was no mistaking his beautiful coat of cinnamon brown, his pert manner, his tail which was a little more than straight up, pointing towards his head; a little mite of a bird, how does he keep his little body from freezing in the furious winter storms? He seemed perfectly happy, with his two sharp, shrill, impatient "quip quaps," much shriller than the "pleeks" of downy woodpecker. A flock of tree sparrows were busy in and around a big thicket of wild gooseberry bushes on the upland. You may easily get within a rod of them, but hardly closer, and a field glass is almost a necessity to careful study. He is a grayish, graceful sparrow, with streaks of reddish brown, chestnut caps, and a small black spot in the middle of the brownish breast. One white wing bar is a distinguishing characteristic, and a better one is the difference in color of the two mandibles; the upper one is black and the lower one yellow. The tinkling notes of the tree sparrows sound like the music a pipe organist makes when he uses the sweet organ and the flute stop. A sharp watch was kept for goldfinches and the evening grosbeak during the day, but neither was seen. This was something of a disappointment. But it was forgotten in the thrill of joy that came late in the afternoon. There was a wide stretch of river bottom, walled in on the west by a high and forest-crowned ridge; on the east was the river, with a hundred foot fringe of noble trees, not yet sacrificed to the axe of the woodsman. The sun was just above the tops of the trees on the western ridge and long rays of slanting light came pink across the river flood-plain, investing the tree-tops by the shore with a soft and radiant light. Suddenly there came a plaintive little note from the bottom of a near-by tree, instantly recognized as a new note in the winter woods. Then another, and another, leading the eyes to the foot of a big bass-wood, where a graceful bird, with a beautiful blue back and a reddish brown breast, as if his coat had been made of the bright blue sky and his vest of the shining red sand, was hopping. The field glass brought him within ten feet. A bluebird, sure enough! The first real, tangible sign of the spring that is to be, the first voice from the southland telling us that spring is coming up the valleys. There is no mistaking the brilliant blue, the most beautiful blue in the Iowa year, unless it be the blue of the fringed gentian in the fall; and the soft reddish, earthy breast enhances the beauty of the brilliant back. Another hopped into view; the female, doubtless, for both the blue and the reddish brown were less brilliant. Every well-regulated bluebird ought to be seen in the top of a tall elm or maple; but these seemed to have no high-flying inclinations. Maybe they could read in the clouds beneath the setting sun a prediction of the snow which came that night. They stayed a few moments and then slowly hopped away and were lost among the tree trunks. A further search only frightened a prairie chicken from beneath a hawthorne bush, where he had meant to pass the night; and the bluebirds were not seen again. But the sight of bluebirds in Iowa on the nineteenth day of February is glory enough for one day. III. MARCH--AND A SPRING BOUQUET Every pilgrim to the mystic land of spring knows hallowed places in sunny valleys where the tender goddess first reveals herself at Nature's living altars. Yet he can scarcely tell at which shrine she will first appear. She delights in surprising her votaries. Thoreau was right in saying that no man was ever alert enough to behold the first manifestation of spring. Sometimes as we walk toward the mossy bank in the glen where the fresh green leaves of the haircap mosses were last year's first signs of vernal verdure, the bluebird calls to us from the torch-like top of the smooth sumac and shyly tells us that, if we please, spring is here. Sometimes we thrill with the "honk, honk" of the Canada goose and think the A-shaped band of migrants is surely this year's messenger, crying in the wilderness to prepare the way of the goddess and make her paths straight; but a little later we pass through a shadowy ravine where the white oaks have held their leaves all winter, and find that the great horned owl has already appropriated a last year's hawk's nest and deposited therein her two white eggs. At the foot of the sunny hill where the spring has freely flowed all winter long, we tramp around the swamp in the vain hope of finding the purplish monk's-hood of the skunk's cabbage; but look up to see, instead, the many "mouse ears," shining like bits of silvery fur, along the slender stems of the pussy willow. Or we tramp through a hazel thicket, where the squirrels have been festive among the nuts all winter, in the hope of finding, among the myriads of short, stiff catkins, one which has lengthened and softened until it is ready to pour its golden pollen into our palms. We find neither this nor the crimson stars of the fertile flowers, but the chirp of a white-throated sparrow directs our eyes to a young aspen tree from whose every flower-bud spring is peeping. Nature's first flowers are those of the amentaceous trees, and the earliest of these are the pussy willow, the quaking asp, and the hazel. All of them are quick to respond to the kindly influences of a vase of water and a sunny window and we may have all three of these first blossoms in a spring bouquet at home by the first of March. Towards the last of February the catkins of the pussy willows and the aspens are creeping from beneath their budscales to meet the goddess of spring half way, and every warm day in March coaxes them a little farther. Meanwhile the staminate catkins of the hazel are lengthening and the pistillate buds are swelling, as the sun presses farther northward at the dawn and the dusk of each day, pushing back the gray walls of the cañon of night, that the river of day may flow full and free. * * * * * This year some of the aspens heralded the spring. They grew at the head of a little creek which traversed a long, sunny, sheltered swamp. Their gray green trunks were in the foreground of the Master Planter's color design, the darker and taller background being a mixture of wild cherry, red oak, linden, and white ash. The high notes were given by the rose purple of the raspberry, the dark maroon of the blackberry, and the orange varnished budscales of the aspens themselves,--Nature never forgets her color accents. In the earliest warm days of February the catkins of the aspens were peeping from their imprisoning scales, and by the first of March they were half out, their white silken fringes and tiny clusters of rose-pink stamens glistening in the sunlight as if spring's pink cheeks were sheltered by soft, gray fur. We look up at these fleecy clusters, freed from the brownish budscales, with a far background of bluest sky, and think that it must have been such a grove as this to which the Princess Nausicca sent Ulysses to wait for her, described by Homer as "a beautiful grove of aspen poplars, a fountain and a meadow." Only an aspen tree in an Iowa slough! Yes, but more than that. This is the first sign of the resurrection which we call spring. When the pilgrims to the Eleusinian mysteries were ridiculed because of the commonplace nature of their symbols, they rightly replied that more than that which met the eye existed in the sacred things; that whosoever entered the temple of Lindus, to do honor to Demeter, the productive and nourishing power of the earth, must be pure in heart if he would gain reward. The square, the flag, the cross, the swelling bud of spring, what are they all but symbols of the realities? We shall forget these first humble flowers of spring by-and-by when we find a brilliant cardinal flower, or a showy lady's slipper, just as we forget the timid, tender tones of the bluebird when the grand song of the grosbeak floods the evening air, or the exquisite melody of the hermit thrush spiritualizes the leafy woods; just as many a man forgets the ministrations of his humbler friends in early life when he has climbed into the society of those whom earth calls great. But the aspens will neither grieve nor murmur. They will continue to make delightful color contrasts with their smooth white trunks at the gateways of the dark woods in winter and whisper to every lightest breeze with their delicate leaves in summer. The aspen, like the grass, hastens to cover every wound and burn on the face of nature. It follows the willow in reclaiming the sandy river bottoms and replaces the pines which fire has swept from the Rocky Mountain slopes. It has a record in the rocks and a richer story in literature. Its trembling leaves have caught the attention of all the poets from Homer until now. The Scottish legend says they tremble because the cross of Calvary was made from an aspen tree. The German legend says the trembling is a punishment because the aspen refused to bow when the Lord of Life walked in the forest. But the Hebrew chronicler says that the Lord once made his presence upon the earth heard in the movement of the aspen leaves. "And it shall be, when thou shalt hear a sound of going in the tops of the aspen [wrongly translated mulberry] trees, that then thou shalt go forth to battle; for God is gone before thee to smite the host of the Philistines." What a fine conception of the nearness of the Omnipresent and the gentleness of the Almighty! No sound or sign from the larger trees! Only the whisper of the lightest leaves in the aspen tops when the Maker of the world went by! The aspen was made the chief tree in the groves of Proserpine. And Homer, in describing the Cyclops' country, speaks of it as a land of soft marshy meadows, good rich crumbling plow land, and beautiful clear springs, with aspens all around them. How much that sounds like a description of Iowa! * * * * * The willow is equally distinguished. The roots of its "family tree" are in the cretaceous rocks and its branches spread through the waters of Babylon, the Latin eclogues, the wondrous fire in the Knightes' Tale, Shakespeare's plays, the love songs of Herrick and Moore, and across the ocean to the New World, adorning the sermons of Cotton Mather, the humor of Hosea Bigelow, and the nature poems of Whittier. _"For ages, on our river borders, These tassels in their tawny bloom And willowy studs of downy silver Have prophesied of spring to come. "Thanks, Mary, for this wildwood token Of Freya's footsteps drawing near; Almost, as in the rune of Asgard, The growing of the grass I hear."_ Nor must the hazel in this earliest spring bouquet be forgotten. The crimson stars of its fertile flowers, ten or a dozen little rays at the ends of the scaly buds on the bare stems, are the most richly colored flowers of the earliest spring. Some years they are formed as early as the twentieth of March. When you find them then look for the re-appearance of the mud-turtles down in the valleys and listen for the first feeble croaks of the frogs. The old Greeks watched the tiny inner scales of these fertile flowers grow into the husk of the nut, fancied its resemblance to a helmet, and called the bush _corys_; whence its botanic name _corylus_. Its English name comes from the Saxon _haesle_, a cap. The growing hazel nuts gladdened the children of most of the early civilized world. One of the shepherds in Vergil's fifth eclogue invites the other to "sit beneath the grateful shade, which hazels interlaced with elms have made;" but this hazel of which Menelaus spoke was a tree. The Romans regarded the hazel as an emblem of peace and a means of reconciling those who had been estranged. When the gods made Mercury their messenger they gave him a hazel rod to be used in restoring harmony among the human race. Later he added the twisted serpents at the top of this caduceus. The caduceus also had the power of producing sleep, hence Milton calls it "the opiate rod." When the crimson threads appear in the scaly buds the staminate catkins are lengthening, and soon the high wind shakes the golden pollen over all the copse. These flowers which appear before the leaves all depend upon the wind for their fertilization. That is why they come before the leaves. And there is always wind enough to meet all their needs. March is a masculine month. It was named after the war god and it always lives up to its traditions. It has had scant courtesy from the literary men. _"Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee."_ 'Twas a night in March when little Gavroche took his infant protegés into the old elephant which stood in the Place de la Bastile to shelter them from the cruel wind. It was in the twilight of a day in March, when the wind howled dismally, that Boniface Willet, in _Barnaby Rudge_, flattened his fat nose against the window pane and made one of his famous predictions. It must have been a March freshet when the Knight Huldebrand put Bertalda into Kuhleborn's wagon and the gentle Undine saved them both. And we fancy that it was a cold night in March when Peter stood by the fire and warmed himself. But the winds of March deserve a word of praise, as everyone knows who has filled his lungs with their vitalizing freshness and felt the earth respond to their purifying influence. They are only boisterous, not cruel. The specters of miasma and contagion flee before them like the last leaves. Many of the oaks have held a wealth of withered foliage all the winter but now the leaves fly almost as fast as they did in late October, and make a dry, rustling carpet up to your shoe tops. Now and again the wind gets down into this leaf-carpet and makes merry sport. Listen to the majestic roar of the winds in a grove of rugged oaks, and then again, for contrast, where the timber on the river bottom is all-yielding birch. It is like changing from the great _diapason_ to the _dulciana_ stop. In the mixed woodlands, so common in Iowa, the effect is even more delightful. The coarse, angular, unyielding twigs of the oaks give deep tones like the vibrations of the thick strings on the big double bass. The opposite, widespreading twigs of the ash sing like the cello, and the tones of the alternate spray of the lindens are finer, like the viola. The still smaller, opposite twigs of the maples murmur like the tender tones of the altos and the fine, yielding spray of the birches, the feathery elm and the hackberry make music pure and sweet as the wailing of the first violins. When the director of this _maestoso_ March movement signals _fortissimo_ the effect is sublime and the fine ear shall not fail to detect the overtones which come from the hop hornbeams and the hazel in the undergrowth below. In keeping with the majestic orchestra is the continuous noise of grinding ice from the river. There is a sign at the edge of the birch swamp which says: "Positively no trespassing allowed here"--but it is not necessary now, for the river has overflowed the swamp and big masses of ice lean up against the trunks of the birches. Out in the main channel the river is swiftly flowing, packed with ice floes, from the little clear fragments which shine like crystals, to the great masses as big as the side of a house, bearing upon them the accumulated dust and dirt and uncleanness of the winter. Pieces of trees, trunks and roots, cornstalks from fields along the shore, all are being carried seaward. In the middle of the river the prow of a flat boat projects upward from between two huge ice floes which have mashed it, like a miniature wreck in arctic seas. The best view of this annual ice spectacle is to look up the river and see the big field of broken, tumbling, crashing, grinding ice coming down. Farther down, at the narrows of the river, where the heavy timber shuts out the sunlight, the ice has not given way and here a gorge is formed. Hundreds of tons of ice are washed swiftly up to it and stop with a crash. The water backs up, flows over the banks and fills up all the summer fish ponds along the shore. Some of it forces its way through, foaming into a white spray. By-and-bye, under the combined influence of the rushing water and the ever increasing weight of the ice, the gorge gives way and the irresistible floes pass on with a mighty crash to their dissolution in the summery waters away down the Mississippi. After many months of shrouded death this new life of the river is also a symbol of the resurrection. * * * * * There are other days in March so soft and beautiful that they might well have a place in May. _"And in thy reign of blast and storm, Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the blue of May."_ From the summit of a thinly-treed hill we look across a wide valley on the right which gradually slopes up to a high ridge three miles away. On the left there is a clear view for fully twenty miles, out to where the lavender haze hangs softly on the forest-fringed horizon. The plowed fields lie mellow and chocolate-hued in the sunlight and the russet meadows are beginning to show a faint undertone of green. The golden green of the willow fences which separate some of the fields shines from afar in the abundant light and there is a quickening crimson in the tops of the red maple groves around the homesteads. The deep blue of the high-domed sky gives a glory to the landscape. The few, far clouds, soft and white, float slowly in the azure sea and now and then approach the throne of the king of day, sending dark shadows chasing the sunlight over the smiling fields. When these shadows reach the nearer woodlands across the valley on the right it is as if a moving belt of dark pines was swiftly passing through the deciduous forest. We think of Birnam wood removing to Dunsinane, but that was trivial compared with this. The dark belt of shadow makes a strong and beautiful contrast to the reddish brown and gray of the winter woods. The river is more than bank full. Shut in on one side by the high ridge upon which we are standing it has spread over half a mile of bottom on the other side. Once more, after many months of waiting we rejoice in the gleam of its waters. The broad valley, which has so long been paved with white, is bottomed with amethyst now, the fainter reflection of the azure sky above. The trees which have so long stood comfortless again see their doubles in the waters below. The huge gray trunks of the water elms and the silver maples, the red rags of the birches and the delicate tracery of their spray, the ruby gold of the willows, the shining white of the sycamores, the ashen green of the poplars and the dark crimson of the wild rose and the red osier dogwood,--all these are reflected as from a vast mirror. There is not a ripple on the surface. But anon a belated ice floe comes down the main channel and shows how swiftly the waters are flowing now that they once more move "unvexed to the sea." There are still some masses hugging the shore. One by one they slip into the waters and float away,--just as a man's prejudices and delusions are the last to leave him after the light of truth and the warmth of love have set his soul free from the bondage of error and wrong. The stillness is a marked contrast to the recent roar of the winds. You may hear your watch ticking in your pocket. The leisurely tapping of a downy woodpecker sounds like the ticking of a clock in a vast ancestral hall. You may actually hear a squirrel running down a tree, twenty rods away. He paws out an acorn and begins to eat. The noise of your footstep seems like a profanation of holy ground. Also it disturbs the squirrel who scurries up to the topmost twigs of an elm nearly a hundred feet high. With a glass you may see his eyes shine as he watches you. His long red tail hangs down still and straight and there is not breeze enough, even up there, to stir it. Gnats and moths flit in the soft sunlight and spiders run over tree trunks while their single shining lines of silk are stretched among the hazel. Anon the bird chorus breaks out, full and strong. The winter birds report all present but there are a number of new voices, especially the warble of the robin, the tremulous, confiding "sol-si, sol-si" of the bluebird and the clear call of the phoebe. The robins are thick down in the birch swamps, on the islands among the last year's knot-weed. You may tell them at a distance by their trim, military manner of walking, and if you wish you may get close enough to them to take their complete description. And, by the way, how many can describe this common bird, the color of his head and bill, his back and tail, and the exact shade of his breast. Is there any white on him, and if so, where? After the ice is out of the rivers the bird-lover is kept busy. In the early sunny morning the duet of the robins and the meadow larks is better than breakfast. March usually gives us the hermit thrush and the ruby-and golden-crowned kinglets; the song, field, fox, white throated, Savannah and Lincoln sparrows; the meadow lark, the bronzed grackle and the cowbird; the red-winged, the yellow-head and the rusty blackbirds; the wood pewee and the olive-sided flycatcher; the flicker and the sap-sucker, the mourning dove and several of the water fowl. Last week--the first week in March--a golden eagle paused in his migration to sit awhile on a fence post at the side of a timber road. Two men got near enough to see the color of his feathers and then one of them, with a John Burroughs instinct, took a shot at him. He missed; there was a spread of the great wings and the big bird resumed his journey northward. * * * * * By the shallow creek which ripples over the many-hued gravel there is much of interest. The frog sits on the bank as we approach and goes into the water with a splash. In the quiet little bayous the minnows are lively, and tracks upon the soft mud show that the mink has been watching them. A pile of neatly cleaned clam shells is evidence that the muskrat has had a feast. There is a huge clam, partly opened, at arm's length from the shore. We fish it out and pry it open farther; out comes the remains of the esculent clam, and we almost jump when it is followed by a live and healthy crawfish. It never pays to be a clam. It is very meet, right, and the bounden duty of every quadruped, biped and decapod to prey upon the clam. Farther down is a sandy hollow which was deep under water in the great January freshet. That freshet deposited a new layer of sand and also bushels of clam and snail shells of all sizes and species. They lie so thick they may be taken up by the shovelful. Two or three dead fish are also found. What a fine fossiliferous stratum will be found here about a hundred million years from now! In March the rains and the melting of the "robin snows" soften the leathery lichens and their painted circles on the trees and rocks vary from olive gray and green to bright red and yellow. They revel in the moist gray days. And the mosses which draw a tapestry of tender velvet around the splintered rocks in the timber quarries and strangely veil the ruin of the fallen forest kings,--how much they add to the beauty of the landscape in the interval between the going of the snow and the coming of the grass! The rich dark green of the common hair-cap clothes many a bank with beauty, the dense tufts of the broom moss hide the ruin and assuage the grief where an exalted forest monarch has been cast down by the storm. The silvery Bryum shows abundantly on the sandy fields and the thick green velvet mats of the Anomodon creep up the bases of the big water elms in the swamps. The delicate branchlets of the beautiful fern moss are recompense for a day's search, and the bright yellow-green Schreber's Hypnum, with its red stems, is a rich rug for reluctant feet. The moist rocks down which the water trickles into the ravine below are stained green and orange by the glossy Entodon. These patient mosses cover wounds in the landscape gently as tender thoughts soothe aching voids left by the loss of those we love. They lead us into the most entrancing bits of the woodland scenery--shaded rills, flowing springs, dashing cascades, fairy glens, and among the castellated rocks of the dark ravines. Their parts are so exquisitely perfect, almost they persuade the nature-lover to degenerate into a mere naturalist, walking through the woods seeing nothing but sporophytes through his lens, just as a rare book sometimes causes the bibliophile to become a bibliomaniac, reading nothing but catalogues. It is a credit to be a bibliomaniac provided one is a bibliophile as well. And the best moss naturalists are they whose hearts respond to the enthusiasm in Ruskin's closing paragraphs of _Leaves Motionless_. * * * * * The yielding odorous soil is promiseful after its stubborn hardness of winter months and we watch it eagerly for the first herbaceous growth. Often this is one of the fern allies, the field horsetail. The appearance of its warm, mushroom-colored, fertile stems is one of the first signs of returning spring, and its earliest stems are found in dry sandy places. The buds containing its fruiting cones have long been all complete, waiting for the first warm day, and when the start is finally made the tubered rootstocks, full of nutriment, send up the slender stem at the rate of two inches a day. During the last week in the month, when the dark maroon flowers of the elm and the crimson blossom of the red maples are giving a ruddy glow to the woods with the catkins of the cotton-woods, the aspens and the red birches adding to the color harmony, we shall look for the fuzzy scape of the hepatica, bringing up through the leaf carpet of the woods its single blue, white or pinkish flower, closely wrapped in warm gray furs. At the same time, perhaps a day or two earlier, the white oblong petals of the dwarf trillium, or wake-robin, will gleam in the rich woods. And some sunny day in the same period we shall see a gleam of gold in a sheltered nook, the first flower of the dandelion. A few days later and the light purple pasque-flower will unfold and gem the flush of new life on the northern prairies. Even should the last week of the month be unseasonably cold we shall not have long to wait. Yet _"----a little while And air, soil, wave, suffused shall be in softness, bloom and growth; a thousand forms shall rise From these dead clods and chills, as from low burial graves, Thine eyes, ears,--all thy best attributes,--all that takes cognizance of natural beauty, Shall wake and fill. Thou shalt perceive the simple shows, the delicate miracles of earth Dandelions, clover, the emerald grass, the early scents and flowers; With these the robin, lark and thrush, singing their songs--the flitting bluebird; For such scenes the annual play brings on."_ 
18227	----	Transcriber's Note: A number of typographical errors and inconsistencies have been maintained in this version of this book. They have been marked with a [TN-#], which refers to a description in the complete list found at the end of the text. Some Spring Days in Iowa BY Frederick John Lazell [Illustration] CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA THE TORCH PRESS NINETEEN HUNDRED EIGHT COPYRIGHT, 1908 BY FRED J. LAZELL FOREWORD It is indeed a pleasure thus to open the gate while my friend leads us away from the din and rush of the city into "God's great out-of-doors." Having walked with him on "Some Winter Days," one is all the more eager to follow him in the gentler months of Spring--that mother-season, with its brooding pathos, and its seeds stirring in their sleep as if they dreamed of flowers. Our guide is at once an expert and a friend, a man of science and a poet. If he should sleep a year, like dear old Rip, he would know, by the calendar of the flowers, what day of the month he awoke. He knows the story of trees, the arts of insects, the habits of birds and their parts of speech. His wealth of detail is amazing, but never wearying, and he is happily allusive to the nature-lore of the poets, and to the legends and myths of the woodland. He has the insight of Thoreau, the patience of Burroughs, and a nameless quality of his own--a blend of joyous love and wonder. His style is as lucid as sunlight, investing his pages with something of the simplicity and calm of Nature herself. The fine sanity and health of the man are in the book, as of one to whom the beauty of the world is reason enough for life, and an invitation to live well. He does not preach--though he sometimes stops to point to a forest vista, or a sunset, where the colors are melted into a beauty too fair and frail for this earth. Let us hope that the author will complete his history of the seasons, and tell of us of Summer with its riot of life and loveliness, and of the Autumn-time with its pensive, dreamy beauty that is akin to death. He is a teacher of truth and good-will, of health and wisdom, of the brotherhood of all breathing things. Having opened the gate, I leave it open for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear. JOSEPH NEWTON CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA DECEMBER 1, 1908 APRIL--BUDS AND BIRD SONGS IV. APRIL--BUDS AND BIRD SONGS _"Has she not shown us all? From the clear space of ether, to the small Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning Of Jove's large eyebrow, to the tender greening Of April meadows?"_ _"And whiles Zeus gives the sunshine, whiles the rain."_ A strong southeast wind is blowing straight up the broad river, driving big undulations up the stream, counter to the current which, in turn, pushes at the base of the waves and causes their wind-driven crests to fall forward and break into spray. The whole surface of the river is flecked with these whitecaps, a rare sight on an inland stream but characteristic of April. We sit on a ledge of rock high up the slope of the cañon and listen as they break, break, break. We may close our eyes and fancy we are with Edmund Danton in his sea-girt dungeon, or with Tennyson and his "cold, gray stones," or with King Canute and his flattering courtiers on the sandy shore. But a song sparrow with his recitative "Oleet, oleet, oleet," followed by the well-known cadenza, dispels the fancies and calls our attention to himself as he sits on a hop hornbeam and sings at half-minute intervals. The wind ruffles his sober coat of brown and gray and he looks like a careless artist, thrilling with the soul of song. Notwithstanding the high wind there is a heavy haze through which the sun casts but faint shadows. Across the white-flecked river the emerald meadow rises in a mile long slope until it meets the sky in a mist of silver blue. To the right a big tract of woodland is haloed by a denser cloud of vivid violet as if the pillar of cloud which led the Israelites by day had rested there; or as if mingled smoke and incense were rising from Druid altars around the sacred grove. As a matter of fact, it is a mingling of the ever increasing humidity, the dust particles in the air and the smoke from many April grass fires. To the left of the meadow there is a sweep of arable land where disc harrows, seeders, and ploughs are at work. The unsightly corn stalks of the winter have been laid low, the brown fields are as neat and tidy as if they had been newly swept; and this is Iowa in April. Up and down the river the willow leaves are just unfolding, bordering the stream with tender green. The tassels of the pussy willows, which were white in March, are now rosy and gold, due to the development of the anthers. The aspens at the front of the wood are thickly hung with the long yellowish-white tassels and look like masses of floss silk among the tops of the darker trees. A big cottonwood is at its most picturesque period in the whole year. The dark red anthers make the myriads of catkins look like elongated strawberries. Tomorrow, or the next day, these red anthers will break and discharge their yellow pollen and then the tassels will be golden instead of strawberry-colored. Spring seems to unfold her beauties slowly but she has something new each day for the faithful. The ash, the hackberry, the oaks, the linden, the locusts on the hill and the solitary old honey-locust down by the river's brink are as yet unresponsive to the smiles of spring. The plum, the crab apple, the hawthorn and the wild cherry are but just beginning to push green points between their bud scales. But the elms are a glory of dull gold; every twig is fringed with blossoms. The maples have lost their fleecy white softness, for the staminate flowers which were so beautiful in March have withered now. But the fruit blossoms remind us of Lowell's line, "The maple puts her corals on in May." In Iowa he might have made it April instead of May. But that would have spoiled his verse. * * * * * For long we sit and drink in the beauty of the scene. Meanwhile the birds on this wooded slope are asking us to use our ears as well as our eyes. Such a mingling of bird voices! The "spring o' th' year" of the meadow larks and the mingled squeaks and music of the robins are brought up by the wind from the river bottom, and the shrill clear "phe-be" of the chickadee is one of the prettiest sounds now, just as it was in February. Pretty soon a bevy of them come flitting and talking along, like a girl botany class on the search. Before they have passed out of sight the loud and prolonged "O-wick-o-wick-o-wick-o-wick" of the flicker makes us lift our eyes to the top of a scarlet oak and anon three or four of the handsome fellows alight nearer by so that we may the better admire their white-tailed coats, brown shoulders, scarlet napes and the beautiful black crescent on their breasts. When we hear the call of the flicker we may know that spring is here to stay. They are as infallible as the yellow-breasted larks in the meadows. "Chip-chip-chip-chip,"--yes, of course that's the chipping sparrow; another of the engaging creatures which almost has been driven from the habitations of his human friends by the miserable English sparrows. Often have we seen the little fellow set upon and brutally hurt by these pirates. Now he stays around rural homes, and his chestnut crown, brown coat mixed with black and gray, his whitish vest and black bill are always a welcome sight. He takes up the chant of the year where the departing junco left it off, throws back his tiny head and his little throat flutters with the oft-repeated syllable, continued rapidly for about four seconds. A while longer we wait and are rewarded by a few bars of the musicful song of the brown thrasher who has just arrived with Mrs. Thrasher for two weeks of courtship and song, after which they will build a new home in the hazel thicket and go to housekeeping. Just as we are rising to leave there is the glimmer of the blue-bird's wing and the brilliant fellow and his pretty mate appear at the top of the bank, where the staghorn sumac still bears its berries. None of the birds of the winter seems to care much for these berries but the bluebirds evidently love them. As another instance of their tastes in this direction may be mentioned the fact that for the past three weeks a pair of blue birds have made many visits every day to a Chinese matrimony vine, by the dining room window of the writer's home. This vine, as everyone knows, has a wreath of juicy red berries in the fall, which hang through the winter and are dried, but still red, in the spring. It was the first week of March when the family first heard the pleasing notes of the blue bird outside the window at breakfast time, and saw the brilliant male sitting on a post on the back lawn and his less brilliant, but equally attractive mate sitting on the clothesline. A little later and he flew to the vine, picked off one berry and ate it, took another one in his mouth and then returned to his post, while she followed his example. Both chirped and pronounced the berries good, though up to that time the members of the household had supposed they were poisonous. After a few more bites of the morning meal the birds went all around the house, inspecting every nook and crevice. But they found every place fully occupied by the pestiferous English sparrows, who darted at them maliciously. For two whole days the blue birds stayed around the lawn and garden, but the sparrows made their lives miserable and finally they went to the timber an eighth of a mile away and selected an abiding place in the cavity of a basswood. But every morning and evening, sometimes many times during the day, they came for their meal of berries from the vine. Usually they were on hand as soon as the sun was up, and a more devoted and well behaved couple was never seen either in the bird or the human world. * * * * * We rise at length and walk along the wooded slope admiring new beauties at every step. Here is a thicket of wild gooseberry filled with dark green leaves and the tinkling notes of tree sparrows, and we hardly know which is the more beautiful. A little farther and we are in a tangle of pink and magenta raspberry vines from which the green leaves are just pushing out. The elder has made a great start; the yellowish-green shoots from the stems and from the roots are already more than six inches long. The panicled dogwood and the red-osier dogwood (no, not the flowering dogwood) as yet show no signs of foliage, but the fine white lines in the bark of the bladdernut, which have been so attractive all winter, are now enhanced by the soft myrtle green of the tender young leaves. The shrubby red cedar is twice as fresh and green as it was a month ago, as it hangs down the face of the splintered rock where the farmer boys have set a trap to catch the mother mink. But Mrs. Mink is wary. Here is a pile of feathers, evidently from a wild duck, which seems to indicate that while the duck was making a meal of a fish which she had brought to shore, the mink pounced upon her and ate both duck and fish. While we stand looking there is a slight movement among the roots of a silver maple at the river's brink. A moment later Mrs. Mink comes around the tree and towards us. She is about eighteen inches long, with a bushy tail about another eight inches, her blackish-brown body about as big round as a big man's wrist, and she has a "business-looking" face and jaw. Did you ever try to take the young minks from their nest in the latter part of April and did Mrs. Mink fight? She hasn't seen or smelled us yet, but suddenly when she is within seven feet of us, there is an upward movement of that supple, snakelike neck, a quick glance of those black diamond eyes, and she turns at right angles and dives into the river. A frog could not enter the water so silently. * * * * * We climb the slope again and pause in front of a big sugar maple, a rather rare sight hereabouts. The sap-sucker has bored a row of fresh holes in the bark of the tree and the syrup has flowed out so freely that the whole south side of the tree is wet with it. Scores of wasps, bees and flies of all sizes and colors are revelling in the sweetness. Finally we come to where there is less grass but more dead leaves and leaf mould, and here is the first real herbaceous flower of this spring, the dwarf white trillium, or wake-robin. How beautiful it looks, its three pure, waxy-white petals, its six golden anthers and three long styles, and its pretty whorl of three ovate leaves, at the summit of a stem about four inches high. A little farther and we find a group of them and then other clusters, fresh and pure and sweet enough to make a bouquet for Euphrosyne. Oh, but someone says, the hepatica is the first flower of spring; all the nature writers say so. Well, but they don't seem to say much about the trillium; possibly they haven't found it so often. Indeed, it seems to be more choice of its location. It is hardly ever, perhaps it would be safe to say never, found on a southern or a southwestern slope. Almost invariably it is found on the steep slope of a river bank, facing northeast or east. Hepaticas nearly always grow on the same slope, but they come into blossom about two days later than the trillium. But on another bank which faces the noon and the afternoon sun the hepaticas are up with the trilliums in the calendar of spring. This year the trillium was found blooming, on a northeastern slope, March 24. At this place the hepatica did not bloom until March 26. But it bloomed March 24, on a southwest slope, fifteen miles away. By-the-way, the list of March blooming plants for 1908, is probably one of the longest for years: March 20, aspen; twenty-first, hazel and silver maple; twenty-third, pussy willow, prairie willow and white elm; twenty-fourth, dwarf white trillium and hepatica (also known as liverleaf, squirrelcup, and blue anemone); twenty-fifth, slippery elm, cottonwood; twenty-ninth, box elder and fragrant sumac; thirtieth, dandelion; thirty-first, Dutchman's breeches. How some of these early flowers secure the perpetuation of their species is an interesting study for amateur botanists. In the case of the trillium the fruit is a three-lobed reddish berry, but one has to search for it as diligently as Diogenes did for an honest man before he finds it. The plant seldom sets seed in this vicinity, but seems to depend rather upon its tuber-like rootstocks in which the leaves lie curled all through the winter. The hepatica attracts pollen-feeding flies, female hive-bees and the earliest butterflies, and is thus cross-fertilized to some extent; but it is thought also to be able to effect self-fertilization. In the case of the _hepatica acutiloba_, however, it has been found that staminate flowers grow on one plant and pistillate flowers on another, hence insects are essential to the perpetuation of this species. After bringing us the trilliums and hepaticas in numbers, Nature pauses. She means to give us time to inhale the fragrance of some of the hepaticas, and to learn that other hepaticas of the same species have no fragrance at all; that there is a variety of delicate colors, white, pink, purple, lavender, and blue; that the colored parts, which look like petals are really sepals; that they usually number six, but may be as many as twelve; that there are three small sessile leaves forming an involucre directly under the flower; that if we search we shall find some with four, more rare than four-leaved clovers; that the plant which was fragrant last year will also be fragrant this year; that the furry stems are slightly pungent,--enough to give spice to a sandwich; these preliminary observations fit us for more intricate problems later on. * * * * * Spenser, the divinely tongued, pictures April as a lusty youth, riding upon the bull with the golden horns (_Taurus_), wading through a flood, and adorned with garlands of the fairest flowers and buds. A better figure would have been Europa riding Zeus. And Chaucer also makes April a masculine month: _"When that Aprille with his schoweres swoote The drought of Marche had perced to the roote."_ But surely April, with her smiles anl[TN-1] tears, ought to be regarded as a feminine month. Ovid has shown that she was not named from _aperire_, to open, as some have supposed, but from Aphrodite, the Greek name for Venus, goddess of beauty and mother of love. She is chaste, even cold, but grows sweeter and more affectionate every day and her tears all end in smiles. Her flowers are pure and mostly white, fitting for a maiden. Look at the list (if the weather is warm): White or whitish:--Rue-anemone, hepatica, spring beauty, blood-root, toothwort, Dutchman's breeches, dog's tooth violet, wild ginger, chickweed, Isopyrum, plantain-leaved everlasting, shepherd's purse, shad-bush, wild strawberry, whitlow-grass, wind-flower, hackberry (greenish white), false Solomon's seal, catnip, spring cress, wild black currant, wild plum. Yellow or yellowish:--Marsh marigold, creeping buttercup, marsh buttercup, small-flowered crowfoot, dandelion, yellow woodsorrel, bell-wort, star-grass, downy yellow violet, pappoose root, lousewort, prickly ash, hop hornbeam, white oak, mossy-cup oak, butternut, sugar maple. Purple or blue:--Common blue violet, trillium (_recurvatum_ and _erectum_) hepatica, Virginian cowslip (_lung-wort_ or _bluebells_), woodsorrel, common blue phlox, ground plum. Green:--The Indian turnip, and several of the sedges. Pink:--Spring beauty, toothwort, dog's tooth violet, hepatica. Scarlet:--Columbine. From this list it ought to be plain that April is a dainty queen, wearing a dress of cheerful green, a bodice of white, with violets in her hands, pink in her cheeks, and a single scarlet columbine in her wealth of golden hair, which indeed comes nearly being the portrait of Dione herself. Or, as one of the poets has better described her: _April stood with tearful face With violets in her hands, and in her hair Pale wild anemones; the fragrant lace Half-parted from her breast, which seemed like fair, Dawn-tinted mountain snow, smooth-drifted there._ In this long list of April flowers--some observers will be able to make it still longer--there are many favorites. The pretty rue-anemone recalls the tradition that Anemos, the wind, chose the delicate little flowers of this family as the heralds of his coming in early spring. And in the legend of Venus and Adonis the anemone is the flower that sprang from the tears of the queen as she mourned the death of her loved one. Theocritus put the wind-flowers into his Idylls, and Pliny said that only the wind could open them. The Spring beauty has as rich a legend, for it was the Indian Miskodeed, left behind when Peboan, the winter, the Mighty One, was melted by the breath of spring. The toothwort (_dentaria laciniata_) is sometimes known as the pepper-root, and every school boy and girl living near the woods is familiar with the taste of its tubers and the appearance of its cross-shaped flowers. The plumy dicentra, or Dutchman's breeches, seems so feminine as to be grossly misnamed until we remember that it was first discovered in the Rip Van Winkle country. The wild ginger with its two large leaves and its queer little blossoms close to the ground is another delight to the saunterer along the rocky slopes, where the feathery shad-bush--the aronia of Whittier--with its wealth of snowy blossoms and the wild plum not far away, with its masses of pure white, are inspirations to clean and sweet lives, calling to mind the lines of Wordsworth: _One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good Than all the sages can._ In rocky fields and hillsides and dry open woods, the dwarf everlasting (_Antennaria plantaginifolia_) with its silvery-white little florets set in delicate cups, is one of the first species of the great composite family to bloom. We take it from between the rocks and think of those lines of Tennyson, which John Fiske declared to be among the deepest thoughts ever uttered by poet: _Flower in the crannied wall I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all in my hand Little flower,--but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is._ Even more innocent, fresh and fair, is the bloodroot, with its snowy petals, golden center and ensanguined root-stock which crimsons the fingers that touch it. This is the herb, so the legend says, which the Israelites in Egypt dipped in sacrificial blood to mark their doorposts. As long ago as last November we dug up one of the papery sheaths and found the flower, then about a half inch long, snugly wrapped in its single leaf; and now the pale green leaf has pushed up and unfolded, showing the fragile flower in all its beauty. * * * * * Strange contrasts we see in some of these April flowers. Some of them open their star-like eyes for a day or two and dot the floor of the woods with beauty and then their little contribution to the spring is done and they are seen no more until another year. They bring us beauty and sweetness and then they pass from us, like the sweet and childish but perfect lives we all have known and loved. In contrast to such as these there is the Jack-in-the-pulpit of the April woods which has no floral envelope of beauty, no fragrance, no inspiration, so busy is it storing up its swollen fortunes down in the bank, leaving behind it a tuber so rank and tainted that even the Indians couldn't eat it until they had first roasted it, then ground it into powder, and finally made it into a kind of bread. But sordid-lived accumulators, herbaceous and human, have been with us since the world began. Laban was a monopolist of pretty daughters and fine live stock,[TN-2] and Theocritus, in his day, was moved to say that "Money is monarch and Master," and to exclaim: _Fools, what gain is a world of wealth in your houses lying? Wise men deem that in that dwells not true pleasure of riches, But to delight one's soul.... Only the muses grant unto mortals a guerdon of glory; Dead men's wealth shall be spent by the quick that are heirs to their riches._ Toward the end of the month, when the gelatinous masses in the water courses have developed the little black dots sufficiently so that we can see they are tadpoles, when the songsters have been joined by the catbird, the rose-breasted grosbeak, the woodthrush, the whippoorwill, the cheerful and friendly chewink and several of the warblers and flycatchers, the rivers and creeks will be fringed with the brilliant yellow of the marsh marigold, and we shall think of Shakespeare, walking the meadows of Avon, getting material for that song of the musicians in Cymbeline: _And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes._ And meanwhile the violet, which was among the plants sacred to Aphrodite, was also appealing to this master poet, who was born this month, as were Wordsworth, George Herbert, John Keble, Anthony Trollope, David Hume, and Edward Gibbon, and who died this month as did Edward Young, who wrote _Night Thoughts_, and Abraham Lincoln, who freed a race and saved a nation. Who can ever forget the month of Lincoln's death after he has once read that exquisite description of an April day and the song of the hermit thrush, written by Whitman to commemorate the funeral of his friend? The violets have been especially loved by the poets. Theocritus placed them foremost in his coronals and put them into Thyrsis's song of Daphnis's fatal constancy. Chaucer had them in his garlands, and Spenser's "flock of nymphes" gather them "pallid blew" in a meadow by the river side. In Percy's _Reliques_ they are the "violets that first appear, by purple mantles known." Milton allows Zephyr to find Aurora lying "on beds of violet blue." Shakespeare places them upon Ophelia's grave and says they are "sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes." Wordsworth, Tennyson, and all our own poets have loved them. * * * * * But we have lingered too long among our flowers and thoughts in the April woods. The filmy haze which veiled the sun has thickened into threatening clouds, and as we look across the meadow to where the silver blue haze rested on the delectable mountain in the morning we see instead the rain-fringe, veiling and obscuring the landscape. The wind has died to a dead calm and the river is still. As the shower comes nearer the whole landscape is shrouded in an ever darkening gray and presently big round drops splash upon the surface of the river. In a moment we are surrounded by the rain. How beautiful is the first spring rain! It does not run down the slope as in the winter when the ground was frozen, but the thirsty earth seems eager to drink every drop. The unfolding leaves of the shrubs are bathed in it and the tender firstlings of the flowers are revelling in it. It dims the singing of the birds, but the robins and the meadow larks carol on and the spring music of the frogs in the nearby pond has not yet ceased. What makes the raindrops round? And why are the drops at the beginning of the shower much larger than those which follow? We do not know. Perhaps it is well. Walt Whitman says that "you must not know too much or be too scientific about these things." He holds that a little indefiniteness adds to the enjoyment, a hazy borderland of thought as it were, like that which rests in April mornings on enchanted highlands away across the river, which we have never yet--as Thoreau says--"tarnished with our feet." And, anyway, before we can reason it out, the rain has ceased and the last rays of the descending sun come through an opening in the clouds in that beautiful phenomenon known as a "sunburst.'[TN-3] The white beams come diagonally through the moisture-laden air, as if in a good-night smile to the tender flowers and buds. Warming with the sunshine and watering with the showers--that is Miss April making her flower garden grow. MAY--PERFECTION OF BEAUTY V. MAY--PERFECTION OF BEAUTY _Among the changing months May stands confessed The sweetest and in fairest colors dressed._ --THOMSON. Surely the poet sang truly. We would not forget Lowell's challenge "What is so rare as a day in June," but as we sit here on the top of a limestone cliff nearly a hundred feet above the bed of the creek, and watch the red sun brightening the gray of the eastern sky, while the robins and the meadow larks are singing joyous matins we steep our senses in the delicate colorings of earth and sky that signalize the awakening of another day and the real revival of another year. April was encouraging, but there were many bare boughs and many of the last year's leaves still clung to the oaks and made a conspicuous feature of the landscape. The leafy month of June will show us more foliage, but it will be of a darker and more uniform shade of green. Now, as the sun rises higher and sends his rays through both the woodlands and the brushlands we thrill with delight at the kaleidoscope of color. There are no withered leaves to mar the beauty now. Seen in mass, and at a distance, the woodlands are a soft cinerous purple. But the tops, where the ruddy rays of the sun are glancing, are a hazy cloud of tender green, pink, yellow and pale purple. Nearer trees show in their opening leaves pale tints of the same gorgeous colors which we see in the fall. The maple keys and the edges of the tender leaves glow blood-red in the morning sun. The half-developed leaves of the birch and the poplar are a yellowish-green, not unlike the yellow which they show in autumn. The neatly plaited folds of the leaves of the oak display a greenish or cinerous purple, a soft and delicate presentment of the stronger colors which come in October, just as the overture gives us faint voicings of the beauty which the opera is to bring; just as Lowell's organist gives us _"The faint auroral flushes sent Along the wavering vista of his dream."_ The edge of the cliff is lined with shad-trees. Each twig is a plume of feathery dainty white The drooping racemes of white blossoms, with the ruby and early-falling bracts among them look like gala decorations to fringe the way of Flora as she travels up the valley. The shad-trees have blossomed rather late. In them and under them it is fully spring. There is a sound of bees and a sense of sweetness which make us forget all the cold days and think only of the glory of the coming summer. There comes a song sparrow and perches on one of the twigs. He throws back his little head, opens his mouth and pours forth a flood of melody. Next comes a myrtle warbler, eager to show us the yellow on his crown, on his two sides and the lower part of his back. He is one of the most abundant of the warblers and one of the most charming and fearless. He perches on a hop hornbeam tree from which the catkins have just shed their yellow pollen and goes over it somewhat after the manner of a chickadee or a nuthatch, showing us as he does so the white under his chin, the two heavy black marks below that, the two white cross bars on his wings, and his coat of slate color, striped and streaked with black. He goes over every twig of the little tree and then flies off to another, first pausing, however, to give his little call note "tschip, tschip" and then his little song, "Tschip-tweeter-tweeter." A pair of kingfishers, showing their blue wings and splendid crests, fly screaming down the creek. Their nest is in a tunnel four feet in the clay banks on the opposite side. Purple finches, a bit late in the season, are feeding on the seeds of the big elm. The snows of late April and early May must have delayed their journey northward. When the bird-designer made this bird he set out to make a different kind of sparrow, but then had pity upon the amateur ornithologist who finds the sparrows even now almost as difficult to classify as the amateur botanists do their asters; so he dipped the bird in some raspberry juice--John Burroughs says pokeberry juice--and the finch came out of the dye with a wash of raspberry red on his head, shoulders and upper breast, brightest on the head and the lower part of his back. Otherwise he looks much like an English sparrow. * * * * * Now the belated April flowers are seen at their best, mingled with many of the May arrivals. It is such a day as that when Bryant wrote "The Old Man's Counsel." On the sloping hillsides, around the leafing hazel "gay-circles of anemones dance on their stalks." In the more open places the little wind flower, with its pretty leaves and solitary white blossoms, blooms in cheerful companionship with its fellows, and the more sterile parts of the hillside are snowed with the white plumes of the plantain-leaved everlasting. Downy yellow violets and the common blue violets grow everywhere and down on the sand near the river the birdfoot violet, with its quaintly cut leaves and handsome blossoms grows abundantly for the children who love to gather the "sand violets." On the bottom which was flooded in March the satiny yellow flowers of the marsh buttercup shine and the beautiful green of the uplands is spotted with the pure gold of the buttercup. There is no longer need to be satisfied with a few pretty flowers. May scatters her brightest and best in abundance. On the rocky slopes the wild ginger shows its red-brown, long-eared urns, the white baneberry its short white plumes, the branchlets of the bladdernut are breaking into white clusters and columbine soon will "sprinkle on the rocks a scarlet rain" as it did in Bayard Taylor's time, although the "scarlet rain," like that of the painted cup in the lowlands, grows less and less each year. The white glory of the plum thickets at its height and the hawthornes, whose young leaves have been a picture of pink and red, will soon break into blossom and vie with the crabapple thickets in calling attention to the beauty of masses of color when arranged by the Master Painter. * * * * * The carpet of the woodlands grows softer and thicker, and more varied each day. Ferns and brakes are coming thickly. The flowers grow more splendid. The large, wholesome looking leaves of the blue bell are a fitting setting for the masses of bloom which show pink in the bud, then purple, and lastly a brilliant blue. Jack-in-the-pulpits make us smile with keen pleasure as memories of happy childhood days come crowding thickly upon us. The pretty pinnate leaves of the blue-flowered polemonium are sufficient explanation for the common name Jacobs-ladder, even though that name does not properly belong to our species. The purple trilliums, like the Dutchman's breeches, felt the effects of the many April and early May frosts but now they are coming into their beauty. Great colonies of umbrella-leaved May-apple are breaking into white flowers. The broad, lily-like leaves of the true and false Solomon's seal are even more attractive than their blossoms. Ferns, bellwort, wild sarsaparilla, all help to soften our footfalls, while overhead the light daily grows more subdued as the leaf-buds break and the leaves unfold. The throb of the year's life grows stronger. All the blossoms and buds which were formed last summer now break quickly into beauty. And, already, before the year has fairly started, there are signs of preparation for the following year. The dandelion is pushing up its fairy balloons, waiting for the first breeze. The shepherd's purse already shows many mature seeds below its little white blossoms. The keys of the soft maple will soon be ready to fall and send out rootlets, and the winged seeds of the white elm already lie thickly beneath the leafing branches. * * * * * Each flower invites admiration and study. Dig up the root of the Solomon's seal, a rootstock, the botanists call it. It is long, more or less thickened and here and there is a circular scar which marks the place from which former stems have arisen. When these leaf-bearing stems die down they leave on this rootstock down in the ground, a record of their having lived. The scar looks something like a wax seal and the man who gave the plant the name of Solomon's seal had probably read that tale in the Arabian Nights, where King Solomon's seal penned up the giant genie who had troubled the fishermen. Then there's the May-apple. Who does not remember his childhood days when he pulled the little umbrellas? Even now as they come up in little colonies, they call up memories of the fairy tales of childhood and we almost expect to see a fairy, or a brownie, or Queen Mab herself, coming from under them, when the summer shower, which makes their tops so beautifully moist gray, has passed. And they also bring to mind that charming first edition of Dr. Gray's botany, which had in it much of the man's humor as well as his learning. Too bad that the learned scientists who succeeded him have cut it out. "Common Honesty, very rare in some places," he wrote, speaking of that plant. "Ailanthus, Tree of Heaven, flowers smell of anything but heaven," was his comment on the blossoms of our picturesque importation from China. And when he came to the May-apple he wrote that the sweetish fruit was "eaten by pigs and boys." This made William Hamilton Gibson remember his own boyish gorgings and he wrote: "Think of it boys. And think of what else he says of it: 'Ovary ovoid, stigma sessile, undulate, seeds covering the lateral placenta, each enclosed in an aril.' Now it may be safe for pigs and billy-goats to tackle such a compound as that, but we boys all like to know what we are eating, and I cannot but feel that the public health officials of every township should require this formula of Dr. Gray's to be printed on every one of these big loaded pills, if that is what they are really made of." Another interesting plant is the _trillium erectum_, which with the _trillium recurvatum_, is now to be found in the woods hereabouts. The flowers of the _trillium erectum_ are ill scented, carrion scented, if you please. Now the botanists have found that this odor, which is so unpleasant to the human nostrils, does the plant a real service by attracting the common green flesh-flies, such as are seen in the butchershops in the summer-time. They eat the pollen, which is supposed to taste as it smells and thus as they go from flower to flower they carry pollen from one blossom to another and so secure for the plant cross-pollination. So we may walk from one flower to another until the morning wears to a bright noon and the afternoon wanes into a songful sunset. * * * * * In the swamp, where the red-winged blackbird is building her bulky nest between the stems of the cat tail, and the prairie marsh wren is making her second or third little globular nest in a similar place, there is a blaze of yellow from the marsh marigolds which make masses of succulent stems and leaves, crowned with pale gold, as far up the marsh as the eye can reach. In Iowa, it is in May, rather than in June, that "the cowslip startles the meadows green" and "the buttercup catches the sun in its chalice." And it is in late April or early May that "the robin is plastering his house hard by." By the way, ought not the poet to have made it "her" house? It is the mother bird who seems to do the plastering. Both birds work on the structure, but it appears to be the female who carries most of the mud and who uses her faded red apron for a trowel as she moves round in her nest pushing her breast against the round wall of the adobe dwelling to spread the mud evenly. The work on one particular nest was done in late April when there was nothing on the elm but the seed fringes to screen the builder as she worked. Then the four light greenish-blue eggs were laid. A red squirrel got one of them one day. Disregarding the squeakings and scoldings of the anxious robins, he sat on a limb holding the egg in his forepaws and bit a hole in one side of it. Then he drained the contents, dropped the shell to the ground and was about to get another egg when he was driven off. Apparently he forgot the location of the nest after that, for the other three eggs hatched out safely. * * * * * The air is filled with bird music. It began with the larks, closely followed by the robins, and then the noise of the crows. No change in the program since the days of Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida when: _"The busy day Wak'd by the lark, hath roused the ribald crows."_ Then came the liquid notes of the cowbirds, like the pouring of mingled molasses and olive oil. Three handsome fellows in ebony and dark brown sit on the branch of a tall elm and just beneath them sit three brownish gray females, all in a row. Cowbird No. 1 comes nearer the end of the branch, ruffles out his head as if he were about to have a sick spell and then emits that famous molasses and oil kind of whistle, sufficient to identify the cowbird anywhere. The other males repeat his example and meanwhile the females look on with approving eyes, as if it was a vaudeville performance by amateurs in polite society. The cowbirds, male and female, are all free lovers. There is no mating among them. The female lays her eggs in some other bird's nest, like the English cuckoo, as if she were too busy with the duties and pleasures of society to care for her own children. A diskcissel[TN-4] sits on a tree instead of a reed or a bush as usual and sings "See, see, Dick Cissel, Cissel." Chewinks are down scratching among the dry leaves with the white-throated sparrows, their strong-muscled legs sending the leaves flying as if a barnyard hen were doing the scratching. A beautiful hermit thrush is near but he is silent. The chewink in his harlequin suit of black, white, and chestnut varies his sharp and cheerful "Chewink" with a musical little strain, "Do-fah, fah-fah-fah-fah," and one of the white-throated sparrows now and then stops feeding and flies up to a hazel twig to give his sweet and plaintive little "pea-a-body, peabody, peabody." Very pretty, but not so beautiful as the three broad white stripes on his crown and the white choker under his chin. Suddenly a brown thrasher breaks into a melody from the top of a wild cherry, and then it is as if a famous operatic coloratura soprano had joined the village choir. For power and continuity of song he is without a peer. With head erect and long tail pendant he pours forth such a flood of melody, so varied and so sweet that we forget the exquisite hymn-like notes of the wood-thrush and yield ourselves wholly to the spell of his rich recital. Make the most of it while it lasts. Like all the glories of the May woods it is evanescent. When the nest down in the brush is finished, and his mate "feels the eggs beneath her wings," his song will grow less full and rich and by the time the young birds come he will have grown silent, as if weighed down with the responsibilities of a family. We get too near the thrasher for his liking and he slips down into the brush. And then, by rare good fortune, a blue-bird begins his song. He has been chided by some because he has a magnificent contralto voice and scarcely ever uses it. Have we not been taught to chide the man who hides his talent in a napkin, or his light under a bushel? But how he can sing when he does sing! This is one of the mornings. The rich contralto thrush-like melody, with its ever recurring "sol-la," "sol-la," fills the woodlands with beauty. It is as if the pearly gates had been opened for a brief interval to let the earth hear the "quiring of the young-eyed cherubims." * * * * * In later May, the season "betwixt May and June," beauty and fragrance and melody comes in a rich flood. The flaming breast of the oriole and the wondrous mingling of colors in the multiplied warblers glint like jewels among the ever enlarging leaves. The light in the woodlands becomes more subdued and the carpet of ferns and flowers grows richer and more beautiful. The vireos, the cardinal and the tanager add to the brilliancy and the ovenbird and veery to the melody. As good old John Milton once wrote: "In these vernal seasons of the year, when the air is clear and pleasant, it were an injury and a sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake of her rejoicing with heaven and earth." * * * * * The beauty of the world is at every man's door, if he will only pause to see. It offers every man real riches if only he will now and then quit his muckraking or pause from paying his life for a cap and bells. It sweetens honest labor, helps earthly endeavor, strengthens human affection and leads the soul naturally from the beauty of this world to the greater beauty of that which is to come. WALKS IN JUNE WOODS AND FIELDS VI. WALKS IN JUNE WOODS AND FIELDS. _Whether we look or whether we listen We can hear life murmur or see it glisten._ --LOWELL. As we walk along the bank of the creek on a warm afternoon in June we realize how true are these lines of Lowell. The frog chorus is dying down, though now and then we catch sight of a big fellow blowing out his big balloon throat and filling the air with a hoarse bass, while another across the creek has a bagpipe apparently as big but pitched in a higher key. Two months ago one could not get near enough to see this queer inflation, but now the frogs do not seem so shy. Garter snakes wiggle through the grass down the bank of the creek and the crickets are just beginning to chirp the love chorus which is soon to swell incessantly till the fall frosts come. Butterflies, dragon flies, saw flies and gall flies are busy and we see evidences of their work in the crimson galls on the willow leaves and the purple-spotted oak apples, some of which have fallen to the ground from the scarlet oak above. Nature's first great law is the perpetuation of species, and everything we see in the June woods and fields, from the giant white oak to the busy ant, is diligently obeying that law. The red-winged blackbird circles over our heads with sharp, anxious chirps, for we have disturbed the young red-wings down in the sedge who are taking their first lessons in flying. The catbird's nest, with four greenish-blue eggs, is in a wild gooseberry bush and the catbird is up among the shad-trees feasting on the ripening June berries. The gentle notes of soft pedal music come floating sweetly down. Did you ever stop long enough to listen to the full song of the catbird? First, the brilliant, ringing strains, often softening into a subdued sympathetic melody, and then, just as the music seems almost divine, the long cat-like squeal which ends it all--much like an old organist and choirmaster of boyhood days who used to break in with a horrible discord at the lower end of the keyboard when the anthem rehearsal wasn't going to his liking. A fruit-lover is the catbird, beginning with the June berries on the banks of streams near which she often builds her nest and continuing with wild strawberries, blackberries, wild grapes and the berries of the Virginia creeper--sometimes also seen busily scooping out a big hole on the rosy side of a tempting apple in the orchard. Some observers say the catbird eats the eggs of the fly-catcher and other birds, but this must be seen to be believed. There comes an outbreak of melody from the top of a tall black willow, much like the tones of the robin and yet suggestive of the warbling vireo, but finer than the former, clearer, louder and richer than the latter. We lift our eyes and see the pointed carmine shield of the rose-breasted grosbeak, one of the most beautiful, useful and music-full birds in the forest or the garden. Many mornings and evenings during the month of May one of these handsome fellows was busy in my garden, diligently picking the potato bugs from the young vines, stopping now and then, especially in his morning visits, to pour out a happy, ringing lyric and to show his handsome plumage. On one occasion he took a couple of potato bugs in his "gros" beak as he flew to the nearby woodland, probably a tempting morsel for his spouse's breakfast. A bird that can sing better than a warbling vireo, whose carmine breast is comparable only to the rich, red rose of June, who picks bugs from potato vines, singing chansons meanwhile and who is so good to his wife that he does a large share of the incubation, and takes largely upon himself the care of their children is surely a "rara avis" and worth having for a friend. He is a typical bird of June. His color matches the June roses, his songs are full and sweet and rich as the June days, and the eggs of his soberly dressed spouse are usually laid and hatched in June. There is a nest in a hawthorn bush where the wild grape twines her crimson-green clusters and by the time the blossoms break and fill the air with fragrance, no accidents coming meanwhile, four young grosbeaks will be the pride of as warm a paternal heart as ever beat in bird or human breast. Perceiving that we are watching him the grosbeak ceases his ringing tones and drops into that dreamy, soft, melodious warble, which is characteristic of this songster as it is of the catbird. But he leaves when a belted kingfisher comes screaming along the stream. * * * * * But there is more of interest on the willow. Unseen till now, no fewer than three nighthawks are squatted lengthwise on its lower limbs, two on one limb and one on another. Strange we did not see them before, but the explanation is the grosbeak was singing. They are as motionless and apparently lifeless as if they had been mummified or petrified for a thousand years. Their mottled back and rusty feathers, their heads drawn down and eyes almost closed, make them look like uncanny visitants from beyond the Styx. Poe's raven was not so ominous and strangely silent; these will not say even the one word, "Nevermore." They look like relics of a Saturnian reign before beauty and music and joy were known upon the earth. If there were charred stumps of trees in the Bracken which was shown to Faust, we should expect to see nighthawks squatted on them, wholly indifferent to the lamentations of lost souls. We go directly under the branch where one of them is sitting ten feet above and still he makes no sign. We throw a clod, but yet there is no movement of his wings. Not till a stick hits the limb close to where he is sitting does he stretch his long wings with their telltale white spots and fly rapidly away. And the other two sit unmoved. But some night we hear the whirr of the nighthawk's wings as he drops rapidly from a great height, or we see him skimming close to the surface of the stream in search of insects in some twilight hour and then he is the embodiment of strength, agility, and swiftness. And some day we perchance find the two dirt colored eggs on the bare ground, or the tiny young, like bits of rabbit fur, with only the earth beneath them and the sky above them, apparently as deserted and destitute as Romulus and Remus; and all this adds wonderfully to our interest in this strange bird, which is so common in the June woods. The whip-poor-will is much like the nighthawk. Both are of about the same size and color. Both sit lengthwise on limbs. Both are weird creatures that sleep by day and hunt by night. But the nighthawk has a V-shaped patch of white on his throat; the large mouth of the whip-poor-will is fringed with bristles. The nighthawk has a patch of white extending through his long wings; the whip-poor-will has none. The nighthawk is not usually heard after the twilight hours; the whip-poor-will is heard much later. The whip-poor-will calls its name aloud, sometimes startlingly close to the chamber window; the nighthawk only screams. * * * * * We cautiously approach a sand flat and are fortunate to see one of the sights of a lifetime. The mud turtle is preparing to lay her eggs in the moist sand. She digs the hole almost entirely with her hind feet, using first one and then the other, working rapidly for perhaps eight or ten minutes until the hole is about six inches in diameter and apparently about three or four inches deep. Then she draws in her head, and drops, at intervals of two or three minutes, five eggs into the hole. That done, she scrapes the moist sand back into the hole, pressing it and patting it from time to time with her hind feet. This process takes much longer than digging the hole. When it is done to her satisfaction she waddles towards the creek. You might have some trouble to find the eggs but the skunk often gets them. Does the mother turtle watch over them till they are hatched by the sun or is it a mere picked-up crowd of youngsters that we sometimes see in the early fall sitting with her on a boulder in the pond? * * * * * We follow the scarlet tanager up a wide glen where wholesome smelling brake grows almost shoulder high. Suddenly there comes from our feet a sharp, painful cry, as of a human being in distress, and the ruffed grouse, commonly called pheasant, leaves her brood of tiny, ginger-yellow chicks--eight, ten, twelve--more than we can count,--little active bits of down about the size of a golf ball, scattering here, there, and everywhere to seek the shelter of bush, bracken, or dried leaves, while their mother repeats that plaintive whine, again and again, as she tries to lead us up the hillside away from them. When we look for them again they are all safely hidden; not one can be seen. The mother desperately repeats her whining cry to entice us away and we walk on up to the top of the hill and away to relieve her anxiety. Anon we hear her softly clucking as she gathers her scattered brood. The scarlet tanager's nest is on the horizontal limb of a big white oak. But it is not the familiar, striking, scarlet, black-winged bird, which sits on the ragged nest. The female is dressed in sober olive-green above and olive-yellow below, with dusky wings and tail. Probably many an amateur has found this bird down by the river and tried to classify her among the fly-catchers until the coming of her handsome husband caused him to remember that in birdland it is usually only the male part of the population which wears the handsome clothes, just as the Indian braves wear the gaudiest paint and the showiest feathers. It is not till we get to the higher stages of civilization that this rule is reversed. * * * * * The foliage of the June woods has not the delicacy of tints which was so exquisite in May, nor the strength of color which will be so striking in September. But it has a beauty no less admirable. The chlorophyll in the leaf-cells is now at its prime and the leaves very closely approach a pure green, especially those of the sycamore, which is the nearest to a pure green of any tree in the forest. Standing in the wood road which runs along the top of a timbered crest we look across a broad, wooded valley where the leaves seem to exhale a soft, yellowish green in the bright sunlight. Beyond and above them, five miles away, and yet apparently very near, a belt of bluish green marks the timber fringe of the next water course. Still farther, another unseen stretch of corn land intervening, the forest crowned ridge meets the soft sky in a line of lavender, as if it were a strata cloud lying low on the horizon. From this distance the lavender and purple are almost changeless every sunny day the year around. Always the Enchanted Land and the Delectable Mountains over across the valley. How like the alluring prospect across the valley of years! Always the same soft lavender haze there, while the woods here run through all the gamut of color, from the downy pinks and whites and the tender greens of spring through the deeper greens of summer to the crimson and scarlet of the fall, and the russets, grays, and coffee-browns of the winter. When the foliage of the forest has deepened into one dark shade of verdure then we know that June is far spent, spring has gone and summer is here. The uniform green is not monotonous. See the woods in the hour before sunset when the slanting light gives the foliage consummate glory. See them again in the white light of a clear noon when the glazed leaves seem to reflect a white veil over the pure verdure; and again when the breeze ripples through the leafy canopy, showing the silvery under-surfaces of the maple leaves, the neat spray of the river birches, the deeply cleft leaves of the scarlet oak and the finely pinnate leaves of the honey locust. Each has a glory now peculiar to itself and to June. There is much beauty of color in the woodland undergrowth. Tall torches touched with the crimson of the sunset sky are made of the shell-bark hickory whose inner bud scales enlarge into enormous, leathery bracts, often crimsoning into rare brilliance. Circles of creamy white here and there among the hazel brush mark the later blossoms of the sweet viburnum. Sweeping curves like sculptured arms bearing thickly clustered hemispheres of purplish white are seen on the rocky slope where the nine-bark grows above the lingering columbines. White wands which look so beautiful are merely the ends of the common tall blackberry, and the wild rose sweetens the same banks. Flattish clusters of creamy white blossoms are the loose cymes of the red osier dogwood, but it is not nearly so beautiful now as it was last January when its blood-red stems made a striking contrast with the snow. The bright carmine bark has faded to a dull green and the shrub is a disappointment now, despite its blossoms. So is the cottonwood a disappointment. Its wealth of shining green foliage is beautiful, yet we sigh for the lost glory of the midwinter days when the horizontal rays of the setting sun made aureoles of golden light around its yellow, shining limbs. * * * * * It is worth while on a walk in June to sit and look at the grass. How tame and dreary would be the landscape without it! How soul starved would have been mankind, condemned to live without the restfulness of its unobtrusive beauty! That is why the first command, after the waters had been gathered into one place and the dry land appeared, was, "Let the earth bring forth grass." The grasses cover the earth like a beautiful garment from Kerguelen land in the Antarctic regions to the extreme limit of vegetation beyond the Polar circle. They climb the Andes, the Rockies, and the Himalayas to the very line of eternal snow, and they creep to the bottom of every valley where man dares set his foot. They come up fresh and green from the melting snows of earliest spring and linger in sunny autumn glens when all else is dead and drear. They give intense interest to the botanist as he remembers that there are thirty-five hundred different species, a thousand of which are in North America and a fourth of that number in our own state. They give him delightful studies as he patiently compares their infinite variations of culms and glumes, spikes, racemes, and panicles. They give joy to the farmer with their wealth of protein and fat and albuminoid, the material to do the work and make the wealth of the world bulging from their succulent stems. And they are fascinating most of all to the nature-lover as he sees them gently wave in the June sunshine or flow like a swift river across the field before a quick gust of wind. Such variety of color! Here an emerald streak and there a soft blue shadow, yonder a matchless olive green, and still farther a cool gray: spreading like an enamel over the hillside where the cattle have cropped them, and waving tall and fine above the crimsoning blossoms of the clover; glittering with countless gems in the morning dews and musicful with the happy songs and call notes of the quail and prairie chicken, the meadow lark, the bob-o-link, and the dickcissel whose young are safe among the protection of the myriad stems. Tall wild rice and wild rye grow on the flood-plain and by the streams where the tall buttercups shine like bits of gold and the blackbirds have their home; bushy blue stem on the prairies and in the open woods where the golden squaw weed and the wild geranium make charming patterns of yellow and pink and purple and some of the painted cup left over from May still glows like spots of scarlet rain; tall grama grass on the dry prairies and gravelly knolls, whitened by the small spurge and yellowed by the creeping cinquefoil; nodding fescue in the sterile soils where the robin's plantain and the sheep sorrel have succeeded the early everlasting; satin grasses in the moist soil of the open woodlands where the fine white flowers of the Canada anemone blow, and slough grass in the marshy meadows where the white-crossed flowers of the sharp spring are fading, and the woolly stem of the bitter boneset is lengthening; reed grass and floating manna grass in the swamps where the broad arrow leaves of the sagittaria fringe the shore and the floating leaves and fragrant blossoms of the water lilies adorn the pond. The three days' rain beginning with a soft drizzle and increasing into a steady storm which drives against the face with cutting force and shakes in sheets like waving banners across the wind-swept prairie only adds more variety to the beauties of the grass; and when the still, sweet morning comes, the pure green prairies make us feel that all stain of sin and shame has been washed from the world. Where the grasses grow the best, there Providence has provided most abundantly for the wealth and the comfort of mankind. The rich verdure of the meadows is the visible sign of the fruitful soil beneath the fattening clouds above. The clover and the early hay fill the June fields with fragrance and the grass in the parks and lawns invite toil-worn bodies to rest and comfort. What wonder Bryant wished to die in June, the month when the grasses tenderly creep over the mounds above tired dust and gently soothe the grief of the loved ones left behind. * * * * * The cold May seemed to detract little from the beauty and interest of the woodlands. The warblers, the humming bird, the tanager, the bob-o-link, the ovenbird, the vireos, the chat, the red start, the oriole, the dickcissel, the black-billed cuckoo, all greeted their friends as numerously as ever. So with the flowers: the columbine, the shooting star, the painted cup, the puccoon, the beautiful though inodorous large white trillium, the delicate little corydalis, the star grass and the lady's slipper, all came within a week of their average time in spite of the cold, and the showy orchis was only just over into June. May added fifty-four new species of flowers to the April list, according to the record of a single observer whose leisure is limited. Those who added the forty odd May arrivals in bird land to their April lists may have no such thrilling walks in June, but they may study their feathered friends of the summer, which is better, and if passion for new lists is not satiated, try the flowers instead of the birds. June should yield a list of a hundred twenty-five different species, not including the grasses, and a very diligent flower-lover will make it much longer. Transcriber's Note The following typographical errors were maintained in this version of this book. Page Error TN-1 21 anl should read and TN-2 23 live stock for livestock TN-3 31 "sunburst.' has the wrong type of close quote TN-4 47 diskcissel should read dickcissel Inconsistent hyphenation: bell-wort / bellwort blood-root / bloodroot blue-bird / blue bird fly-catchers / flycatchers music-full / musicful root-stock / rootstock whip-poor-will / whippoorwill wood-thrush / woodthrush 
18249	----	Some Summer Days in Iowa BY Frederick John Lazell _A book of the seasons, each page of which should be written in its own season and out of doors, or in its own locality, wherever it may be._--THOREAU CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA THE TORCH PRESS NINETEEN HUNDRED NINE COPYRIGHT 1909 BY FRED J. LAZELL [Illustration: "HAS CUT ITS WAY STRAIGHT DOWN THE FACE OF A CLIFF" (p. 111)] PREFACE Like the two preceding little volumes of this series, this book seeks to show something of what Iowa has to offer to the man who loves the out-of-doors. There is nothing very unusual in it. The trees and the flowers, the birds and the small wild animals which it mentions and describes are such as may be seen in the Iowa fields and woods by anyone who cares enough about them to walk amid their haunts. The illustrations are such as the ordinary nature lover may "take" for himself with his pocket kodak. The woodthrush built in a thicket by the bungalow and borrowed a paper napkin for her nest. The chipmunk came every morning for his slice of bread. And then the woodchuck learned to be unafraid. It has long been the author's belief that Iowa has just as much to offer the nature lover as any other part of the world--that she has indeed a richer flora than many states--and that every true Iowan ought to know something of her trees and shrubs and herbs, her birds and animals, and to feel something of the beauty of her skies and her landscapes. There is so much beauty all around us, every day of the year, shall we not sometimes lift our eyes to behold it? The majority of Iowa people still find pleasure in the simple life, still have the love for that which Nature so freely bestows. They find time to look upon the beauty of the world. Many a busy man finds his best recreation in the woods and fields. It may be only a few hours each week, but it is enough to keep the music of the flowing waters ever in his ears and the light of the sunshine in his eyes. It is enough to give the men and the women of the state wholesome views of life, happy hearts and broad sympathies. Some few find in the woods and fields thoughts and feelings which are, to them, almost akin to religion. If this little book helps such lovers of the out-of-doors ever so little; if it shall help others to see for themselves the beauty and the joy and the goodness of this world in which we live, the author will feel that it has been worth while. VII.--AN OLD ROAD IN JULY In the old woods road a soft haze hung, too subtle to see save where its delicate colorings were contrasted against the dark green leaves of the oaks beyond the fence. Not the tangible, vapory haze of early morning, but a tinted, ethereal haze, the visible effluence of the summer, the nimbus of its power and glory. From tall cord grasses arching over the side of the road, drawing water from the ditch in which their feet were bathed and breathing it into the air with the scent of their own greenness; from the transpiration of the trees, shrubs and vines, flowers and mosses and ferns, from billions of pores in acres of leaves it came streaming into the sunlight, vanishing quickly, yet ever renewed, as surely as the little brook where the grasses drank and the grackles fished for tadpoles and young frogs, was replenished by the hidden spring. Mingled with it and floating in it was another stream of life, the innumerable living organisms that make up the dust of the sunshine. Pink and white, black and yellow spores from the mushrooms over the fence in the pasture; pollen pushed from the glumes of the red top grasses and the lilac spires of the hedge nettle and germander by the roadside; shoals of spores from the mosses and ferns by the trees and in the swamp; all these life particles rose and floated in the haze, giving it tints and meanings strangely sweet. When a farmer's buggy passed along the old road the haze became a warm pink, like some western sky in the evening, slowly clearing again to turquoise as the dust settled. Viewed in this way, the haze became a mighty, broad-mouthed river of life, fed by billions of tiny streams and moving ever toward the vast ocean of the sunlight. Faintly visible to the discerning eye, it was also audible to the attentive ear, listening as one listens at the edge of a field in the night time to hear the growing of the corn. If all the millions of leaves had ceased their transpiration, if this flow of life had been shut off, as the organist pushes in the tremolo stop, the sound of the summer would not have been the same. Something of the strength and joy of the summer was in it. Drinking deeply of it the body was invigorated and the heart grew glad. In it the faith of the winter's buds and the hope of the spring's tender leaves found rich fulfillment. Theirs was a life of hope and promise that the resurrection should come; this was the glorious life after the resurrection, faith lost in sight and patient hope crowned. * * * * * Slender white minarets of the Culver's root, rising from green towers above the leafy architecture of the woodland undergrowth and reaching toward the light of the sky, told the time of the year as plainly as if a muezzin had appeared on one of its leafy balconies and proclaimed a namaz for the middle of July. Beholding them from afar, honey bees came on humming wings for the nectar lying deep in their tiny florets. Eager stamens reached out far beyond the blossoms to brush the bees' backs with precious freights of pollen to be transported to the stigmas of older flowers. Playing each its part in the plan of the universe, flower and insect added its mite to the life and the loveliness of the summer. From the sunshine and the soil-water the long leaves manufactured food for the growth of the plant. Prettily notched, daintily tapering, and arranged in star-like whorls about the stem, they enhanced the beauty of the flowers above them and attracted the observer to the exquisite order governing their growth. When the leaves were arranged in whorls of four, the floral spires were quadruple, like the pinnacles on a church tower; if the green towers were hexagonal, then six white minarets pointed to the sky. The perfect order of the solar system and the majesty of the Mind which planned it, was manifested in this single plant. So does beauty lead the way to the mountain tops of truth. By the road of earthly beauty we may always reach religion and truth is ever beckoning us to new and nobler visions. That "thread of the all-sustaining beauty, which runs through all and doth all unite" gently leads us from the things which are tangible and temporal to the truths which are spiritual and eternal; from the beauty of the concrete to the beauty of the abstract, onward along the road of beauty and farther up the heights of truth until our admiration for the beauty of the sunrise, the snow crystal, the graceful spray of the trees in winter, the exquisite order and harmony of the universe from the orbit of the largest planet to the flow of life in the tiniest leaf, develops into a lasting love for beauty in life and in character; and still farther up the heights into an atmosphere of intelligent, rational, genuine love for the Great First Cause of all beauty. As the heart opens to receive the beauty of the world, as the mind and soul strive, like the plants, for the highest development, so is the world redeemed from error and crime and the perfection of the race is attained. If one soul finds this truth more quickly and easily here amid the trees and flowers, for him is the old road greater than religious dogmas or social systems. * * * * * Always beautiful and interesting, in these long days of mid-July the old road is at its best. No length of day can measure its loveliness or encompass its charm. Very early in the morning there is a faint rustle of the leaves, a delicate flutter through the woods as if the awakening birds are shaking out their wings. Shrubs and bushes and trunks of trees have ghostly shapes in the few strange moments that are neither the darkness nor the dawn. As the light steals through the woods their forms grow less grotesque. In the half light a phoebe begins her shrill song. A blue-jay screams. The quail sounds his first "Bob White." Brown thrashers in the thicket--it is past their time of singing--respond with a strange, sibilant sound, a mingled hiss and whistle, far different from his ringing songs of May, now only memories; different also from her scoldings when she was disturbed on her nest and from her tender crooning calls to her babies during June. As the light increases waves of delicate color appear in the sky to the northeast, and by and by the sun's face appears over the tops of the trees. He shoots arrows of pale flame through the woods. In the clearing the trunks of the trees are like cathedral pillars, and the sunlight comes down in slanting rays as if the openings among the tree-tops were windows and the blue haze beneath the incense of the morning mass. Black-capped precentor of the avian choir, the chickadee sounds two sweet tones, clear and musical, like keynotes blown from a silver pipe. The wood thrush sounds a few organ tones, resonant and thrilling. It is almost his last summer service; soon, like the thrashers, he will be drooping and silent. The chewink, the indigo bird, the glad goldfinches, the plaintive pewees are the sopranos; the blue-bird, the quail, with her long, sweet call, and the grosbeak, with his mellow tones, are the altos; the nuthatch and the tanager take up the tenor, while the red-headed woodpeckers, the crows and the cuckoos bear down heavy on the bass. Growing with the light, the fugue swells into crescendo. Lakes of sunshine and capes of shadow down the old road are more sharply defined. Bushes of tall, white melilot, clustered with myriads of tiny flowers, exhale a sweet fragrance into the morning air. The clearing around the house is flooded with sunlight. In the wooded pasture some trunks are bathed with a golden glory, while others yet stand iron gray in the deep shadows. The world is awake. The day's work begins. One late young redhead in a hole high up in the decaying trunk of an aspen tree calls loudly for his breakfast, redoubling his noise as his mother approaches with the first course. Sitting clumsily on a big stump, a big baby cowbird, well able to shift for himself, shamelessly takes food from his little field sparrow foster-mother, scarcely more than half his size. Soon he will leave her and join the flocks of his kindred in the oat-fields and the swamps. Young chewinks are being fed down among the ripening May-apples in the pasture. A catbird with soft "quoots" assembles her family in the hazel and the wood-thrush sounds warning "quirts" as fancied peril approaches her children beneath the ripening blackberries. From the top of a tall white oak a red squirrel leaps to the arching branches of an elm, continuing his foraging there. Sitting straight up on a mossy log the chipmunk holds in his paws a bit of bread thrown from somebody's basket, nibbles at it for a while and then makes a dash for the thicket, carrying the bread in his mouth. [Illustration: "EVERY TREE IS A PICTURE" (p. 22)] Tiny rabbits venture out from the tall grasses and look on life with timid eyes. Bees and butterflies are busy with the day's work. Life with its beauty and its joy is everywhere abundant. Living things swim in and upon the brook, insects run and leap among the grasses, winged creatures are in the shrubs, the trees, the air, active, eager, beautiful life is everywhere. The heart thrills with the beauty, the joy, the zest, the abundance of it, expands to a capacity for the amplitude of it. Human life grows sweeter, richer, more worth while. There is so much to live for, so much to hope for; this is the meaning and the glory of the summer. * * * * * Farther out, where the old road leaves the woods, the landscape is like a vast park, more beautiful than many a park which the world calls famous. From the crest of the ridge the fields roll away in graceful curves, dotted with comfortable homes and groves and skirted by heavy timber down in the valley where the sweet water of the river moves quietly over the white sand. Still responding to the freshening impulse of the June rains, fields and woods are all a-quiver with growth. By master magic soil-water and sunshine are being changed into color and form to delight the eye and food to do the world's work. Every tree is a picture, each leaf is as fresh and clean as the rain-washed air of the morning. From the low meadows the perfume of the hay is brought up by the languid breeze. Amber oat-fields are ripening in the sun and in the corn-fields there is a sense of the gathering force of life as the sturdy plants lift themselves higher and higher during _"The long blue solemn hours, serenely flowing Whence earth, we feel, gets steady help and good."_ Many a tourist comes home to a land like this, weary and penniless, like Sir Launfal after his fruitless quest, to discover that the grail of health and rest and beauty which he sought afar so strenuously is most easily and readily found at home. * * * * * [Illustration: "CURVES WHICH ADD MUCH TO ITS WILD BEAUTY" (p. 23)] Ceaselessly up and down the old road passes the pageant of the year, never two days the same, especially at this season. In the middle of the road is a dirt wagon-track, on either side of which is a broad belt of grass, flowers, shrubs and small trees till you come to the fence. Beyond one fence the thick woods has a heavy undergrowth; over the other is a well-wooded pasture. On the south side, between the road and the fence there is a little brook, sometimes with a high, mossy and timbered bank, sometimes completely hidden by tall grasses. The road rises and falls in gentle grades, with alternating banks and swales. At one high point there is a view down the long avenue of trees across the open valley beyond, where the city lies snugly, and then upward to the timber on the far heights across the river where the hills are always softly blue, no matter what the season of the year. Sometimes the old road sweeps around fine old trees in unmathematical curves which add much to its wild beauty. The first man who drove along it, a hundred years or more ago, followed a cow-path and the road hasn't changed much since, though the fences which were later threaded through the shrubs and trees on either side, run straighter. Never was summer day long enough for me to see and to study all that the old road had to show. Here, at the moist edge of the road, the ditch stone-crop is opening its yellow-green flowers, each one a study in perfect symmetry. With the showy, straw-colored cyperus it flourishes under the friendly shade of the overhanging cord-grasses whose flowering stalks already have shot up beyond the reach of a man. Among them grows the tall blue vervain, its tapering fingers adorned with circles of blue flowers, like sapphire rings passing from the base to the tips of the fingers. You must part these grasses and pass through them to see the thicket of golden-rod making ready for the yellow festival later on. White cymes of spicy basil are mingled with the purple loosestrife and back of these the fleabanes lift daisy-like heads among the hazel overhanging the wire fence. Then the elms and the oaks and in the openings the snowy, starry campion whose fringed petals are beginning to close, marking the morning's advance. In the moist places the Canada lily glows like a flaming torch, its pendant bells slowly swinging in the breeze, ringing in the annual climax and jubilee of the flowering season. Across the road the monkey flower grins affably at the edge of the grass and the water hemlock, with a hollow stem as big as a gun-barrel and tall as a man, spreads its large umbels of tiny white flowers on curving branches like a vase-shaped elm in miniature. Twice or thrice pinnate leaves, toothed like a tenon saw, with conspicuous veins ending in the notches, brand it as the beaver poison, otherwise known as the musquash root and spotted cowbane. From its tuberous roots was prepared the poison which Socrates drank without fear; why should he fear death? Does he not still live among us? Does he not question us, teach us? Yellow loose-strifes and rattle-box are in the swamp, and a patch of swamp milkweed with brilliant fritillaries sipping nectar from its purple blossoms. White wands of meadow-sweet, clusters of sensitive fern, a big shrub of pussy willow with cool green leaves as grateful now as the white and gold blossoms were in April; white trunks and fluttering leaves of small aspens where the grosbeak has just finished nesting; bushy willows and withes of young poplar; nodding wool-grasses and various headed sedges; all these are between the roadside and the fence. There the elder puts out blossoms of spicy snow big as dinner-plates and the Maryland yellow-throat who has four babies in the bulky nest at the foot of the black-berry bush sits and sings his "witchity, witchity, witchity." The lark sparrow has her nest at the foot of a thistle and her mate has perched so often on a small elm near-by that he has worn several of the leaves from a topmost twig. In the late afternoons and evenings he sits there and vies with the indigo bunting who sits on the bare branches at the top of a tall red oak, throwing back his little head and pouring out sweet rills of melody. Near him is the dickcissel, incessantly singing from the twig of a crab-apple; these three make a tireless trio, singing each hour of the day. The bunting's nest is in a low elm bush close to the fence where a wee brown bird sits listening to the strains of the bright little bird above and the little dickcissels have just hatched out in the nest at the base of a tussock not very far away. Now the evening primrose at the side of the road has folded all its yellow petals, marking the near approach of noon. Growing near it on this rise of the road are lavender-flowered bergamot, blue and gold spiderwort, milkweeds in a purple glory, black-eyed Susans basking in the sun, cone-flowers with brown disks and purple petals, like gypsy maidens with gaudy summer shawls. Closer to the fence are lemon-yellow coreopsis with quaint, three-cleft leaves; thimble weeds with fruit columns half a finger's length; orange-flowered milkweed, like the color of an oriole's back, made doubly gay by brilliant butterflies and beetles. On the sandy bank which makes the background for this scene of splendor, the New Jersey tea, known better as the red-root, lifts its feathery white plumes above restful, gray-green leaves. Just at the fence the prairie willow has a beauty all its own, with a wealth of leaves glossy dark green above and woolly white below. There's a whine as if someone had suddenly struck a dog and a brownish bird runs crouching through the grass while little gingery-brown bodies scatter quickly for their hiding places. It was near here that the quail had her nest in June and these are her babies. I reach down and get one, a little bit of a chick scarcely bigger than the end of my thumb. The mother circles around, quite near, with alarm and distress until I back away and watch. Then she comes forward, softly clucking, and soon gathers her chickens under her wings. Similar behavior has the ruffed grouse which you may still find occasionally in the deeper woods. Stepping over the fallen tree you send the little yellow-brown babies scattering, like fluffy golf-balls rolling for cover. Invariably the old bird utters a cry of pain and distress, puts her head down low and skulks off through the grass and ferns while the chicks hasten to hide themselves. Your natural inclination is to follow the mother, and then she will take very short flights, alternated with runs in the grass, until she has led you far from her family. Then a whirr of strong wings and she is gone back to the cover where she clucks them together. But if you first turn your attention to the chicks the mother will turn on her trail, stretch out her long, broad, banded tail into a beautiful fan, ruffle up the feathers on either side of her neck and come straight towards you. Often she will stretch her neck and hiss at you like a barn-yard goose. There is a picture of the ruffed grouse worth while. You will learn more about the ruffed grouse in an experience like this than you can find in forty books. If you pause to admire this turkey-gobbler attitude of the grouse she thinks she has succeeded in attracting your attention. The tail fan closes and droops, the wings fall, the ruffs smooth down. With her head close to the ground, she once more attempts to lead you from her children. If you are heartless enough you may again hunt for the chicks and back will come the old bird again, almost to your feet, with feathers all outstretched. * * * * * Creamy clusters of the bunch-flower rise from the brink of the brook and near-by there are the large leaves of the arrow-head, with its interesting stalk, bearing homely flowers below and interesting chalices of white and gold above. Shining up through the long grasses, the five-pointed white stars of the little marsh bell-flower are no more dismayed by the stately beauty of the tall blue bell-flower over the fence, with its long strings of blossoms set on edge like dainty Delft-blue saucers, than the Pleiades are shamed by the splendor of Aldebaran and Betelguese on a bright night in November. Clover-like heads of the milkwort decorate the bank, and among the mosses around the bases of the trees the little shin-leaf lifts its pretty white racemes. Twisting and twining among the hazel, long stems of wild yam display pretty leaves in graceful strings, each leaf set at the angle which secures the greatest amount of light. On the wire fence the bittersweet hangs and reaches from thence to the top of the low hawthorne, seeking the strength of the sun for the ripening of its pods, which slowly change from green to yellow as the month advances. Thickly-prickled stems of green-brier, the wild smilax, rise to the height of the choke-cherry shrubs and the branches lift themselves by means of two tendrils on each leaf-stalk to the most favorable positions for the sunlight. Under these broad leaves the catbird is concealed. Elegant epicurean, he is sampling the ripening choke-cherries. He complains querulously at being disturbed, flirts his tail and flies. Stout branches of sumac, with bark colored and textured much like brown egg-shell, sustain a canopy of wild grape, the clusters of green fruit only partly hidden by the broad leaves. Curiously beautiful are the sumac's leaves, showing long leaf-stalks of pink purple and pretty leaflets strung regularly on either side. The sumac's fruit, unlike the grape's, seeks no concealment; proudly lifting its glowing torches above the leafy canopy, it lights the old road for the passing of the pageant of summer. From greenish gold to scarlet, swiftly changing to carmine, terra cotta, crimson and garnet, so glows and deepens the color in the torches. When comes the final garnet glow not even the cold snows of winter can quench it. [Illustration: "THE SUMAC'S TORCHES LIGHT UP THE OLD ROAD" (p. 35)] Around the fence-post, where the versi-colored fungus grows, the moon-seed winds its stems, like strands of twine. Its broad leaves are set like tilted mirrors to catch and reflect the light. Trailing among the grass the pea-vine lifts itself so that its blossoms next month shall attract the bees. The wild hop is reaching over the bushes for the branches of the low-growing elm from which to hang its fruit clusters. Circling up the trunk and the spreading branches of the elm, the Virginia creeper likewise strives for better and greater light. Flower and vine, shrub and tree, each with its own peculiar inherited tendencies resulting from millions of years of development, strives ever for perfection. Shall man, with the civilization of untold centuries at his back to push him on, do less? Endowed with mind and heart, with spiritual aspirations and a free will, shall he dare cease to grow? Equipped so magnificently for the light, dare he deliberately seek the darkness and allow his mental and spiritual fruits to wither? These are questions to ponder as the afternoon shadows lengthen. If you walk through the wooded pasture, close by the side of the roadside fence, the hollow stumps hold rain-water, like huge tankards for a feast. Sometimes a shaft of sunlight shoots into the water, making it glow with color. Fungi in fantastic shapes are plentiful. Growing from the side of a stump, the stem of the fawn-colored pluteus bends upwards to the light. Golden clavarias cover fallen trunks with coral masses and creamy ones are so delicately fragile that you almost fear to touch them lest you mar their beauty. Brown brackets send out new surfaces of creamy white on which the children may stencil their names. That vivid yellow on a far stump is the sulphur-colored polyporus. Green and red Russulas delight the eye. The lactaria sheds hot, white milk when you cut it, and the inky coprinus sheds black rain of its own accord. Puff-balls scatter their spores when you smite them and the funnel-shaped clitocybe holds water as a wine-glass holds Sauterne. Springing from a log lying by the fence a dozen plants of the glistening coprinus have reared themselves since morning, fresh from the rain and flavored as sweet as a nut. Narrow furrows and sharp ridges adorn their drooping caps; these in turn are decorated with tiny shining scales. Nibbling at the nut-like flesh, I am touched with the nicety, the universality of nature's appeal to the finer senses and sentiments. Here is form and color and sparkle to please the eye, flesh tender to the touch, aroma that tests the subtlest sense of smell, taste that recalls stories of Epicurean feasts, millions of life-germs among the purple-black gills, ready to float in the streams of the atmosphere to distant realms and other cycles of life. No dead log and toadstools are here, but dainty shapes with billions of possibilities for new life, new beauties, new thoughts. * * * * * [Illustration: YOUNG BLUE-JAY TRYING TO CLIMB BACK TO ITS NEST "THE WOOD THRUSH HAS A LATE NEST IN A YOUNG ELM" (p. 41) "THE CHIPMUNK HOLDS IN HIS PAWS A BIT OF BREAD" (p. 20)] Goldfinches ride on the billows of the air, now folding their pinions and shooting silently downward into the trough of the sea, then opening their wings and beating their way upwards, singing meanwhile. Going over the woods they fly twenty to thirty feet above the tops of the tallest trees, but when they reach the meadow lands they drop to about the same height above the surface of the ground. Only a few of them are nesting yet. The tall thistle by the roadside is nearly ten feet high, but its heads have not fully opened. They like its down for their nests and its seeds to feed the fledgelings. They fly in pairs often and in the evenings they cling prettily to the catnip by the pasture fence, digging into each calyx for its four sweet nutlets. The woodthrush has a late nest in a young elm; her first family was eaten by the blue-jays just after the hatching,--so were the young grosbeaks in a nearby tree, but the cedar waxwings were slain and eaten by the cannibalistic grackles. A blue-jay is just approaching the wood pewee's nest in the burr oak, but the doughty husband does battle with the fierceness of a kingbird and chases him away. Three tiny birdlings, covered with hairs soft and white as the down of a thistle, are in the nest, which is saddled snugly to the fork of a horizontal tree. In another nest, near by, the three eggs have only just been laid. The path which used to run under the over-hanging trees is grown up with grasses. Here the slender rush grows best, and makes a dark crease among the taller and lighter-green grasses, showing where the path winds. Twenty feet overhead, on the slender branch of a white oak, is a tiny knot, looking scarcely larger than the cup of a mossy-cup acorn. It is the nest of the ruby-throated hummingbird, so well concealed by the leaves and by the lichens fastened to its exterior that it would not have been noticed at all but for the whirling wings of the exquisite creature a month ago. Her two tiny eggs have since been safely hatched and the young birds reared; now the nest is empty, a prize to be taken and preserved for future study and admiration. At the foot of a figwort stalk in the pasture, shielded by a little sprig of choke-cherry and a wisp of grasses, a new nest is being builded. That is why the chewink sings so happily from dawn till dark. His summer song is now heard more often than his spring song. Through April, May and June he sings: Fah do do'-do'-do'-do'-do' But now, this song is heard more often: Me' fah'-fah'-fah'-fah'-fah' This song is more appropriate to the summer. There is more of fullness and beauty in it, more of the quality of the woodthrush's songs, for which it is often mistaken. * * * * * From a tiny hawthorne bush, no higher than a collie's back, a field sparrow flies nervously to a low limb of a hickory tree and begs that her nest be not disturbed. It is neatly placed in the middle of the bush about a foot from the ground, made of medium grasses and rootlets and lined with finer grasses and horsehair. The three bluish-white eggs with rufous markings at the larger end are the field-sparrow's own. Into a nest found a month ago, at the foot of a yarrow stalk, the cowbird had sneaked three speckled eggs, leaving only one of the pretty eggs of the field-sparrow. At that time the cowbirds were to be seen everywhere; they chattered every morning in the trees, and the females left their unwelcome eggs in nearly every nest. One little red-eyed vireo's nest had five cowbirds' eggs,--none of her own. But the birds which are building now are generally safe from the parasite. Only rarely is a cowbird's egg found after the middle of July. No cowbirds have been seen since the first week of the month, save the young one on the stump, which the field-sparrow was feeding this morning. They disappear early, seeking seclusion for the moulting. When they emerge from their hiding places they form into flocks, spending their days in the grain-fields and near the rivers where the food is most abundant and easy to procure. At nightfall they congregate, like the red-winged blackbirds, in the sand-bar willows on the river islands. * * * * * Daintily flitting from one branch to another, the redstart weaves threads of reddish gold and black, like strands of night and noon, among the old trees. He has wandered over through the woods from the creek, where his mate built a cup-like nest in a crotch toward the top of a slender white oak. Busy always, he stays but a few moments and then passes on as silently as a July zephyr. The halting voice of the preacher, the red-eyed vireo, comes out of the thicket; then, from an oak overhead, where a little twig is trembling, the softer voice of the warbling vireo queries: "Can't you see it's best to sing and work like me?", with the emphasis on the "me." Blue-jays loiter down the old road, making short flights from tree to tree, moving in the one plane and with slowly beating wings; only rarely do they fold their wings and dip. Redheads and flickers, like the other woodpeckers, have a slightly dipping flight. They open and close their wings in quick succession, not slowly like the goldfinches; consequently their dips are not so pronounced. The line of their flight is a ripple rather than a billow. Chickadee and his family come chattering through the pasture. They had a felt-lined nest in a fence-post during the warm days of June; now they find life easy and sweet--sweet as the two notes mingled with their chatter. Upside down they cling to the swaying twigs, romping, disheveled bird-children, full of fun and song-talk. It is nothing to them that the cruel winds and deep snows of winter will be here all too soon. Summer days are long and joyous, life stretches out before them; why waste its hours with frets and fears about the future? Another round of merry chatter and away they flit. Scarcely have they gone until a blood-red streak shoots down from the elm tree to the grass. It is the scarlet tanager. For the last half-hour his loud notes, tied together in twos, have been ringing from an ash tree in the pasture, near the spreading oak where the mother sat so closely during June. Though the nesting season is over he will sing for some weeks yet. So they come and go through the happy golden hours; now the nasal notes of the nuthatch or the "pleek" of a downy woodpecker in the pasture, followed by the twittering tones of the chimney-swifts zigzagging across the sea of blue above, like busy tugboats darting from side to side of a harbor. Crows string over the woods close to the tops of the trees, watching with piercing eyes for lone and hapless fledglings. A cuckoo droops from a tall wild cherry tree on one side of the road to a tangle of wild grape on the other; he peers out and gives his rain-crow call. So is the warp of the summer woven of bird-flight and threaded through with song. * * * * * When evening comes the sun's last smiles reach far into the timber and linger lovingly on the boles of the trees with a tender beauty. Wood-flowers face the vanishing light and hold it until the scalloped edges of the oak leaves etched against the sky have been blurred by the gathering darkness. Long streams of cinnabar and orange flare up in the western sky. Salmon-colored clouds float into sight, grow gray and gradually melt away. In the dusky depths of the woods the thrush sings his thrilling, largo appassionato, requiem to the dying day. In this part of the thicket the catbirds congregate, but over yonder the brown thrashers are calling to each other. The "skirl" of the nighthawk ceases; but away through the woods, down at the creek, the whippoorwill begins her oft-repeated trinity of notes. A hoot owl calls from a near-by tree. The pungent smoke of the wood-fire is sweeter than incense. Venus hangs like a silver lamp in the northwest. She, too, disappears, but to the east Mars--it is the time of his opposition--shines in splendor straight down the old road, seemingly brought very near by the telescopic effect of the dark trees on either side. Sister stars look down in limpid beauty from a cloudless sky. All sounds have ceased. A fortnight hence the air will be vibrant with the calls of the katydids and the grasshoppers, but now the silence is supreme. It is good for man sometimes to be alone in the silence of the night--to pass out from the world of little things, temporary affairs, conditional duties, into the larger life of nature. There may be some feeling of chagrin at the thought how easily man passes out of the world and how readily and quickly he is forgotten; but this is of small moment compared with the sense of self reliance, of sturdy independence, which belongs to the out-of-doors. By the light of the stars the non-essentials of life are seen in their true proportions. There are so many things which have only a commercial value, and even that is uncertain. Why strive for them or worry about them? In nature there is a noble indifference to everything save the attainment of the ideal. Flattery aids not an inch to the growth of a tendril, blame does not take one tint from the sky. In nature is the joy of living, of infinite, eternal life. Her eternity is now, today, this hour. Each of her creatures seeks the largest, fullest, best life possible under given conditions. The wild raspberries on which the catbirds were feeding today would have been just as fine had there been no catbird to eat them or human eye to admire them. Had there been no human ear to delight, the song of the woodthrush would have been just as sweet. The choke-cherries crimsoning in the summer sun, the clusters of the nuts swelling among the leaves of the hickory will strive to attain perfection, whether or no there are human hands to gather them. They live in beauty, simplicity and serenity, all-sufficient in themselves to achieve their ends. * * * * * Let me live by the old road among the flowers and the trees, the same old road year after year, yet new with the light of each morning. Shirking not my share of the world's work, let me gather comfort from the cool grasses and the restful shade of the old road, hope and courage from the ever-recurring miracle of the morning and the springtime, inspiration to strive nobly toward a high ideal of perfection. They are talking of improving the old road. They will build pavements on either side, and a trim park in the middle, where strange shrubs from other states will fight for life with the tall, rank weeds which always tag the heels of civilization. Then let me live farther out,--always just beyond the last lamp on the outbound road, like Omar Khayyam in his strip of herbage, where there are no improvements, no conventionalities, where life is as large as the world and where the sweet sanities and intimacies of nature are as fresh and abundant as the dew of the morning. Rather than the pavements, let me see the holes of the tiger-beetles in the dirt of the road, the funnels of the spiders leading down to the roots of the grass and their cobwebs spread like ladies' veils, each holding dozens of round raindrops from the morning shower, as a veil might hold a handful of gleaming jewels. Let me still take note of the coming of the months by the new flower faces which greet me, each taking their proper place in the pageant of the year. Old memories of friends and faces, old joys and hopes and loves flash and fade among the shrubs and the flowers--here we found the orchis, there we gathered the gentians, under this oak the friend now sleeping spoke simply of his faith and hope in a future, sweeter summer, when budding thoughts and aspirations should blossom into fadeless beauty and highest ideals be attained. Let me watch the same birds building the same shapely homes in the old familiar bushes and listen to the old sweet songs, changeless through the years. If the big thistle is rooted out, where shall the lark sparrow build her nest? If the dirt road is paved, how shall the yellow-hammers have their sand-baths in the evening, while the half grown rabbits frisk around them? Sweet the hours spent in living along the old road--let my life be simpler, that I may spend more time in living and less in getting a living. There are so many things deemed essential that really are not necessary at all. One hour of new thought is better than them all. Let the days be long enough for the zest and joy of work, for the companionship of loved ones and friends, for a little time loafing along the old road when the day's work is done. Let me hear the sibilant sounds of the thrashers as they settle to sleep in the thicket. Give me the fragrance of the milkweed at evening. Let me see the sunset glow on the trunks of the trees, the ruby tints lingering on the boulder brought down by the glaciers long ago; the little bats that weave their way beneath the darkening arches of the leafy roof, while the fire-flies are lighting their lamps in the nave of the sylvan sanctuary. When the afterglow has faded and the blur of night has come, give me the old, childlike faith and assurance that tomorrow's sun shall rise again, and that by-and-by, in the same sweet way, there shall break the first bright beams of Earth's Eternal Easter morning. [Illustration: "THE FRAGRANCE OF THE MILKWEED AT EVENING" (p. 54)] VIII.--BY THE RIVERSIDE IN AUGUST When morning broke, little wisps of mist, like curls of white smoke, were drifting on the surface of the river as it journeyed through the canyon of cliffs and trees, dark as the walls of night, toward the valley where the widening sea of day was slowly changing from gray to rosy gold. Caught in a cove where the water was still these little wisps gathered together and crept in folds up the face of the cliff, as if they fain would climb to the very top where the red cedars ran like a row of battlements, twisting their stunted trunks over the brink and hanging their dark foliage in a fringe eighty feet above the water. But the cliff had for centuries defied all climbers, though it gave footing here and there to a few friendly plants. At its base the starry-rayed leaf-cup shed a heavy scent in the stillness of the moist morning. Higher, at the entrance to a little cave, the aromatic spikenard, with purple stems and big leaves, stood like a sentinel. From crannies in the limestone wall the harebell hung, its last flowers faded, but its foliage still delicately beautiful, like the tresses of some wraith of the river, clinging to the grim old cliff, and waiting, like Andromeda, for a Perseus. Tiny blue-green leaves of the cliff-brake, strung on slender, shining stems, contrasted their delicate grace with the ruggedness of the old cliff. Still higher, where a little more moisture trickled down from the wooded ridge above, the walking fern climbed step by step, patiently pausing to take new footings by sending out roots from the end of each long, pointed leaf. Near the top of the cliff, where the red cedars gave some shade, little communities of bulb-bearing ferns and of polypody displayed their exquisite fronds, as welcome in a world of beauty as smiles on a mother's face. Mosses and lichens grew here and there, staining the face of the old cliff gray, green and yellow. These tiny ferns and mosses, each drawing the sort of sustenance it needed from the layers of the limestone, seemed greater than the mountain of rock. Imposing and spectacular, yet the rock was dead,--the mausoleum for countless forms of the old life that ceased to be in ages long forgotten. These fairy forms that sprang from it were the beginnings of the new life, the better era, the cycle of the future, living, breathing, almost sentient things, transforming the stubborn stone into beauty of color and form, into faith that moves mountains and hope that makes this hour the center of all eternity. For them the river had been patiently working through the centuries, scoring its channel just a little deeper, cutting down ever so little each year the face of the cliff. Eternity stretched backward to the time when the little stream running between the thin edges of the melting ice sheets at the top of the high plateau first began to cut the channel and scarp this mighty cliff; still backward through untold ages to the time when the lowest layer of limestone in the cliff was only soft sediment on the shore of a summer sea. Eternity stretched forward, also, to the time when this perpendicular wall shall have been worn to a gentle slope, clad with luxuriant verdure, and adorned, perchance, with fairer flowers than any which earth now knows; still forward through other untold ages to the time when all earth's fires shall have cooled; when wind, rain, storm and flood, shall have carried even the slope to the sea and made this planet a plain like Mars. Now is the golden age; this hour is the center of eternity. * * * * * Red tints of the sunrise brightened into yellow, then followed the white light of an August day. Now the morning mist has gone; woods, fields and river lie silent in the hot, bright, apathetic morning. Peace reigns over the smiling fields where Plenty pours from her golden horn. Here, on the ridge at the top of the cliff, the woods stretch back half a mile to meet the prairie. Straight down from the red cedars on the brink of the rock the river softly eddies round a huge boulder,--the remnant of some cliff tragedy countless years ago. In the rent of the rock from which it fell a turkey-buzzard often sits and spreads her huge wings as the boats glide by. Storms have scalloped pockets in the softer strata; in them still hang the phoebe's nests, which were filled with young birds in June. Here and there a swallow's hole may be seen in the rock; earlier in the season the young birds often peeped out from these holes as if wishing for strength to come speedily to their wings. Across the river there is a wide beach where the low water makes ripple-marks in the sand. Narrow leaves of sand-bar willows fringe the shore, and back of these are the shining leaves of the oaks. Down the river there are glimpses of the fields,--yellow stubble where the grain has been cut, serried ranks of the green and tan where the far-flung guidons of the tasselled corn stretch away up the slope like a mighty army to demolish the cloud-castles of refuge on the far horizon where the mists fled for safety from the pursuing rays of the sun. Overhead the oak-leaves are motionless, like the comforting, brooding wings of Peace. It is a time for rest and quiet joy in the beauty and the fulness of the year. Now, in the grateful shade of some friendly old oak, is the time to "loaf and invite my soul." [Illustration: "GRATEFUL SHADE OF SOME FRIENDLY OLD OAK" (p. 63)] [Illustration: "FAT FROM A SUMMER'S FEEDING" (p. 63)] * * * * * Happy is the man who has made a companion of some fine old tree standing near his home, type of the tree which he loved in his boyhood, perchance the very same huge white oak. He learns to go to it as he would to his friend, to let the old tree share his sorrows and his joys. Others may be heedless of its charm, ignorant of its power to help, but for him it always has a welcome and a ministry of beauty. He learns to visit it often, to talk to it in his thoughts. Some dreamy summer morning he muses on its history, its service to mankind. The old tree seems to bend its branches down to listen as he says: "I know you, old tree, and I love you. You belong to one of the first and finest families. The remains of your ancestors have been found in the eocene and miocene rocks, away, way north of your home at the present time. They grew in beauty long before man's face was seen upon the earth. The whole of civilization has rested beneath your ancestral shade. Long before the Eternal City was founded your ancestors adorned the seven hills and beautified the grass beneath with the flickering shadows cast by their sunlit leaves. Some of them which gave shade to the first habitations in the proud city that from her throne of beauty ruled the world were still fine and flourishing centuries later when Pliny sat beneath them in studious contemplation. Others of your ancestors, old tree, formed the sacred grove of Dodona, where the oracles spake to minds as yet in darkness. They were accounted fit to compare in might and majesty with Jove himself, and some of them stood like sturdy sentinels around his Roman temple. The civic crown which adorned the brows of Roman heroes as a reward for great deeds done, was made of green leaves from their branches. In the shadow of your ancestors Pan played his pipes, Theocritus sat and listened to the everlasting laughter of the summer sea and his shepherds and goatherds reclined to engage in their friendly contests of song. Vergil in his eclogues paid tribute to their beauty and grandeur. They guarded the Druids' sacred fire and some of them are living yet which gave shelter to the victorious legions of William the Conqueror when he crossed the channel more than two thousand years ago. Hearts of oak made the ships which helped a nation fight her way to the supremacy of the sea and also the caravels which bore an intrepid discoverer across the weary waste of waters to the threshold of the new home for all those seeking life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Some of your ancestors made the log cabins to shelter the band of pioneers led by the pious Hooker into the valley of the Connecticut and another preserved the precious charter until the storm of tyranny had passed. It is your family, old tree, which has lent itself willingly to the service of man, in the comfort and stability of his home and in the panels and carvings which adorn the great cathedrals he has built for the worship of his Creator and the enrichment of his own soul." Still the old tree listens. The heart warms toward it as memory speaks of its companionship through the years: "And I have watched you, old tree, in storm and in sunshine; in the early winter when the soft snow stuck fast to your rugged old trunk and your branches and twigs and made you a picture of purity; and in the later winter when the fierce storms wrestled in vain with your sinewy limbs. While the other trees of the forest were tossing hither and thither, bent and broken by the blast, you stood in calm poise and dignity, nodding and swaying towards me as if to show me how to withstand adversity. And I have watched your pendulous blossoms daily grow more beautiful among the miracles of early May when the sunshine of the flower-spangled days made you a vision of tender green and gold. I have seen your tiny leaves creep out of their protecting bud-scales in the springtime, their upper surfaces touched with a pink more lovely than that on the cheek of a child, while below they were clothed with a silvery softness more delicately fair than the coverlid in the cradle of a king. I have watched them develop into full-grown leaves with lobes as rounded and finely formed as the tips of ladies' fingers and I have noted how well the mass of your foliage has protected your feathered friends and their naked nestlings from the peltings of the hail, the drenchings of the rain and the scorching of the summer sun. I have gloried in the grateful shade you gave alike to happy children in their play and to tired parents weary and worn with the work and the worry of the world; and it was then, old tree, that you taught me to be sympathetic and hospitable. And I have watched your fruit ripen and fall, to be eagerly seized by the wild folk of the woodland and stored, some of it in the holes of your own trunk, for use during the long winter. You taught me to be generous and they gave me lessons in forethought and frugality. Later in the autumn I have watched your green leaves take on a wondrous wine-red beauty, as the splendor of a soul sometimes shines most vividly in the hour before it is called home; and they taught me not to grieve or to murmur because death must come to us all. In the winter I have seen the squirrel digging beneath the snow to find the acorns he had planted in the fall. He didn't find them all; some of them came up in the springtime as tiny trees and spoke to me of the life that knows no end." * * * * * Now a woodchuck, fat from a summer's feeding, climbs heavily to a tree stump and seats himself to pass the morning in his favorite avocation of doing nothing. He worked during the night or the very early morning, for fresh dirt lay at the entrance to his hole. Evidently he had been enlarging it for the winter. Like a Plato at his philosophies he sits now, slowly moving his head from side to side, as if steeping his senses in the beauty of the world around him so that all the dreams of his long winter sleep shall be pleasant. A persistent fly, a slap, and the woodchuck hears. He turns that dark gray, solemn looking face, and asks mutely, reproachfully, perhaps resentfully, why his reverie has been disturbed. Then he hastily scurries to his burrow and he will not again appear though I sit here all day. [Illustration: "HE TURNS THAT SOLEMN FACE" (p. 71)] From a hole in the side of a fallen log the chipmunk peeps warily, comes out quickly, but whisks back again in fancied fright. Soon he returns and sits on the log awhile, barking his bird-like "chip, chip," and flirting his tail with each note. Then he sets about gathering the old oak leaves which were piled near the log by the winds last March and have lain undisturbed through the summer. Grabbing two or three in his mouth, he pushes them into his pouches with his paws and is gone into his hole like a flash. The hole in the log is the entrance to the long passageway which goes down perpendicularly for three feet, and then gradually ascends, until at a distance of eight feet it is about a foot below the surface of the ground. Here the chipmunk will pass the cold days of winter, snugly sleeping in his leafy bed which he is now preparing, with a store of food nearby to use in wakeful spells of warm weather and in the lean days next spring after he has fairly roused himself from lethargy. For half an hour he comes and goes, carrying two or three, even four leaves at a time. Then he comes a little farther away from the log, suddenly looks up and sees me sitting. He stops short, breathes quickly, his little sides tremble; I take out an old envelope and write his description, like this: "Size, about half way between a mouse and a rat, five or six inches long, with a tail perhaps five inches more, about as big around as a man's thumb, bushy, but of even size the whole length, top of head dark gray, yellowish circles about the shining black eyes; short, erect ears; light gray underneath, with whitish legs; a narrow black stripe down the middle of the back, then on either side, a stripe of reddish gray; then a stripe of black, next a stripe of yellow, then black again and after that, reddish fox color down to the whitish under-parts." At length the chipmunk makes a dash for the thicket ten feet away and his "chip, chip," rings out excitedly as he reaches the friendly shelter. * * * * * The chipmunk is not the only woods creature preparing for winter during the hottest days of August. For more than a week the flying squirrel has been making the small mossy cup acorns rain down on the roof of the bungalow. He begins on them when they are scarcely acorns, merely green cups with a dot at the top. But he knows. He bites them in two, and deftly extracts the acorn, which is in the milky state, scarcely as large as a pea. He does it in the darkness, but with amazing rapidity. Speeding from twig to twig, from one cluster of acorns to another, he cuts the cups in two and extracts the meat so fast that the pieces rain down on the roof. When he is working at top speed, he will probably average twenty acorns a minute. In the morning the roof of the porch is covered with pieces of the husks. For half an hour after sunset he keeps up this fast speed. Apparently he is getting supper after his long sleep through the day. At the end of half an hour he begins to work more leisurely. The pieces fall on the roof every now and then. Possibly he is taking the sweetmeats to his hole, high up in a tree. Through the night there is the intermittent sound of his labor. Sometimes, towards morning, he drops in for a visit,--literally drops in, by way of the chimney and the open fireplace. He knows no fear. Going to the kitchen, he helps himself to the doughnut left on the table for him. If it is a whole one, he nibbles all around it. If only half a one he carries it away. You may close the kitchen door and catch him with your bare hands. He will neither squeal nor bite. But he makes a poor pet, because he sleeps in the daytime and works in the darkness. He strongly dislikes the light. If put into a box he backs up into the darkest corner, brings his beautiful flat tail between his four legs and up over his nose and his eyes. Rolled up lengthwise in this ball he spends the day; but when evening comes he is active enough. If kept for any length of time he makes a very docile pet and will beg permission to sleep in your pocket. But it is better to give him his freedom, and see him scamper up one tree and "fly" to another. As he springs he spreads out the whitish membranes along each side, holds his flat tail rigid, quivering. Thus he goes down, parachute fashion, on an inclined plane. Just before he gets to the tree trunk which is his objective point, he makes momentum aid his muscles in the accomplishment of an upward curve. * * * * * Crickets and katydids droned and fiddled all night, and when the katydids quit at daybreak, other grasshoppers and cicadas were ready to take their places in the screechy orchestra. Night and day they shrill their ceaseless music. It is all masculine love music, as much an expression of their tender feelings towards listening maidens, as the old troubadour songs to fair ladies or as the exquisite song of the rose-breasted grosbeak is to his brown-garbed spouse in May and June. Late in July it began with the short rasps and screeches of tiny hoppers flitting in the grass; the katydid began to tune up on the evening of July 29. Then the long-legged conductor waved his baton and the orchestra was off. It started moderato, but quickly increased to an allegro, and sometimes it is almost presto. For the first two weeks in August new fiddlers were constantly being added, and now there are enough to fill every band stand all through the woods. The noise at night is almost ear-splitting. The old preacher was right about it. There are times when the grasshopper is a burden. At the hour of sunset the cicada winds his rattle most joyously, subsiding into silence as darkness comes and making way for the katydid. The screechy orchestra is a poor substitute for the grand birds' concerts of June and July. For the birds, August is a month of silence. Except for an occasional solo, nearly all the birds are silent, moulting and moping in the thickets. If you steal into the thicket you may find the thrushes and the thrashers feeding on the ground. Once in a while one of them shows himself in the morning or the evening, but not often. Nesting done, the brown thrasher ceased his long and brilliant solos from the treetops after the first week of July. Next week the catbird's song was heard for the last time. Because the first nest of the wood thrush was robbed by the blue-jays, a second nest was built. This family was safely reared, and the wood thrush sang until the third week in July, when one clear sunset night, the sky all aglow with banners of golden red, he sang his farewell solo. For seven weeks the Maryland yellow throat sang just at the turn of the old woods road, where his mate had her nest in a low bush. As the babies waxed large his song waned, and he was not heard during the last week in July, nor since. Still the dickcissel, the lark sparrow and the indigo bunting continued their trio. Evidently their babies were somewhere over in the field nearby, a field that was corn last year, and now is grown up thickly with smartweed. August came with a rush of the mercury above the ninety mark, and there it has stayed. A week of it was enough for this trio. They ceased their concert work, but now and then the lark sparrow pipes up a feeble imitation of his sweet notes in July. Like the song sparrow, he cannot wholly refrain from expressing his satisfaction in being alive. Many men and women are just like that. The vireos also ceased singing at the end of the first week in August, but sometimes the red-eye gives a little preachment from his leafy pulpits in the woods. Latest among the singers are the chewinks, the wood pewees, the field sparrows, and, of course, the goldfinches and the cuckoos. The young chewinks left their nests in the pasture on the third, and the chewink's feelings expressed themselves in song for two weeks after that. He out-sang the field sparrows, whose young were hatched August third, and left their nest on the twelfth. Apparently the field sparrow stopped singing and went to work providing for his family of three. But the chewink was not to be sobered so quickly. Why not sing with the work? The days are long enough, happy enough, for both. Even now he gives occasional bursts of song. Evidently this is the theory of the tanager also, for he sang all through July, and here in mid-August his trumpet tones occasionally ring through the leafy silences of the woods. The young wood pewees which left their nests on the eleventh are now able to shift for themselves; but the parents have much the same song as they had when the three eggs lay in the nest, saddled to the burr-oak bough. Still, through the peaceful morning air comes the loud, clear, cheery call of the Bob White--a note that has in it health and vigor for the healing of many a tired heart. As for the cuckoo, well, his mate is guarding those bluish-green eggs in the apology for a nest built in the lower branches of a young black-oak; they will not be hatched until the very last of the month. He does his best to be cheerful and to make a joyful sound. "Kut-Kut-Kut," and "Kow-Kow-Kow"--you may often hear the latter sound in the middle of the night. Does he try to let his lady dear know that he is near her through the darkness, or is he happily singing in his dreams? Perched on a mullen spike, a goldfinch is singing to his mate, whose nest is in a sapling not far away. His jet black wings fold over his yellow back, shaping it into a pointed shield of gold. He is so happy and so fond that he can not bear long to remain out of her sight. Now he sings a tender serenade, then his joy rises to ecstasy. He takes wings and floats up and down the imaginary waves, circling higher and higher, his sweet notes growing more rapturous until finally they reach their climax as he goes abruptly skyward. Then his fluttering wings close, and he drops from a height of perhaps forty or fifty feet, to alight again on his original perch and resume his tender serenade, singing now in a sweet, dreamy way, sounding just like a ripple of moonlit water looks. This love-song of the goldfinch is the climax of the summer's bird-song. If there were none other, the summer would be worth while. Dreamily sitting on a bare twig, the wood pewee is content. She has raised her family, they are now able to get their own food. Though she is worn and wasted since the spring, and may easily be told from her husband, because he is handsome and well-groomed, yet is she content to sit and wait for the food to come her way. Now she circles from her perch and returns. Watching her catch an insect on the way, I hear the sharp snap of her bill, as if two pebbles had been smartly struck together. * * * * * Fanning the air with gauzy wings, the honey bee comes for a feast on the flowers of the figwort. Visiting every open blossom, he loads up with the honey and departs in a line for his hive. Bye-and-bye a humble-bee wanders along, quickly finding that another has drained the blossoms of their sweets. He passes on undismayed; there are more flowers. Over by the wire fence the tick-trefoil, desmodium, is in its glory. Its lower petal stands out like a doorstep, and on it the humble-bee alights. Two little yellow spots, bordered with deep red, show him where lies the nectar. Here he thrusts his head, forcing open the wing petals from the standard. Instantly the keel snaps down as if a steel spring had been released. The bee is dusted with pollen, which he carries with him to fertilize another flower. How did the flower learn to fashion that mechanism, to construct those highly colored nectar-guides? How many centuries of accumulated intelligence or instinct,--call it what the scientists please,--are there behind that action of the bee, thrusting his head just where those nectar-guides are placed? Is the bee more sentient than the flower? Or, is the flower which provided the nectar and placed the nectar-guides just at the right place on the bright blossoms, as special allurements for the senses of the bee, the more to be admired for its intelligence? One by one the bee opens the flowers, which were so fresh and beautiful at sunrise. When he goes to his nest in the grass at evening, they will all have been drained of their nectar, and the petals will be wilted by the sun. But they have achieved their object, the ovules have been fertilized. Tomorrow morning there will be many bright, new blossoms, their nectar crying to the bees, like the voice in Omar Khayyam's tavern to those outside the door: _"When all the temple is prepared within, Why lags the drowsy worshiper outside?"_ Now there comes sidling, gliding along the barbed wire fence, the Baltimore oriole, always a charming fellow because of his flaming plumage, which has won for him the name of the golden robin and firebird. He walks along the wire fence in a gliding, one-leg-at-a-time fashion, as he often does on the twig of a tree. His head is down, he is on the lookout for caterpillars. Now he reaches the tick-trefoil, and nips out some stamens from its purple blossoms, which he eats with relish. * * * * * The work of the year will soon be done. Most of the trees have completed the growth for the year and nothing remains but to complete the filling of the buds which already have formed for next year. Pull down a twig of the white-oak and you find a cluster of terminal buds at the end, marking the close of this year's growth, each of them containing the nucleus of next year's life. In the axils of the leaves on the elm are the little jeweled buds which will be brown and dull all winter, but will shine like garnets when the springtime comes. The fat, green buds on the linden are yellowing now, and next they are to be tinted into the ruby red which is so attractive in the winter months when contrasted with the snow. As the sun nears the zenith the heat waves on the ridges, and across the cornfields seem to have a rhythmic motion, as if they are manifestations of the great throbbing pulse-beat of nature, working at almost feverish haste to ripen her fruits and prepare for the winter in the few weeks of summer that yet remain. And now the sunshine has a new and deeper meaning. If we have ever complained of it, we hasten to pray pardon. Not only in the cornfields, where the milky ears are fast filling, but all over upland and lowland, in woods and fields and meadows, Nature is busy making and storing starch and sugar, protein and albumen, that the earth and all that therein is may have cause to rejoice in the fullness of the year. Above the ground she stores it in drupe and pome and berry, nut and nutlet and achene, and below the ground in rootstock and rhizome, corm and tuber, pumping them full with strokes quick and strong in these grand climacteric days of the summer. All the water which seemed so useless in April, all the rain which seemed so superfluous and so dreary in May and June, has been used. Not a drop of it was wasted. Its office was to feed life, to dissolve the substances in the rocks and the soils which the plants needed, to be mixed with the sunshine in the manufacture of food for the present and for the future. Nor is the heat nor the light wasted. Both are stored in the trunks of the trees, and when in the winter the back log sends out its steady heat and the foresticks their cheerful blaze, the old tree will give back, measure for measure, the light and heat it has stored through the years. Let us rejoice in the fervent heat and the grand work of the August days. So a man works as he approaches his ideals. Feebly at first he begins. Winds of adversity buffet him, cold disdain would freeze his ambition, hot scorn would shrivel his soul. Still he perseveres, striving towards his ideal, firmly rooted in faith and his heart ever open for the beauty and the sunshine of the world. In periods of storm and cloud, his heart, like the sun, makes its own warmth and splendor, knowing that the season of its strength shall come. When he seems to be growing nearer his ideal his fervor is at August heat; for him there is no burden in the heat of the day; tirelessly, joyously, he strives, achieves, attains. Thus he does his share of the work of the world and adds his mite to the heritage of its future. * * * * * The plants of the woodlands seem strangely unfamiliar since the springtime. If you have not called upon them during these months that have fled so swiftly you will almost feel the need of being introduced to them again. Some of them, such as the Dutchman's breeches and the bluebell, have gone, like the beautiful children who died when life was young. Others have grown away from you, like the children you used to know in the days gone by, so strangely altered now. The little uvularia, whose leaves were so soft and silky in May and whose blossom drooped so prettily, like a golden bell, is tall, and branched now, and its leaves are stiff and papery. Its curious, triangular, leathery pods have lifted their lids at the top and discharged their bony seeds. The blood-root, the hepatica, and the wild ginger are showing big and healthy leaves, but the few lady slippers, here and there, have faded almost beyond recognition. When the summer shower patters down among the leaves the music of the insect orchestra ceases and the performers shield their instruments with their wings. It passes and gleams of sunshine make jewels of the raindrops. Then a little breeze brings the aroma of the blossoming bergamot, wild mint, basil and catnip, filling the air with a spicy fragrance. The insects tune up; soon the orchestra is at it again. White cumulus clouds appear, floating lazily in the azure, reflected by the river below. They chase the sunlight across the amber stubble of the oat-fields and weave huge pictures which flash and fade among the swaying tassels of the corn. [Illustration: "IN PLACID PONDS" (p. 92)] And oh, the color-splendor of these August days! Here at the top of the cliff, the orange-flowered milkweed still flames in beauty, mingled with the pink and lavender bergamot and the varied yellows of the sunflowers and the rosin weeds. Down nearer the water's edge where the shelves of the cliff are layered with soil, the virgin's bower twines clusters of creamy white. On the grassy shore where the river begins to leave the rocks the brilliant blue lobelia is breaking into blossom, contrasted with the bright lemon yellow of the helenium. Masses of pink light up shady places where the false dragonhead grows, and the jewel weeds are thickly hung with pendant blossoms of orange and pale yellow. The river winds along the low shores and reedy shallows, sometimes partly losing itself in placid ponds, gay with the crimson and green and blue of the dragon-flies, and fringed by dark green reeds and rushes from which Pan might well have made his pipes to charm the gods, and the Naiads of the sacred fount. Onward it goes, now passing by a sloping bank which the gray-leaved golden rod has covered with a wealth of golden glory; for this low-growing golden rod which blossoms so early, is the most brilliantly and richly golden of them all. [Illustration: "STILL THE RIVER BECKONS ONWARD" (p. 93)] Great fluffy masses of pink purple at the top of large-leaved stems are the blossoms of the Joe Pye Weed, and smaller clusters of royal purple in the grassy places are the efflorescence of the iron weed. A stretch of grassy ground, which slopes down to the river's brink, is gemmed with the thick purple clusters of the milkwort, which shines among the grass as the early blossoms of the clover used to do when the summer was young. Here and there the little bag-like blossoms of the gerardia, or foxglove, are opening among the stems of the fading grass, and the white blossoms of the marsh bellflower, the midget member of the campanula family, are apparently as fresh and numerous as they were in early July. Water horehound has whitish whorls of tiny blossoms and prettily cut leaves, which are as interesting as the flowers. And still the river beckons onward, murmuring that the quest of the flower-lover is not yet done and that the prize awaits the victor who presses on to the swamp around the bend where the birches hang drooping branches over quiet, fish-full pools. The prize is worth the extra half-mile. It is the gorgeous flower of late summer, a fit symbol of August, the queen blossom of a queenly month, the brilliant red lobelia, or cardinal flower. There is no flower in the year so full of vivid color. Sometimes, but only very rarely, the purple torches of the exquisite little fringed orchis (habenaria psychodes) lights up a swampy place beneath the trees and sheds its delicate fragrance as a welcome to the bees. * * * * * The life of an August day, like all life, comes too quickly to a close. In the morning of a day, of a summer, or of a life, there seems so much ahead; so many friends to help and cheer, so much beauty to behold, so many pleasant roads to roam, so much to accomplish, and so many treasures to gather by the way. But when the days are growing shorter and the twilight falls, perhaps it is enough if we can feel that we have at the best but faithful failures; perhaps enough if we have forgotten the dust and the rocks and the mire, and have treasured only the memories of the beauty and the music and the joy which was ours by the way; surely enough if we can look forward happily and peacefully to the west where _The sky is aglow with colors untold, With a triumph of crimson and opal and gold, And wavering curtains woven of fire Are hung o'er the portals of Day's desire. The sun goes to rest in his western halls And over the world, the twilight falls._ And then the glory fades to gray and beautiful Venus smiles at us just over the tops of the trees. Little is heard save the occasional note of the whip-poor-will and the constant reminder from the katydid that it is not far to frost. But the river ripples softly around the rocks and a cool air stirs in the trees above, exorcising all mournful spirits. The harvest moon is rising and the white light lies sleeping, dreaming, on trees and cliff and river. On such a night pleading Pan wooed his coy nymph with the promise: _And then I'll tell you tales that no one knows Of what the trees talk in the summer nights; When far above you hear them murmuring, As they sway whispering to the lifting breeze._ IX.--THE PASSING OF SUMMER When the wild plums ripen in the thicket by the creek and the grapes are purpling in the kisses of the sun; when even the sunlight itself grows mellow and the landscape wears a dreamy haze, colored like the bloom on a plum, as if the year, too, had reached perfect ripeness; then it is mid-September and Iowa begins a season of loveliness which shall hardly be excelled anywhere on earth. Young birds imitate the spring songs of their parents in a faint, wistful, reminiscent way, some of those hatched early in the year rising almost to full song, as in the case of the meadow larks whose music rings through the meadows and makes the balmy afternoons seem like those of early May. The wild strawberry blossoms again; the violet and some of the other spring flowers. But the signs of the passing of the summer are everywhere in evidence. Dense, white morning mists--the September mists--lie in the valleys and yield but slowly to the shafts of the rising sun. Flocks of feathered voyagers are shaping their course toward the south. Gold and crimson leaves grow more numerous along the lanes and in the woods. Antares, Altair and Vega, with the summer constellations, are passing farther towards the west, while before bedtime Fomalhaut may be seen at the mouth of the Southern Fish in the southeast and the creamy white Capella is leading up Auriga in the northeast. Between them, just over the eastern rim of the world, appear the Pleiades, their "sweet influences" in keeping with the season. The summer is passing, but not in sadness. Some of the greatest of its glories are reserved for these last days. * * * * * Now the cicada, forgetting to give his winding salute at sundown, has almost dropped out of the insect orchestra and the katydid, too, is heard less often. The rest of the screeching musicians vary the volume and the speed of their music in approximate ratio to the temperature. In the warm evening they saw and rub away at presto time as if they were determined to get to the end of the selection before the curtain goes up for the moonlight scene; but they slacken to moderato when the nights grow cooler, slower, always slower, and fainter as the chill air creeps through the woods. When the north wind filters coldly through the trees their music thins and dims till it sounds pathetic as the tick of a tall clock in a lonely house at night. But it warms up again with the sunshine next day, keeping time and tune with the varying moods of the final days of the summer. When a dreamy, hazy day is followed by a mellow night and little patches of white moonlight lie dreaming beneath the trees, the crickets have a lullaby that comes in rhythmic beats, as if they watched the moonlight breathe and rocked the world to sleep. * * * * * Comforting and soothing as the touch of a loved hand on a fevered brow come the first cooling breezes of September after the fierce white heat of August. Sweeter than music is the sound of the wind, as it passes through the woods, welcomed by millions of waving branches and dancing leaves. It brings the call of the quail, the scream of the jay, the bark of the squirrel, the crack of the hunter's gun, the first notes of the returning bluebirds, the clean, keen scent of the earth after rain, the courage and joy of life, motion, action. Seen from the top of a cliff the acres of foliage spread out in the creek valley beneath has a motion suggesting the waves of the sea, now flowing in green billows before the wind, now whipped into spray at the shore of the creek where the willows show the white sides of their leaves. In the fields the far-flung banners of the corn take on ripening tints and begin to rustle drily in the breeze. Golden ears, wrapped in tobacco-brown silk, are pushing from tanned and purplish husks. Newly-plowed fields were made possible by the rains which started the grass growing in the stubble, changing the color from amber to emerald and wrought a miracle of verdure in the pastures which August had baked brown. Here and there the aftermath of red clover has developed a field of new blossoms,--a little lake of pink where sunshine plays with shadow and sturdy humble bees spend the days in ecstasy. * * * * * Summer puts on her last bright robes for the final floral review before she is borne by the birds down the valley to set up her court in the southland. Tall and soldierly, this last gay army of the flowers passes in review before her. Blazing stars in pink and purple, tall and picturesque, with long rows of brilliant buttons; regiments of asters in blue and white and purple; rattle-snake root with big and quaintly slashed leaves and hundreds of tassels in delicate shades of lilac, purple and white; swamp sunflowers in dazzling yellow, camped in millions along the creek bottom to make it more glorious than the historical pageant of the Field of the Cloth of Gold; plumy battalions of golden-rod, marshalled by the sun along every country lane; companies of tall, saw-leaved sunflowers with golden petals and darker disks, deployed along the fences and seen at their best in the twilight when they look like friendly faces with beaming eyes; as I write them so they march across the land and bow farewell to summer. There is no floral spectacle in all the land so fine as this march of the composites over the Iowa prairies and fields in September. That is the judgment of those who have travelled and observed. In the swamps and along the ditches the blue lobelias flourish and the companies of blue gentians are bringing up the rear to end the floral review, begging the summer to wait until they pass by. The little creek near which I live rises in a little swale between two rolling ridges of the pasture. When it leaves the pasture only a narrow box culvert is necessary to take it across the road, but before it reaches the river, twenty miles away, a double-spanned bridge is required to carry the road over it. In the pasture where it rises it fails to furnish enough water for the cattle, but half way along its course it sometimes washes out bridges in the springtime and farther down it often floods the lowlands. Slipping silently among the feet of the long grasses in the meadows it is scarcely seen at first; but by-and-by it attains the dignity of a stream, winding through meadows and bordering orchards and grain-fields. Now the willows begin to mark its course, then elms and oaks and walnuts with little thickets of panicled dogwood and wild plum, where the wild grape and the bittersweet display their fruit and the wild duck sometimes makes her nest. [Illustration: "PAUSING IN EACH DEEP POOL TO COOL AND REFRESH ITSELF" (p. 109)] Sometimes the creek almost sinks from sight in a bed of hot sand; it leaves only a narrow runlet of water idling along the foot of the high bank and pausing in each deep pool at the feet of the overhanging trees to cool and refresh itself for its onward journey. To these quiet pools goes the fisherman with his minnow seine and a stick. He knows that in the water among the roots of the old tree lie shiners and soap minnows, creek chubs and soft-shelled "crawdads," the kind that make good bait for the black bass down in the river. He pokes around vigorously with his stick and sends them scurrying into his short seine. Hither also go the school-boy fishermen, with a willow pole and one gallus apiece, seeking to entice the patriarchal chub, the shiner and the stone-roller. From this point down, the young anglers are strung along the banks. Some try their luck for sunfish by the piles of loose rock and boulders, and some would tempt the bullheads from siestas in the mud. Above the mill-dam the water backs up to form a peaceful pond which mirrors the trees and the rushes and cat-tails above it and sleeps beneath the thicket of willows where the redwings flock in the evenings. Broad leaves of the arrow-head and pickerel-weed give shelter to the coot, bobbing her head and neck as she makes nervous journeys through the water, sometimes scratching a long streak across its mirror-like surface as she uses both feet and wings in her haste to escape from the lone pedestrian. At sundown the sandhill crane may sometimes be surprised, standing like a silhouette by the shore of a grassy island. The awkward, wary bittern and the still more vigilant least bittern are familiar residents here. Below the dam the creek winds at will through a peaceful valley, appropriating to itself an ever widening stretch from the farm lands. Sometimes it hastens down a pebbly speedway, then slackens its pace and wanders off from its course until suddenly it seems to grow alarmed, whips around a bend and comes hurrying back. Sometimes its level flood-plain is a quarter mile wide, bounded on either side by steep timbered hills which stretch on and on down the valley until the sky receives them in a glory of blue haze. Sometimes the creek has cut its way straight down the face of a high rock cliff on one side, while on the other side is a level meadow with bushy-margined ponds. In places the water of the creek lies asleep in a dream of sunshine, but further on it ripples and gurgles over a bouldered bed, walled in by rocky slopes. These are kept moist by water trickling down from hidden springs among the roots of the shrubs and vines, ferns and mosses which soften the grim limestone into beauty of form and color. [Illustration: "LIES ASLEEP IN A DREAM OF SUNSHINE" (p. 111)] In the cool days of September, when walking is a fine art, I love to accompany the lower portion of the old creek down to the river, following the little path made by farmer boys and fishermen. The two posts at the fence by the roadside, set just far enough apart for a man to squeeze himself through, are the gates to a land elysian. When I pass through them I am a thousand miles from the city with its toil and pain, its strife and sorrow. Worldly cares drop from my back as I stand upon the brink of this creek and watch the water spreading itself out over the white sand. Time and distance lose their force as factors in my life. I have found and entered the lost lands of Theocritus. Beneath this black ash, touched here and there with the purple wistfulness of the passing year, Pan might have sat to play his pipes, the Cyclops might have pleaded with the graceful Galatea. This haze which hangs over the white oak grove, for aught I know, may be the incense from Druid fires. Along this valley Chaucer's Immortals may have gone a pilgriming, and in this bosky wood Robin Hood may have trained his band. The legend that from this cliff an Indian lover on his favorite pony once leaped to the creek a hundred feet below and a mighty funeral ceremony was held at the Indian mound a little farther down the valley seems to be attested both by the cliff and the mound. Before I have gone very far I am unconcernedly conscious that I have not the slightest idea in which direction lies the nearest road home, nor how far I have come. But I know that somewhere down the lavender-veiled valley the creek and myself shall reach the river at last and all will be well. There are so many beautiful things to see on the way that I would not hasten if I could. Life and the future is much like that. * * * * * There is a pleasant constancy in the companionship of a creek. It is always at home when I call, always seems to wear a smile of welcome, always has something new to offer in the way of entertainment. And it is changeless through the years. If I were to return some September afternoon after an absence of half a lifetime I should expect to see a green heron fly up the creek when I reached this particular bend and to find the kingfisher in his accustomed place on the bare branch of this patriarchal oak. At the next bend, where the current has cut the bank straight down I should look for the rows of holes made by the little colony of bank swallows. I should steal around the sharp bend by the old willow to see a little sandpiper on the boulder in mid-stream as of old. On a certain high grassy knoll I should find the woodchuck sunning himself and he would run towards his same old hole beneath the basswood tree, just as he does today. On the swampy edge of the stream I should find the perennial blossoms of this same corymbed rattle-snake root and its interesting spear-shaped leaves reflected in the water. From the dry bank just at the end of this ledge of rock my nostrils would catch the resinous odor of the creamy-flowered kuhnia and a more subtle aroma from the pearly-blossomed everlasting. The horse in the pasture would again come up and rub his nose in my hand and the cattle beneath the trees would make the same picture as in the days of long ago. Civilization can hardly spoil the creek. The spring freshets obliterate attempts at road-making and the steep hills protect it from encroachment and preserve its independence and wild beauty. [Illustration: "CATTLE BENEATH THE TREES WOULD MAKE THE SAME PICTURE" (p. 116)] * * * * * It is worth while to spend a little time with the friendly golden-rod which spreads all over upland and lowland almost as generous as the sunshine. To many of us one stalk of golden-rod looks much like another, but a very little study will readily enable us to distinguish between the different species and will add wonderfully to its interest and charm. There is the tall, smooth stemmed golden-rod, with saw toothed leaves, except near the base and ample pyramids of medium-sized clusters of blossoms; this is the solidago serotina, or late golden-rod. A similar golden-rod, but with hairy stems and smaller flower clusters is the solidago Canadensis or Canada golden-rod. Both these grow in the bottoms anywhere near the creek. Along the moist clay banks the elm-leaved golden-rod shows its tall stem with the leaves which give the plant its distinctive name, surmounted by several threadlike spreading branches strung with little bits of leaves and clusters of yellow blossoms at the ends, as if the slender, curving, green branches had been dipped in gold dust. On the same slopes may usually be found the zig-zag or broad-leaved golden-rod, with leaves as broad as the palm of a lady's hand and little wand-like clusters of blossoms, several of them from the axil of each leaf. This plant is called the zig-zag golden-rod because its stem often turns first one way and then the other, as if it hadn't made up its mind which way to grow. Higher up on the dry rocky banks is the gray or field golden-rod, whose small leaves are covered with grayish down and whose rather short stem is topped by a flattish pyramid of brilliant yellow flowers. This is one of the early golden-rods, but it lasts well into the fall. Another handsome species which is fairly common is the solidago rigida, or hard-leaved golden-rod, whose leaves are thick, rough and fairly broad, the lower ones sometimes a foot long, and whose flower clusters form a broad flat top. Each cluster is very large, containing twenty-five or thirty flowers if you care to pull one to pieces and count them. One stem will have several hundred of these flower clusters and each cluster contains twenty-five flowers on an average, a fine example of Nature's wealth and bounty. Perhaps the most handsome species of all, here in Iowa, is the solidago speciosa, or the showy golden-rod, which sometimes grows five, six or seven feet high in rich soil, with a stout, smooth stem and big, smooth leaves, the lower ones broadly oval and sometimes from four to ten inches long and one to four inches wide. The Missouri golden-rod is a slender and dainty species with long, narrow leaves, their margins very rough, as you may tell by drawing your fingers along them. There are about eighty-five different species of golden-rod in the United States, but the task of naming them all that grow in one locality is not difficult for the nature-lover. The above list is practically all that grow hereabouts. And it is so with the asters. There are about two hundred fifty species of asters, and most of them are found in North America. But usually a dozen or fifteen only are to be found in the average locality. Here, among others, may be found the beautiful aster Novae-Anglia, or New England aster with blue or rose-colored rays and a yellow center, the blossoms fluffy and large, often fully two inches across. In some parts of the east it is called "Farewell to Summer," but it may usually be found in the latter part of August. This year it was in full bloom as early as August 21. Another beautiful aster to be found on prairies and dry banks is the aster sericeus, or silvery aster, with silvery-white silky leaves and large, violet blue heads, the rays sometimes two-thirds of an inch long. One of the earliest and most common of the asters is the aster sagittifolius, or arrow-leaved aster, with white or pale blue flowers, and its companion, the heart-leaved aster. More beautiful is the lovely smooth or blue aster, the aster laevis, with clasping, oblong tapering leaves and sky-blue heads, sometimes violet, fully an inch across. The aster multiflorus, or dense flowered aster, is bushy with small rigid, crowded leaves, and a multitude of small heads crowded on the spreading branches, the rays generally white like big balls of snow. The aster salicifolius has a slender stem much branched above, long and narrow leaves, with violet, violet-purple or rarely white rays, and aster prenanthoides or crooked stem aster, may be told by its zigzag stem, its oblong, saw-toothed leaves and its violet rays. Two other beautiful species found hereabouts are the aster azureus, which blooms from August until after frost, with a slender but stiff and roughish stem, and many bright violet-blue flowers with short rays; and the aster Shortii, or Short's aster, which is found on banks and along the edges of woods and does not usually bloom until September. It has a slender stem and thickish leaves, heart-shaped at the base; its rays number from ten to fifteen and are usually bright blue, sometimes violet blue. * * * * * September brings us the first and one of the most beautiful of the gentians, the white gentian. We are accustomed to think of the gentians as brilliantly blue, but the first one to adorn the waste places where the horses could not take the mower, is this white gentian. It is one of the plants which make a magnificent appearance in a tall, thin-stemmed vase, in your library. You need but one and if you chance to find a patch you may take a plant without any compunction of conscience, for they are usually numerous. At the top of the smooth stem are four leaves with heart-shaped bases, gradually tapering to points at the ends. These four pale green leaves cross each other after the manner of a St. Andrew's Cross. Just where the four leaves are thus joined to the stem is a cluster of some six, eight, ten or even more, large, yellowish white, or greenish white blossoms. Perhaps at the next set of leaves, about four inches down the stem, there will be several other blossoms, in the axils. In the swamps and bogs the barrel-shaped blossoms of the closed gentians are growing larger day by day and by the twentieth of the month the fringed gentian, known only to a favored few, here in Iowa, will show the first of its blossoms. * * * * * In these last days of the summer there comes a grateful sense of the ripeness which crowns the year. Nothing in nature has hid its talent in a napkin. Every tree and shrub and herb has something to show in return for the privilege of having lived and worked in a world of beauty. Catbirds on the eve of their departure for the southland are feasting on the red and yellow wild plums, and the crab apples are beginning to give forth a faint fragrance which will grow more pronounced from now until October. The amber clusters of the hop are poured in profusion over the reddening fruit of the hawthorn. Farther on is the brook Eschol where the purple grapes are hanging. The snowy clusters of the sweet elder, which were so beautiful in July and early August, have developed into ample clusters of juicy berries which bring memories of the wine that grandmother used to make. Flocks of robins are feeding greedily on the abundant wild cherries. Thickets of panicled dogwood are feeding stations for other migrants; already the crimson fruit-stalks have been stripped of half their white berries. These native fruits are so many and so varied, they make the walk a constant delight. Each plant is a revelation. Who ever saw for the first time the huge clusters of fruit hanging from the wild spikenard on the face of the cliff and did not thrill with the charm of a great discovery? Each cluster of ruby, winey berries is as large as a hickory-nut and the clusters are aggregated upon stalks so as to resemble huge bunches of grapes. For contrast there are the little bunches of whitish berries on the low-growing false spikenard; they are speckled with reddish and gray dots as if they might be cowbird's eggs in miniature. Jack-in-the-pulpits show club-shaped bunches of scarlet berries here and there among the grasses. On the wooded slopes there are the white fruits of the baneberry on its quaintly-shaped red stalks, the pretty fruit clusters of the moonseed and the smilax. The scattered berries of the green-brier will be black in winter, but their September hue is a bronze green of a delicate shade which artists might envy. It will take another month to ripen the drupes of the black-haw into their blue-black beauty; now they are green on one side and red on the other, like a ripening apple. It's a fine education to know just which fruits you may nibble and which you must not eat. Red-stalked clusters of black berries hang from the vines of the Virginia creeper among leaves just touched with the hectic flame that tells of their passing, all too soon. At the sign of the sumac, tall torches of garnet berries rise. Down the bank, the bittersweet sends trailing arms jeweled with orange-colored pods just opening to display the scarlet arils within. Crimsoning capsules give the burning bush its name; this may well have been the bush at which Moses was directed to take off his sandals because he was treading on holy ground. Large, triangular membranaceous pods hang thickly from the white-lined branches of the bladdernut. Cup-like leaves of the honeysuckle hold bunches of scarlet berries. So on and on the creek leads to new beauties of color and form, new delights for taste and smell. Every plant has some excuse for its being, something of the loveliness and fragrance of the summer stored in its fruits. There is a lesson for the mind and the soul to be gathered with the fruit of these shrubs and vines. Summer still works with tireless energy. She has done with the leaf and the bud and the blossom; all her remaining strength is being spent in filling the fruits before the night of the white death comes. * * * * * Since the first of the month the little catkins have been creeping from the twigs of the hazel, and their tender, spring-like green is quite as interesting as the ripening bunches of nuts. These little catkins will hang short and stiff all winter, but when the ice goes out of the rivers and the first frog croaks in the springtime, they will lengthen, soften and grow yellow with their abundant pollen. Squirrels are busy among the acorns and the hickory nuts; the split husks and shells are thickly strewn beneath the trees. Red-headed woodpeckers are gathering acorns and pushing them behind the flaky bark of the wild cherry for use during the late fall; sometimes a little family of the redheads remains all winter. Chipmunks are carrying acorns to their granaries; they dash into their holes with a squeak as if in derision at your slow-footed manner of walking. * * * * * Sumac flames from the fence corners and lights up the country lanes. It is the first of the shrubs to announce in fiery placards the coming spectacle of the passing of the summer. Next is the Virginia creeper,--see where it flames up the wild cherry tree, scattering crimson leaves to the grass beneath. Once in a day's journey along the creek one may find a small red maple. In the middle of its foliage is a small, flame-like spot which grows larger day by day. Gradually some of the other maples catch the color fire, first a little soft maple by the shore of a muddy bayou, next a small sugar maple on the rocky slope. The great spectacle does not come until October, but the placards announcing it grow more numerous and vivid day by day. Blackberry leaves are splashed with crimson; daily the blood-red banner of the sumac grows larger and more striking. Walnuts and hickories begin to lose their yellow leaves; patches of yellow appear on the elms and the lindens; though the mass of the foliage remains until October, many leaves flutter down daily, and it is possible to see twice as far into the thicket as in June. _"The wine of life keeps oozing, drop by drop; The leaves of life keep falling, one by one."_ Flocks of grackles spend their days in the cornfields which run down to the creek bottom and their nights amid the wild rice and the rushes and willows in the swamp. In the timber fringes and the broad bottoms along the creek you get glimpses of the catbird feasting on the grapes and the wild plums; the brown thrasher and the woodthrush, wholly silent now; the little house wren who has lost her chatter; the vireos and the orioles, the wood pewee, the crested fly catcher and the kingbird. They all seem to be going southward. There are a few nests and young birds in the early part of the month--the yellow-billed cuckoo, the Savannah sparrow, the goldfinch. But these are exceptions to the general rule. Little flocks of warblers flit among the tree tops and the bushy margin of ponds near the creek will soon be alive with the myrtle warblers--as numerous as English sparrows in a barn-yard. In the night time you may hear the "tseep" of the warblers as they wing their way swiftly towards the southland. Sometimes there is the tinkling sound of the bob-o-link, also flying in the night time, and in the morning there may be a flock of them in some meadow, leisurely getting their breakfast after their all-night flight, chattering to each other in the tinkling tones which are unlike any other song-talk in bird land. The humming bird, the swallows, the purple martins, the chimney swifts, also seem to be a-pilgriming. Gradually you become conscious that all of them are flying southward, always down the stream and never up. The first keen blasts up in the northland have given them a warning and they are going steadily, happily, but for the most part silently, on down the stream, giving rare beauty to these halcyon days of late summer; on past the farthest point of your vision, where the silver gray mist softens the outline of the forest-crowned headlands, and lavender shadows hang gently across the valleys; always on and on towards the land where all is light and life and where summer ever abides in beauty. You look up and see flocks of cowbirds flying in the same direction and still larger flocks of night hawks, hundreds of them in the air at once. Like the queens on the mournful barge of the fallen King Arthur, their mission is to escort the dying summer floating down, always down _"To the island valley of Avilion; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery billows crown'd with summer sea._ You can climb to the highest cliff and look down to where the creek valley blends with the valley of the river, standing as did Sir Bedivere where he _... saw Straining his eyes, beneath an arch of hand, Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the king Down the long water opening on the deep, Somewhere far off, pass on, and on, and go From less and less and vanish into light."_ The summer which has just been escorted down the valley shall come again. You remember that even the mourners after the passing of Arthur, when the first keen pangs of sorrow were over, took heart again. This was the verse they carved on his tomb: _"Hic jacet Arthurus Rex Quondam Rex, que Futurus."_ And the soul of the summer cannot die. In many a grateful heart it lives forever as a gentle memory of loveliness and sweetness and of inspiration to higher and better things. Neither shall it lose its individuality; for it has bestowed its peculiar charms, its own enlargements of knowledge, its rare enrichments of faith and hope; they were fuller and richer than those of any other summer. As the senses reach farther into the science of each summer, and the mind lifts the veil of Isis and sees a little farther into the harmony of her purposes, so the heart draws closer to the heart of the summer and receives a larger benediction, an essence of immortality, an ambrosial food richer and more real than that which sustained the ancient gods. And herein is hope for the race. It cannot be but that each summer, with its recollections of walks and talks with parents and friends in the summers long gone by, with its sweetest memories of life and love, with its mighty tides of growth and splendor, its wistful dreamy skies in these last days of its loveliness--it cannot be but that each summer warms many a heart with the thrill divine, lifts many a life to a plane of fairer vision and nobler purpose, instills a desire for a life more in keeping with its own strength and cleanliness and beauty. So does each summer help the world onward to _"That far-off divine event To which the whole creation moves."_ 
40477	----	WITH FIRE AND SWORD [Illustration] [Illustration: W. T. Sherman] [Illustration: S. H. M. Byers.] With Fire and Sword BY MAJOR S. H. M. BYERS OF GENERAL SHERMAN'S STAFF Author of "Sherman's March to the Sea," "Iowa in War Times," "Twenty Years in Europe," and of other books [Illustration] NEW YORK THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 1911 Copyright, 1911, by THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I 11 My enlistment in the Union Army--The "Bushwhackers" of Missouri--The Quantrells and the James Brothers--Cutting a man's head off--My first adventure in the war--Capturing a guerrilla. CHAPTER II 22 We leave Missouri and go South--The prisoners of Donelson--The taking of New Madrid--"Kindly bury this unfortunate officer"--Quaker guns at Shiloh--The killing of the colonel. CHAPTER III 29 Iuka, the fiercest battle of the war, 217 men out of 482 of my regiment are shot--The awful rebel charge at Corinth--Moonlight on the battlefield--Bushels of arms and legs--Tombstones for fireplaces--One of Grant's mistakes. CHAPTER IV 40 An unlucky campaign led by General Grant--Holly Springs burned up--The first foragers--Some modern Falstaffs--Counting dead men. CHAPTER V 49 The laughable campaign of the war--An army floating among the tree tops of the Yazoo Pass. CHAPTER VI 54 Grant's new plan at Vicksburg--Running the Vicksburg batteries--An hour and a half of horror--The batteries are passed--The most important event in the war. CHAPTER VII 63 Crossing the Mississippi on gunboats and steamers--Battle of Port Gibson--How General Grant looked to a private soldier--A boy from Mississippi--Fights at Raymond--Battle of Jackson in a thunderstorm--Digging his brothers' grave--Grant in battle--Saving a flag--How men feel in battle--An awful spectacle--The critical moment of General Grant's life--A battlefield letter from him to Sherman. CHAPTER VIII 87 Assaults on the walls of Vicksburg--Logan in battle--An army mule--A promotion under the guns of Vicksburg--A storm of iron hail at Vicksburg--The Vicksburg clock--The town surrenders--The glad news--Reading my first order to the regiment--My regiment put on guard in the captured city--Eight days' furlough in four years of war. CHAPTER IX 102 Sherman's army floats across the Tennessee River at midnight--Washington at the Delaware nothing compared to this--We assault Missionary Ridge--An awful battle--My capture. CHAPTER X 111 In Libby Prison--Life there--"Belle Isle"--All prisons bad--The great escape--"Maryland, My Maryland." CHAPTER XI 119 Escaping from Macon--An adventure in Atlanta--In the disguise of a Confederate soldier--My wanderings inside the Confederate army and what I experienced there--I am captured as a spy--How I got out of it all. CHAPTER XII 137 Under fire of our own guns at Charleston--Trying to capture a railway train--The secret band--Betrayed--The desolation of Charleston. CHAPTER XIII 144 Living in a grave--An adventure in the woods of South Carolina--Life in the asylum yard at the capital of South Carolina--The song of "Sherman's March to the Sea"--How it came to be written--Final escape--The burning up of South Carolina's capitol. CHAPTER XIV 174 The army in the Carolinas--General Sherman sends for me--Gives me a place on his staff--Experiences at army headquarters--Sherman's life on the march--Music at headquarters--Logan's violin--The General's false friend--The army wades, swims, and fights through the Carolinas--I am sent as despatch bearer to General Grant--A strange ride down the Cape Fear River in the night--General Terry--Learn that my song "The March to the Sea" is sung through the North, and has given the campaign its name--I bring the first news of Sherman's success to the North--An interview with General Grant. CHAPTER XV 198 Washington City in the last three days of the war--Look, the President!--_The last man of the regiment._ PREFACE In war some persons seek adventures; others have them in spite of themselves. It happened that the writer of this book belonged to a regiment that seemed to be always in the midst of great experiences. It was, in fact, one of the few regiments that absolutely fought themselves out of existence. It was mustered in a thousand strong; it lost seven hundred and seventy-seven men by death, wounds, and disease. The fragment that was left over was transferred to a cavalry command. When the writer finally escaped from prison, after many months of confinement and many thrilling adventures both in prison and in the army of the enemy, he was mustered out as a "supernumerary officer." His command had ceased to exist. He was literally the _last man of the regiment_. Of the eighty of his regiment who had been taken to prison with him all but sixteen were dead. Of the nine captured from his own company all were dead but one. While with his command he had served as a private soldier, as sergeant, and as adjutant. On escaping from prison he was for a time on General Sherman's staff and was selected to run down the Cape Fear River and carry the great news of Sherman's successes to the people of the North. He kept a diary every day in the four years of war and adventure. The substance of the facts related here is from its pages; occasionally they are copied just as they are there set down. The book is not a history of great army movements, it is simply a true tale of the thrilling experiences of a subordinate soldier in the midst of great events. With Fire and Sword CHAPTER I My enlistment in the Union Army--The "Bushwhackers" of Missouri--The Quantrells and the James Brothers--Cutting a man's head off--My first adventure in the war--Capturing a guerrilla. I am writing down these sketches of adventures of mine from a daily journal or diary kept by me throughout the four years of the Civil War. Its pages are crumpled and old and yellow, but I can read them still. Fate so arranged it that I was the very first one to enlist in my regiment, and it all came about through a confusion of names. A patriotic mass-meeting was held in the court-house of the village where I lived. Everybody was there, and everybody was excited, for the war tocsin was sounding all over the country. A new regiment had been ordered by the governor, and no town was so quick in responding to the call as the village of Newton. We would be the very first. Drums were beating at the mass-meeting, fifes screaming, people shouting. There was a little pause in the patriotic noise, and then someone called out, "Myers to the platform!" "Myers! Myers! Myers!" echoed a hundred other voices. Mr. Myers never stirred, as he was no public speaker. I sat beside him near the aisle. Again the voices shouted "Myers! Myers!" Myers turned to me, laughed, and said, "They are calling you, Byers," and fairly pushed me out into the aisle. A handful of the audience seeing Myers would not respond, did then call my own name, and both names were cried together. Some of the audience becoming confused called loudly for me. "Go on," said Myers, half-rising and pushing me toward the platform. I was young,--just twenty-two,--ambitious, had just been admitted to the bar, and now was all on fire with the newly awakened patriotism. I went up to the platform and stood by the big drum. The American flag, the flag that had been fired on by the South, was hanging above my head. In a few minutes I was full of the mental champagne that comes from a cheering multitude. I was burning with excitement, with patriotism, enthusiasm, pride, and my enthusiasm lent power to the words I uttered. I don't know why nor how, but I was moving my audience. The war was not begun to put down slavery, but what in the beginning had been an incident I felt in the end would become a cause. The year before I had been for many months on a plantation in Mississippi, and there with my own eyes had seen the horrors of slavery. I had seen human beings flogged; men and women bleeding from an overseer's lash. Now in my excitement I pictured it all. I recalled everything. "And the war, they tell us," I cried, "is to perpetuate this curse!" In ten minutes after my stormy words one hundred youths and men, myself the first, had stepped up to the paper lying on the big drum and had put down our names for the war. We all mustered on the village green. Alas, not half of them were ever to see that village green again! No foreboding came to me, the enthusiastic youth about to be a soldier, of the "dangers by flood and field," the adventures, the thrilling scenes, the battles, the prisons, the escapes, that were awaiting me. Now we were all enthusiasm to be taken quickly to the front, to the "seat of war." We could bide no delay. Once our men were on the very point of mobbing and "egging" our great, good Governor Kirkwood, because for a moment he thought he would be compelled to place us in a later regiment. However, we were immediately started in wagons for the nearest railroad, fifty miles away. At the town of Burlington, on the 15th of July, 1861, we were mustered into the service as Company B of the Fifth Iowa Infantry. Our colonel, W. H. Worthington, was a military martinet from some soldier school in Kentucky. His sympathies were with his native South. Why he was leading a Northern regiment was a constant mystery to his men. The regiment spent scant time in Burlington, for in a little while we were whisked down the Mississippi River in a steamer to St. Louis, and soon joined the army of Frémont, organizing at Jefferson City to march against General Price, who was flying toward Springfield with the booty he had gained in his capture of Mulligan and his men at Boonville. Now all began to look like war. Missouri was neither North nor South; she was simply hell, for her people were cutting one another's throats, and neighboring farmers killed each other and burned each other's homes. The loyal feared to shut their eyes in sleep; the disloyal did not know if a roof would be above their heads in the morning. Brothers of the same family were in opposing armies, and the State was overrun by Southern guerrillas and murderers. The Quantrells, the James Brothers, and other irregular and roaming bands of villains rode everywhere, waylaying, bushwhacking, and murdering. We followed General Price's army to the Ozark Mountains, marching day and night--the nights made hideous by the burning of homes on the track of both the armies, while unburied corpses lay at the roadside. We marched half the nights and all the days and just as we got close enough to fight, the Washington politicians caused Frémont to be removed from his command. Frémont had been ahead of his time. He had freed some slaves, and the dough-faced politicians were not yet ready for action of that character. The campaign had been to no purpose. Some of our regiment, indignant at the removal of their general, had to be guarded to prevent mutiny and disorder. Now we turned about and made the long march back to the Missouri River. Half that cold winter was spent near Syracuse, in guarding the Pacific Railway. We lived in wedge tents, and spite of the cold and snow and storm, our squads by turn tramped for miles up and down the railroad in the darkness every night. What terrible tales, too, we had in our little tents that winter, of the deeds of Quantrell's men. It did not seem possible that the South could set loose a lot of murderers to hang on the skirts of our army, to "bushwhack" an honorable foe, burn villages, destroy farms, and drive whole counties into conditions as frightful as war was in the Middle Ages. Only savage Indians fought that way. Yet Quantrell's band of murderers was said to be on the payroll of the Confederate States. Here and there, however, his guerrilla outlaws met with awful punishment, and horrible incidents became the order of the day and night. I recall now how a prize was once offered by one of our commanders for the head of a certain man among those desperate murderers, a desperado with a band of men that knew no mercy. His troop of riders had ambuscaded almost scores of our soldiers, and innocent farmers who did not happen to like his ways were strung up to trees as unceremoniously as one would drown a kitten. The offered prize of a thousand dollars stimulated certain of our men in taking chances with this beast of the Confederacy, and a corporal of our cavalry learned of the desperado's occasional visits at night to his home, only a dozen miles away from where we were camped. Several nights he secretly watched from a thicket near the cabin for the bandit's return. Once in the darkness he heard a horse's hoofs, and then a man dismounted and entered at the door. The evening was chilly, and a bright fire in the open fireplace of the cabin shone out as the man entered. The corporal, who had disguised himself in an old gray overcoat, knocked for entrance, and pretended to be a sick Confederate going on a furlough to his home not far away. He was cautiously admitted and given a seat by the open fire. He had no arms, and to the bandit and his wife his story of sickness and a furlough seemed probable enough. The two men and the one woman sat in front of the fireplace talking for an hour. The corporal, with the guerrilla sitting within a few feet of him, thought of the prize, and of his comrades murdered by this man. But what could he do? Suddenly the thought came, "I must kill or be killed." Outside there was only darkness and silence; inside the cabin, the low voices of these three people and the flickering fire. The corporal glanced about him. There was no gun to be seen that he could seize. The guerrilla's big revolver hung at his belt. While sitting thus, a bit of burning wood rolled out onto the hearth. The guerrilla stooped over to put it in its place. Instantly the corporal saw his chance and, springing for the iron poker at the fireside, dealt the guerrilla a blow on the head that stretched him dead on the cabin floor. In an instant his big jackknife was out of his pocket and in the presence of the screaming wife the brute severed the man's head from his body. Then he left the cabin, mounted his horse in the thicket, and in the darkness carried his ghostly trophy into camp. It is a horrible ride to think of, that dozen miles, with the bleeding head of a murdered man on the saddle bow. So the awful things went on all that winter in Missouri. As for myself, I was tramping about as a corporal, helping in a small way to keep the great railroad free from marauders and in possession of the Union army. I don't know how it happened, but one morning our colonel, who had always treated me with extreme gruffness, though he well knew I did my duties with patriotic zeal, sent for me to come to his tent. I was a little alarmed, not knowing what was about to happen to me. The colonel called me by name as I entered, saluting him cap in hand, and for once he actually smiled. "Corporal," he said dryly, as if suddenly regretting his smile, "I have noticed that you always did the duty assigned you with promptness. I need a quartermaster sergeant. You are the man." I was almost paralyzed with astonishment and pleasure. I stood stock still, without a word of gratitude. At last, recovering myself, I explained that I had enlisted expecting to fight, and not to fill some easy position with the trains. "If I could only be allowed to find a substitute," I ventured to say, "in case of a fight, so I might share the danger with my comrades, I would like the promotion." Again the colonel tried to smile. "You probably will change your mind; you will find excitement enough," he remarked, dismissing me. I was hardly installed in my new post when to my surprise I was ordered by the colonel to take a good horse and ride twelve miles across the lone prairies and carry a message to a command at the village of Tipton. Instantly my mind was excited with the hopes of an adventure. I don't know, even now, just why I was selected for the venturesome undertaking. I knew there was scarcely a road and not a house in the whole distance. I knew, too, the whole country was full of murderous guerrillas. But nevertheless I was full of elation. This was the kind of a thing I had hoped for when I enlisted. Light flakes of snow were falling when, with exultant spirits, I started from the camp. The trip outward proved uneventful, for nothing happened to me on my way. As I was returning, however, at a point halfway across the prairie I was surprised to see a man in gray, probably a guerrilla, ride out of a long slough or hollow to my left and gallop into the road directly ahead of me. He was in complete gray uniform, wore a saber, and had revolvers at his saddle bow. The man glanced back at me, and I saw him reaching for his pistols. "Here comes my first fight in the war," I thought instantly, "out here alone on the prairie." Save my one half-loaded revolver, strapped to my waist, I was unarmed. The stranger, without firing, galloped faster. I, too, galloped faster, the distance between us remaining about the same. Each of us now had a pistol in his hand, but it looked as if each were afraid to commence the duel. If the stranger checked his horse to give him breath, I checked mine. If he galloped again, I, too, put spurs to my animal. Imagining that other guerrillas must be lurking quite near, I was not over-anxious to bring on the engagement, and I suppose the armed man felt much the same way, for he could not have thought that I was in such a place absolutely alone. So neither fired. We just looked at each other and galloped. Finally we approached a little wood, and in a twinkling he turned into a path and was out of sight. I did not care to follow him to his hiding-place just then, and quickly galloped to our camp a few miles off. Before midnight that night I, with a dozen of my regiment, surrounded the little wood and a cabin secreted in its center. Approaching, we looked into the windows, and, sure enough, there, roasting his feet in front of an open fire, sat my rider of the day. When three of us suddenly entered the house and demanded his surrender he sprang for a rifle that stood like a poker by the fireside, aimed it at me, and shouted "Never! Surrender yourself." A bayonet that instant against his breast brought him to terms, however. There followed a little farewell scene between him and his wife, who poured bottles of wrath on the heads of the "bluecoats," and our captive--my captive--was hurried to the guardhouse at the camp. It had been a perfectly bloodless encounter, but next morning it turned out that I had by chance captured one of the most dangerous guerrillas in Missouri. CHAPTER II We leave Missouri and go South--The prisoners of Donelson--The taking of New Madrid--"Kindly bury this unfortunate officer"--Quaker guns at Shiloh--The killing of the colonel. It was a trifling incident, this capture, compared with the dreadful things I have referred to as going on in Missouri that memorable first year of the Civil War. A great volume would not contain the record of them all. The first dead men I saw while in the army were eight Missouri farmers murdered by guerrillas and left lying in the hot sun and dust at the roadside. The sight moved me as no great battle ever did afterward. One half of the male population of Missouri was trying to kill the other half. They were not opponents from different far-off sections fighting, but near neighbors, and nothing seemed too awful or too cruel for them to do. How I pitied the women and children who lived in the State in those awful days! General Sherman's designation of war as "hell" found more confirmation in the dreadful raids, outrages, and murders by Quantrell's guerrillas in Missouri than in the bloodiest battles of the four years' conflict. Now for months my regiment, with others, had chased up and down, and all over that unhappy old State of Missouri, trying to capture and punish these bands of murderers. On the old steamboat _War Eagle_, too, we paddled for weeks along the "Muddy Missouri" River, landing every here and there to have a little brush with guerrillas who had fired on our boat from the banks or from secret recesses in the woods. It was rare that we could catch them or have a real fight. Their kind of war meant ambuscades and murder. At last an end came to this dreadful guerrilla-chasing business in Missouri so far as we were concerned, anyway. We were to stop running after Price's ubiquitous army too. We were no longer to be the victims of ambuscades and night riding murderers. The glad news came to my regiment that we were to be transferred to the South, where the real war was. One morning we left the cold and snow, where we had lived and shivered in thin tents all the winter, left the thankless duty of patrolling railroads in the storm at midnight, and marched in the direction of St. Louis. A long, cold, miserable march it was too, hurrying in the daytime and freezing in our bivouacs in the snow and woods at night. Many a man we left to sicken and die at some farmhouse by the roadside. Our destination was New Madrid, where we were to be a part of Pope's army in the siege and capture of that town. As we were about to embark on boats at St. Louis we beheld in the snow and storm many steamers anchored out in the pitiless waters of the Mississippi River. These vessels were loaded with shivering thousands in gray and brown uniforms, the prisoners whom General Grant had captured at the battle of Fort Donelson. There were twelve or fifteen thousand of them. Seeing this host of prisoners made us feel that at last the Union army had a general, although we had scarcely heard of U. S. Grant before. This army of prisoners taken in battle was his introduction to the world. Shortly we were before New Madrid, and the siege conducted by General Pope commenced. The town was defended by strong forts and many cannon, but its speedy capture by us helped to open up the Mississippi River. It was a new experience to us, to have cannonballs come rolling right into our camp occasionally. Yet few men were injured by them. We were in more danger when a fool officer one day took our brigade of infantry down through a cornfield to assault a gunboat that lay in a creek close by. The Rebel commander had expected us, and had his grape shot and his hot water hose, and such things all ready for us. We went out of that cornfield faster than we went in. This was real war, the thing my regiment had been so longing for, in place of chasing murderers and guerrillas in Missouri. We entered New Madrid one morning before daylight. The enemy had left in awful haste. I recall finding a dead Rebel officer, lying on a table in his tent, in full uniform. He had been killed by one of our shells. A candle burned beside him, and his cold hands closed on a pencil note that said, "Kindly bury this unfortunate officer." His breakfast waited on a table in the tent, showing how unexpected was his taking off. Our victory was a great one for the nation, and it put two stars on the shoulder straps of General Pope. It made him, too, commander of the Eastern army. A comrade in Company A of my regiment had been wounded a few days before and had died in the enemy's hands. I now found his grave. At its head stood a board with this curious inscription: "This man says he was a private in the Fifth Iowa Regiment. He was killed while trying to attend to other people's business." Our command was now hurried to the Shiloh battlefield, of course too late to be of any use. But we took part in the long, wonderful, and ridiculous siege of Corinth, under Halleck, when our great army was held back by red tape, martinets, and the fear of a lot of wooden guns that sat on top of the enemy's breastworks, while that enemy, with all his men, and with all his guns, and bag and baggage, was escaping to the south. Our deeds were no credit to anybody, though here and there we had a little fight. One incident of great importance, however, happened to my regiment here. It was the death of our colonel. One night when he was going the rounds of the picket lines out in the woods he was shot dead by one of our own men. The sentinel who did the killing declared that Rebels had been slipping up to his post all night, and when he would hail with "Who goes there?" they would fire at him and run into the darkness. He resolved to stand behind a tree the next time and fire without hailing. By some accident Colonel Worthington and his adjutant were approaching this sentinel from the direction of the enemy. Suddenly the sentinel held his gun around the tree and fired. The bullet struck the colonel in the forehead, killing him instantly. As he fell from his horse the adjutant sprang to the ground and cried, "Who shot the officer of the day?" "I fired," exclaimed the sentinel, and he then told of his experiences of the night. He was arrested, tried, and acquitted. Yet there were many among us who believed that the colonel had been intentionally murdered. He was one of the most competent colonels in the army, but among his soldiers he was fearfully unpopular. He was, however, a splendid disciplinarian, but this was something the volunteers did not want. In their minds the colonel had been only a petty tyrant, and not even wholly loyal. With a different disposition he certainly would have been a distinguished soldier. He was one of the most military-looking men in the whole army, but friends he had none. More than once his life had been threatened by soldiers who regarded themselves as having been treated badly by him. His body was brought into camp the next morning and lay in his tent in state. He was given a military funeral, and the horse that was bearing him when he was killed was led behind his coffin. After his death numbers of the men of the regiment were indignant, when they found among his papers warrants and commissions intended by the governor for them, commissions that had never been delivered. Their promotions had never come about. Now they knew why. Worthington was succeeded by Colonel C. L. Matthies, one of the bravest, best, and most loved commanders of our army. Later Matthies was made a general, and at the close of the war died of wounds received in battle. Although I was quartermaster sergeant of the regiment, I was always careful that this should not keep me away from the command when enduring hard marches or when engagements were coming on. When in camp I kept my rifle in one of the ammunition wagons (of several of which I had charge), but if the alarm sounded my rifle was on my shoulder and I was the private soldier in the ranks of the company. I deserved no special credit for this. I was only doing my duty. We had muzzle-loading Whitney rifles and bayonets. The equipment and rations we carried in weight would have been a respectable load for a mule. CHAPTER III Iuka, the fiercest battle of the war, 217 men out of 482 of my regiment are shot--The awful Rebel charge at Corinth--Moonlight on the battlefield--Bushels of arms and legs--Tombstones for fireplaces--One of Grant's mistakes. All that summer, after taking Corinth, we chased up and down the State of Mississippi, trying to get fair battle with the Rebel army. At last the chance came, and for my regiment it was an awful one--the battle of Iuka. The battle of Iuka took place on the 19th of September, 1862. It was fought by a handful of the troops of General Rosecrans against half the army of General Price. Grant was only a few miles away, but although commander-in-chief, he knew nothing of the hardest-fought battle of the Civil War until it was over. One morning before daylight while camped in the woods near Jacinto half expecting to be attacked, we heard that Price's army was in Iuka, some eighteen miles away, and that if we would hurry there and attack from one side, General Grant, with Ord's troops, would attack from another side. How eagerly the regiment made the forward march on that beautiful autumn day! The woods were in their fairest foliage, and it seemed too lovely a day for war and bloodshed. The bugles played occasionally as the men hurried along, but not a shot was fired. No noise like war fell on the soldiers' ears as they tramped over the beautiful country road toward the Tennessee River. They had time for reflection as they marched, and they knew now they were going to battle. There had been no time for letters or farewells, and each thought the other one, not himself, most likely to fall in the coming engagement. There were only 482 of my little regiment now marching there, hoping, almost praying, the enemy might only wait. How little anyone dreamed that before the sun set 217 of that little command would be stretched dead or dying among the autumn leaves! It was just two o'clock when the regiment ran on to the army of the enemy, lying in line right across the road close to Iuka. My own regiment was in the advance. Instantly it, too, was in line of battle across that road, and in a few minutes absolutely the fiercest little conflict of the war began. Our brigade was fearfully outnumbered. Rosecrans, had ten thousand soldiers within five miles of the battlefield, yet let three or four small regiments and a battery do all the fighting. Ten miles away, in another direction, lay General Grant and General Ord, with many other thousands, as silent as if paralyzed. An unlucky wind blew, they said, and the sound of our cannon, that was to have been the signal for them to attack also, was unheard by them. Charge after charge was made upon our little line, and the Eleventh Ohio Battery, which the regiment was protecting, was taken and retaken three times. There were no breastworks, yet that one little brigade of Hamilton's division stood there in the open and repulsed assault after assault. It was the Iowa, the Missouri, and the Ohio boys against the boys of Alabama and Mississippi, and the grass and leaves were covered with the bodies in blue and gray. Not Balaklava, nor the Alma, saw such fighting. It was a duel to the death. For hours the blue and the gray stood within forty yards of each other and poured in sheets of musketry. Every horse of the battery at the left of my regiment was killed, and every gunner but one or two was shot and lying among the debris. No battery in the whole four years' war lost so many men in so short a time. Antietam, Gettysburg, the Wilderness, could show nothing like it. Only the setting sun put an end to what was part of the time a hand to hand conflict. One daring Rebel was shot down and bayoneted clear behind the line of Company B, where he had broken through to seize the flag of my regiment. That night the enemy slipped away, leaving hundreds and hundreds of his dead and wounded on the field. With a few lanterns our men then went about and tried to gather up the wounded; the dead were left till morning. There were 782 Union men lying there in their blood that long night, 608 of them out of a single small brigade. While mothers and sisters at home were praying for the safety of these dear ones at the front, their spirits that night were leaving their torn bodies in the dark and ascending heavenward. Five of my eight messmates of the day before were shot. It was not a question who was dead, or wounded, but who was _not_. Fifteen officers of our little half regiment were dead or wounded. The enemy lost more than one thousand men in trying to destroy that single brigade and its Ohio battery. The burying party the next morning found nineteen dead Rebels lying together at one place. At another spot 182 Rebel corpses lay in a row covered by tarpaulins. The enemy had not had time to bury them. It was a principle among our generals that if a command fought well in a battle or got cut all to pieces, that was the particular command to be put at the very front in the next hard scrap. And so it was that within two weeks my regiment was placed outside the breastworks at Corinth, to wait and receive another awful assault. The night before the battle of Corinth the Fifth Iowa Regiment lay across the Purdy road, in the bright moonlight. I remained awake all night, talking with a comrade who shared my blanket with me. Poor Jimmy King! he survived the war only to be murdered later on a plantation in Mississippi. As we lay there in the wagon road, the awful losses of my regiment at Iuka kept us thinking there in the moonlight what would happen on the morrow. When morning came the firing opened, and for all that day the battle raged fiercely at the left and center left, we getting the worst of it, too. The Rebels were charging works that they themselves had built when they held the town during Halleck's siege. General Haccelman and many other of our officers had fallen. Our own division, though fighting some, had lost but few men. That evening an order came for us--Hamilton's Division--to assault the enemy's left flank at midnight. Before the hour came, however, the move was decided to be too dangerous, and we changed our position to one nearer the forts. All the night we lay there under the brightest moonlight I ever saw. Under the same quiet moonlight, and only six hundred yards away from us, also lay the victorious Rebel army. They believed Corinth as good as taken, but they had only captured our outer lines of forts. Yet it looked very bad for us. Every house in town was full of our wounded and our dead lay everywhere. Once in the night I slipped away from the bivouac and hurried to the old Tishimingo Hotel, to see a lieutenant of my company, who had been shot through the breast. Never will I forget the horrible scenes of that night. The town seemed full of the groans of dying men. In one large room of the Tishimingo House surgeons worked all the night, cutting off arms and legs. I could not help my friend. It was too late, for he was dying. "Go back to the regiment," he said, smiling, "all will be needed." It was a relief to me to get back into the moonlight and out of the horror, yet out there lay thousands of others in line, only waiting the daylight to be also mangled and torn like these. The moon shone so brightly the men in the lines, tired though they were, could scarcely sleep. There the thousands lay, the blue and the gray, under the same peaceful moon, worshiping the same God, and each praying for dear ones North and South they would never again see. God could not answer the prayers of the men in both armies that night. Had He done so, all would have been killed on the morrow. At early daybreak I again went to see my lieutenant. As I entered the building a cannonball from the enemy crashed through the house and killed four soldiers by the stairway. My friend, with many others, was being carried out to die elsewhere. It was soon full day. In one of the rooms I saw the floors, tables, and chairs covered with amputated limbs, some white and some broken and bleeding. There were simply bushels of them, and the floor was running blood. It was a strange, horrible sight,--but it was war. Yes, it was "hell." I hastened back to the lines. Nine o'clock came, and now we knew that the great assault was to be made. We looked for it against our own division, as we lay in the grass waiting. Suddenly we heard something, almost like a distant whirlwind. My regiment rose to its feet, fired a few moments at scattering Rebels in our front, and were amazed to see a great black column, ten thousand strong, moving like a mighty storm-cloud out of the woods and attacking the forts and troops at our left. Instantly we changed direction a little and, without further firing, witnessed one of the greatest assaults of any war. It was the storming of Fort Robinett. The cloud of Rebels we had seen divided itself into three columns. These recklessly advanced on the forts, climbing over the fallen trees and bending their heads against the awful storm of grape and canister from all our cannon. A perfect blaze of close range musketry, too, mowed them down like grass. Even a foe could feel pity to see brave men so cruelly slaughtered. When the assault had failed and the noise of battle was stilled, I hurried down in front of Robinett. My canteen was full of water and I pressed it to the lips of many a dying enemy--enemy no longer. Our grape shot had torn whole companies of men to pieces. They lay in heaps of dozens, even close up to the works. General Rogers, who had led a brigade into the hopeless pit, lay on his back, dead, with his flag in his hand. _He was the fifth one to die carrying that flag._ When I reached him some cruel one had stripped him of his boots. Another had taken his fine gold watch. In this attack on Corinth the brave Southerners lost 5000 wounded, and we buried 1423 of their dead on the battlefield. Our own loss had been 2200 dead and wounded. That night I stood guard under an oak tree on the battlefield among the unburied dead. Many of the wounded, even, had not yet been gathered up. The moon shone as brightly as the night before, while thousands who had lain there under its peaceful rays before the battle were now again sleeping, but never to waken. Our regiment now pursued the flying Rebels with great vigor. The quantities of broken batteries, wagons, tents, knapsacks, guns, etc., strewn along the roads behind them were immense. At the Hatchie River the Rebels were momentarily headed off by a division under Hurlbut that had hurried across from Bolivar. A seven hours' battle was fought at the bridge, but the Rebels got away in another direction. Possibly the best friend I had in the world, save my kin, was killed at that bridge. It was Lieutenant William Dodd, a classmate in school. His head was shot off by a cannonball just as his regiment was charging at the bridge. The pursuit of the enemy was being pushed with vigor when the army was ordered to desist and return to camp. It was an astounding order, as it was in our power to destroy the defeated and flying columns. That order was one of the mistakes of Grant's earlier days as a commander. Indeed, we of the rank and file had little confidence in Grant in those days. We reflected that at Shiloh he was miles away from the battlefield at the critical moment. Sherman had saved the Union army from destruction there. At Iuka, Grant, though commander, did not even know a battle was going on. At Corinth he was forty miles away, and now, when we had the enemy almost within our grasp, he suddenly called us back. Rosecrans protested. It was in vain. The order, more imperative than before, was repeated. It required months, and great events, to make Grant the hero of the army which he afterward became. This entry I find in my diary in one of those days: "Our commander of the district is General U. S. Grant, who took Donelson; but aside from that one hour's fighting, and a little fighting at Shiloh, the troops know little about him. Rosecrans is at present the hero of this army, and, with him leading it, the boys would storm Hades." With the mercury at one hundred, the dust in the roads ankle deep, and the whole atmosphere yellow and full of it, the regiments exhausted by the pursuit, and yet disgusted at our recall, slowly tramped their way back to Corinth. Now I visited my wounded companions in the hospital. On inquiry for certain ones I learned that they were dead and lying out in the improvised graveyard near by. For some reason the dead at Hatchie Bridge were not buried. A week after the battle my brother rode by there on a cavalry expedition and made the horrible discovery that hogs were eating up the bodies of our dead heroes. _That too was war._ We now camped on the edge of the town and went on building still other and greater forts. Many of the soldiers made huts for themselves. It was getting cooler now, and little fireplaces were built in the huts and tents. Brick was scarce, and in a few instances the men used the stone slabs from a graveyard close at hand. It seemed vandalism, but the dead did not need them and the living did. CHAPTER IV An unlucky campaign led by General Grant--Holly Springs burned up--The first foragers--Some modern Falstaffs--Counting dead men. In a month's time, or by November 2, 1862, the army, reorganized, our division led by Quimby, and Grant in command of the whole force, started on that very first disastrous campaign for the rear of Vicksburg. Grant had some thirty thousand soldiers to march with him by way of Grand Junction and Holly Springs, and another thirty thousand men, under Sherman, he sent down the Mississippi River to attack Vicksburg from another direction. We marched in mud and wind and rain till nearly Christmas, the enemy constantly retreating before us. We made a tremendous supply station at Holly Springs and left it in charge of a garrison. There were supplies there for a hundred thousand men, besides a million dollars' worth of captured cotton. Just as we were confident of overtaking and destroying the enemy, we were stunned by the tidings that a great column of Rebel cavalry had dashed in behind our army. With torches and firebrands they had burned Holly Springs to the ground, and had destroyed all the army stores. There was not a potato or cracker or a pound of bacon left. How I remember that dark night when Van Dorn's cavalry got behind us in the country lanes of Mississippi! I had been started back to a hospital in Holly Springs, for my eyes had been inflamed for days. Just as my little freight train reached the suburb of what had been the town, the rear guard of the enemy rode out at the other side. The morning that I arrived there was nothing there but smoke, and ashes, and ruins, and a smell of coal oil over all. A million dollars' worth of our army supplies had been burned up in a night. The pretty town, too, was in ashes, and Van Dorn's bold cavalry swung their sabers in the air and rode away laughing. General Grant's father and mother, in the town at the time on their way to visit their illustrious son with the advance of the army, were captured, but politely paroled and left among the ruins. The loss of the town was a disgrace to the North. There was a fort there, solidly built of cotton bales and occupied by a colonel and a thousand troops. The colonel forgot what our ancestors did with cotton bales at New Orleans, and promptly threw up the sponge. But then Colonel Murphy was not General Jackson. With the loss of Holly Springs and the destruction of our base of supplies there was nothing for that whole army of Grant's to do but to trudge its weary way back to Corinth and Memphis, through the mud and the wind and the rain. The tragical part of that campaign was taking place at the same moment down by the Yazoo River, right under the guns of Vicksburg. Grant, when he marched out of Memphis, had sent Sherman and thirty thousand men down the river in steamboats to attack Vicksburg from one side while he should hurry along with another thirty thousand men and pound it from the other side. Sherman and his heroes made the awful assaults at Chickasaw bayou we read of, never dreaming of the fiasco that had befallen the main army at Holly Springs. Not one word of the news ever reached him--and then in swamps and bayous his soldiers waded in water halfway to their necks and assaulted impregnable hills and breastworks. Two thousand men were killed or mangled to no purpose. Some of the heroic fighting of the war was done in that Yazoo slaughter pen, and then Sherman and his crippled army withdrew in utter failure. Vicksburg was safe for awhile. My own duty in that unlucky campaign with Grant had been to search the country in the neighborhood of our camps and bivouacs for additional supplies. Many a time, with a dozen or twenty men for guards, and a couple of six-mule teams, we would venture miles from camp to confiscate bacon, flour, poultry, or whatever else a soldier could eat. On my return to the regiment with a wagon full of good things, the companies would set up a cheer for the quartermaster sergeant. The colonel always allowed me to choose the guards who should accompany me. Many a time our little squad got back to camp by the skin of their teeth, chased by guerrillas or some wandering band of Rebel cavalry. Our habit was, when we found a plantation with something to spare on it, to post sentinels in the lanes in every direction, while a few of us with the aid of the negroes loaded the wagons. If all went well, the procession, followed by the slaves we freed and took with us, went back to camp in state. Sometimes there was indecorous haste in getting home, owing to our sentinel firing his gun in warning of near danger. More than one of the boys of those venturous excursions, to this day, have not yet come back to camp. On one of these excursions one day we were surprised by a little party of rangers, but we took their leader captive, and with him a fine Kentucky charger and a splendid rifle. The brigade colonel presented to me the rifle I myself had captured, for my "bravery," he said, but the splendid thoroughbred he took for himself. Alas! this rifle, the testimonial of my adventure, was burned up when the Rebel cavalry took Holly Springs. I had left it there to send North some day. These excursions after food that I have described must have been the forerunners of Sherman's great forage parties later, on his "march to the sea." It was easy enough to feed an army that way, if men could be found to take the risk. Sherman's later forage parties were so strong that the risk was reduced to fun. I copy from my diary here (1862): "Now the enemy is in front of us. He is on our flank and all around us. It is dangerous to venture a mile from camp alone. In fact, orders are strict for every man and every officer to stay close to his regiment day or night. "On all the plantations along our way in this campaign there are signs of war. The cotton gins, the fences, the barns, are all gone,--burned by raiders of both armies, who have scouted through this same country time and again. The weather is often gloomy; the fenceless fields are brown and naked; the big houses left standing on the plantations look lone and desolate. There is no song of birds. The army wagons, in long trains, and the soldiers in great strung-out columns of blue, go over the soft ground across the fields, along what once was lanes and country roads, almost in silence. Here and there a skirmish of musketry at some creek crossing or at some wood is the only noise heard. This state of Mississippi, like the whole South, sees the desolation of war. But the big, white, lone houses on the deserted lawns, with their low verandas about them, are not wholly unoccupied. Though the arms-bearing men of the country are every one in the army fighting us, the women and the children and the slaves are still at home. These slaves desert their mistresses and come into the Union camps at night by hundreds, bearing their bundles on their heads and their pickaninnies under their arms. "As Rebel cavalry bands are rioting all around us, the strictest orders are given about leaving camp. But those who slipped away without leave the oftenest were themselves officers. Numbers of these went off almost nightly, to pay their devoirs to ladies whom they happened to admire at neighboring plantations. These women, glad enough of the compliments of the Federal officers, let it be very clearly understood that they were nevertheless true-blue Rebels. Things as to the war were simply glossed over in conversation, and both the lady and the officer sometimes had a delightful evening, even if the delight on the officer's part was in violation of duty. Sometimes these visits led to ridiculous terminations. War is not all tragedy." Again I copy from the journal of that December: "The other night three of the officers of our brigade, Captain H---- and Lieutenants D---- and O---- got themselves into a pretty mess by leaving camp to visit at a plantation. The laughable facts are these: We had stopped two or three days, to mend bridges over the Yocona River. General Grant had asked our brigade commander to report the names of three officers for promotion. Captain H---- and two lieutenants were selected. Among the private soldiers these men were not regarded as deserving honor. On the contrary, they were looked upon as common braggarts. Some politician at home, probably, had moved the wires for their promotion. As it happened, these three officers were the worst offenders of all, as to leaving camp without orders for the purpose of visiting Rebel ladies at neighboring plantations. Some of the staff heard of this and determined to unmask them. Some Rebel uniforms were secured from prisoners in our hands, and one dark night when the captain and his friends were away from camp at the home of a Mrs. S----, visiting, a dozen of us in disguise were sent to surround the house. Instantly there was a cry among the women of "guerrillas!" "Confederates!" "Confederates!" "Friends!" and a bonny blue Rebel flag was waved in the doorway. We were indeed a desperate-looking lot, but the women met the supposed Rebel guerrillas almost with embraces. The captain and his two lieutenants we pulled from under the bed by their heels, and threatened them with instant death. The women begged us only not to kill them in the house. The officers, on their knees, pleaded for their lives. It was agreed that they should simply give up their swords, be paroled, and allowed to return to camp. At headquarters the next morning, in explanation of the loss of their swords, they told a wonderful and Falstaffian tale of being overwhelmed by Van Dorn's guerrillas the night before, and of their miraculous escape to camp. That moment they were confronted with their surrendered swords and their signatures to their paroles. There was a fine collapse at headquarters that morning. The names of the three gentlemen were sent to General Grant the same day, I understand. But not for promotion." I had a little taste of life in the hospital that December. My eyes got worse. For a little time I was in a fine private home in Holly Springs, for the town, after its burning by Van Dorn, had been retaken by us. Every room in the house had its floors filled with the sick and the dying of both armies. Long years after that, while on shipboard returning from Europe, I made by chance the acquaintance of Mrs. Kate Sherwood Bonner, the authoress, who as a girl had lived in Holly Springs. We talked of the war times, and it transpired that the mansion where I had witnessed such distressful scenes among the dead and dying was her father's home. I saw General Grant's father and mother there in Holly Springs daily. At the capture of the town they had been taken as stated, and released, the father on parole. I was now sent to Memphis, as I was still in hospital. The hospital here was in the old Overton Hotel, which was crowded with hundreds of wounded. The room used as a dead house was filled every night. It was across the court and below my own room. I could see the corpses distinctly, as the window was left open. It was my habit, a strange one, when I awoke in the morning, to look over and count the corpses of men who had been carried in there while I had been sleeping. It seems now a ghastly business enough. CHAPTER V The laughable campaign of the war--An army floating among the tree tops of the Yazoo Pass. In a little time, February, 1863, Grant's army was again off to try for Vicksburg. This time it was to go on that campaign, so laughable now, but romantic always, called the "Yazoo Pass expedition." We were to go down the Mississippi River in big steamers to Helena, and there transfer ourselves on to a fleet of little steamers, cut the levee into the overflooded country, and try floating a whole army a hundred miles across the plantations and swamps of Mississippi. My eyes were well again, and I was happy to join our regiment and be one of the aquatic throng. Just as we were getting on to the boat at Memphis two of my company managed to get shot by the provost guard. They had been full of liquor, and refused to go to the steamer. They had been heroes at Iuka. How unlucky now to get crippled for life in a drunken brawl! On the 22d of March, near Helena, my regiment went aboard the pretty little schooner called the _Armada_. Shortly, dozens of these small boats, crowded with regiments, accompanied by gunboats, were floating about, awaiting the order to sail through a big cut that our engineers had made in the river levee and get down the pass into Moon Lake. The Mississippi was high and raging. All the low-lying country for half a hundred miles was flooded till it looked like a vast sea, with forests of trees standing in its midst. Here and there, too, a plantation, higher than the surrounding country, was noticeable. The first pass into Moon Lake was but a mile long. But through that pass swirled and roared the waters of the Mississippi, so suddenly let loose by the break in the levee. At just four in the evening our little steamer got the order to turn out of the river and into the rushing waters of the pass. We would not have been more excited at being told to start over Niagara Falls. Our engines are working backward and we enter the crevasse slowly, but in five minutes the fearful, eddying current seized us, and our boat was whirled round and round like a toy skiff in a washtub. We all held our breath as the steamer was hurled among floating logs and against overhanging trees. In ten minutes the rushing torrent had carried us, backward, down into the little lake. Not a soul of the five hundred on board the boat in this crazy ride was lost. Once in the lake we stopped, and with amazement watched other boats, crowded with soldiers, also drift into the whirl and be swept down the pass. It was luck, not management, that half the little army was not drowned. Now for days and days our little fleet coursed its way toward Vicksburg among the plantations, swamps, woods, bayous, cane-brakes, creeks, and rivers of that inland sea. Wherever the water seemed deepest that was our course, but almost every hour projecting stumps and trees had to be sawn off under the water to allow our craft to get through. Sometimes we advanced only four or five miles a day. At night the boat would be tied to some tall sycamore. Here and there we landed at some plantation that seemed like an island in the flood. The negroes on the plantation, amazed at our coming, wondered if it was the day of Jubilee or if it was another Noah's flood and that these iron gunboats arks of safety. We soldiers, if not on duty pushing the boat away from trees, had nothing to do but sleep and eat and read. Most of the soldiers slept on the decks, on the guards, and on the cabin floors. Four of us had a little stateroom. I had with me a copy of Shakespeare, cribbed by one of the boys somewhere, and the Bard of Avon was never studied under stranger circumstances. The Yazoo Pass, though not so crazy as the crevasse we had come through, was nevertheless bad and dangerous. Two of our craft sank to the bottom, but the soldiers were saved by getting into trees. All the boats were torn half to pieces. One day as we pushed our way along the crooked streams amid the vine-covered forests we ran onto a Rebel fort built on a bit of dry land. In front of it were great rafts that completely obstructed our way. An ocean steamer was also sunk in the channel in front of us. To our amazement we learned that it was the _Star of the West_, the ship that received the first shot fired in the war of the Rebellion. That was when it was trying to take supplies to Fort Sumter. Our gunboats shelled this "Fort Greenwood" in vain, and now Rebels were gathering around and behind us and guerrillas were beginning to fire on the boats. The waters, too, might soon subside, and our fleet and army be unable to get back into the Mississippi. We could not go ahead. Suddenly the orders came to turn about and steam as fast as possible to a place of safety. By April 8 we had made the journey through the woods and cane-brake back to the pass. The picturesque farce was ended. We could now hunt some other road to Vicksburg. We know nothing of what the generals thought of this fiasco, but we private soldiers had great fun, and the long stay on the boats had been a rest from hard campaigning. We had not lost a man. A whole campaign and not a soldier lost! CHAPTER VI Grant's new plan at Vicksburg--Running the Vicksburg batteries--An hour and a half of horror--The batteries are passed--The most important event in the war. The attempt on Vicksburg was not to be given up. In the spring of 1863 the whole army moved down the Mississippi to begin one of the most noted campaigns of history. A real sane notion had gotten hold of Grant, and of scarcely anyone else. That notion was, if possible, to get across the Mississippi _below_ the town (Sherman had failed trying it above) and throw the whole army on to the fortifications at the rear. If the town's defenders should be bold and come out and fight us, so much the better. We wanted that. Soon General Grant built long stretches of wagon roads and corduroy bridges that ran snakelike for forty miles among the black swamps, cane-brakes, and lagoons on the west bank of the Mississippi River. He then marched half his army down these roads to a point below Vicksburg, below Grand Gulf, and bivouacked them on the shore of the river. The other half, of which my regiment was a part, remained near the river above the city. Possibly we were twenty-five thousand men there. One night these twenty-five thousand bivouacked along the levees of the great river were all in great excitement. "Coming events were casting their shadows before." It must have been some great event was about to happen that April night of 1863, for the Assistant Secretary of War was there, and General Grant and General Sherman were there, waiting and watching in the greatest suspense. What was going to happen? Some one hundred and fifty private soldiers were going to perform a deed that should help make American history. The success of a whole army and the capture of the best fortified city on the American continent depended on the heroism of this handful of private soldiers on this April night. No wonder the government at Washington sat by the telegraph and anxiously awaited every scrap of news sent from Grant's army before Vicksburg. He was to open the Mississippi River. That very day, almost, the government at Washington sent a letter urging General Grant to hurry. "In my opinion," telegraphed General Halleck for the President, "_this is the most important operation of the war. To open the Mississippi River would be better than the capture of forty Richmonds._" General Grant realized the mighty things he had at stake. But what availed it to collect his soldiers there? In front of him, in high flood, swept the mightiest river on the continent; he had not a boat to cross with, and the enemy laughed and dared him from the other side. His fleet of steamboats was forty miles and more up the river, and between him and that fleet were four miles of hostile batteries strong enough to blow a fleet to pieces. In fact, every hill, hollow, and secret place above and below the city hid a dozen cannon. All the way from Vicksburg down to Warrentown was a fort. What could be done? Without some steamers on which to cross, the game was blocked, and Vicksburg, strong as Sebastopol itself, might stand there forever and the Mississippi River be blockaded to the end of the war. Two or three of Grant's ironclad gunboats had run past these awful batteries one night, their sides banged to pieces and their iron mail scooped up as if it had been made of putty. One of them was sunk. But these iron tubs could not serve as ferryboats for forty thousand men. Then, the scheme was proposed to cover some of the wooden steamboats with cotton bales and on a dark night try and rush them past the batteries. The boat captains, however, would not risk it with their own crews, even had they as a rule been willing, and so the commands of the army asked for _volunteers_ from the private soldiers. Desperate as the undertaking seemed, one hundred and fifty Union soldiers stepped forward and offered to run these steamboats past the guns. The writer was one of these volunteers. But too many had offered to take the risk. The required number was selected by lot, and the most I could do that historic night was to stand on the river levee in the dark and watch my comrades perform one of the most heroic acts of any war. It was hardly a secret. The whole army was excited over the desperate proposal. The enemy must have heard of it, and been doubly prepared to destroy us. "If Grant's attempt prove successful he can destroy the whole Confederate army, take Vicksburg, and open the Mississippi River." No wonder the Washington officials sat by the telegraph day and night just then awaiting great news. The moon was down by ten o'clock of the night of April 16. Under the starlight one hardly saw the dark river or the cane-brakes, swamps, and lagoons along its border. The whole Northern fleet lay anchored in silence. Grant's army too, down below, was silent and waiting. A few miles below us lay Vicksburg, dark, sullen, and sleeping. Not a gun was being fired. A few lonesome Confederate river guards floated above the town in rowboats watching to give the alarm at the approach of any foe on the water. Three mysterious looking Northern steamboats, with crews of volunteer soldiers on board, lay out in the middle of the Mississippi River in front of Milliken's Bend, a dozen miles above Vicksburg. Down in the dark hold of each vessel stand a dozen determined men. They have boards, and pressed cotton, and piles of gunny sacks beside them there, to stop up holes that shall be made pretty soon by the cannon of the enemy. They have none of war's noise and excitement to keep them up--only its suspense. They are helpless. If anything happens they will go to the bottom of the river without a word. Above the decks the pilot-houses are taken off and the pilot wheels are down by the bows, and the pilot will stand there wholly exposed. Lashed to the sides of each of the three little steamers are barges piled up with bales of hay and cotton. They look like floating breastworks. Anchored still a little further down the stream seven gunboats also wait in silence. They will lead these steamboats and try the batteries first. The boats must all move two hundred yards apart. That is the order. All is suspense. For a little while the night grows darker and more silent; the moon now is down. The thousands of soldiers standing on the levee waiting, and watching to see them start, almost hold their breath. At the boats there is no noise save the gurgling of the water as it grinds past the hulls of the anchored vessels. That is all the noise the men waiting down in the dimly lighted hulls can hear. On a little tug, near by, General Grant, the commander of the Western armies, waits and listens. The Assistant Secretary of War is at his side. In a yawl, farther down the stream, General Sherman ventures far out on the dark river to watch events. All is ready, all is suspense. Just then a lantern on the levee is moved slowly up and down. It is the signal to start. Down in Vicksburg the unexpectant enemy sleeps. Their guards out on the river, too, almost sleep; all is so safe. Quietly we lift anchors and float off with the current. Our wheels are not moving. There is a great bend in the river, and as we round it the river guard wakened, sends up a rocket, other rockets too go up all along the eastern or Vicksburg shore. That instant, too, a gun is fired from a neighboring bluff. We are discovered. "Put on all steam," calls the captain, and our boats move swiftly into the maelstrom of sulphur and iron, for the enemy opens fire vigorously. The enemy sets houses on fire all along the levee to illuminate the river, bonfires are lighted everywhere, and suddenly the whole night seems but one terrific roar of cannon. The burning houses make the river almost as light as day. We see the people in the streets of the town running and gesticulating as if all were mad; their men at the batteries load and fire and yell as if every shot sunk a steamboat. On the west side of the river the lagoons and cane-brakes look weird and dangerous. The sky above is black, lighted only by sparks from the burning houses. Down on the river it is a sheet of flame. One of the steamers and a few of the barges have caught fire and are burning up, the men escaping in life-boats and by swimming to the western shore. The excitement of the moment is maddening, the heavy fire appalling, while the musketry on the shore barks and bites at the unprotected pilots on the boats. Ten-inch cannon and great columbiads hurl their shot and shell into the cotton breastworks of the barges or through the rigging of the steamers. The gunboats tremble from the impact of shot against their sides, and at times the little steamers are caught in the powerful eddies of the river and are whirled three times around right in front of the hot firing batteries. _Five hundred and twenty-five shells and cannonballs are hurled at the hurrying fleet._ The flash of the guns, the light of the blazing houses, make the night seem a horrible tempest of lightning and thunder. Sherman, sitting out there alone in his yawl on the dark river, has witnessed awful spectacles, but this is the sight of a lifetime. "It was," he exclaimed, "_a picture of the terrible not often seen_." And amid all this roar and thunder and lightning and crash of cannonballs above, the men down in the holds of the boats--they are the real heroes--stand in the dim candle-light waiting, helpless, ignorant of events, and in terrible suspense, while sounds like the crash of worlds go on above their heads. Once some of them climb up to the hatchways and look out into the night. One look is enough! What a sight! The whole Mississippi River seems on fire, the roar of the gunboats answering the howling cannon on the shore, the terrific lightnings from the batteries, the screeching shells above the decks. It was as if hell itself were loose that night on the Mississippi River. For one hour and thirty minutes the brave men stood speechless in the holds of the boats while hell's hurricane went on above. They lived an age in that hour and a half, and yet a thousand of us in Grant's army tried to volunteer that we, too, might have this awful experience. Daylight saw the little fleet safe below Vicksburg, where thousands of soldiers welcomed it with cheers. No such deed had ever been done in the world before. Only one boat and some barges were lost, and only a few of the soldiers were hurt. The cotton bales had proved a miracle of defense. In a week still other steamers, though with greater loss, passed the batteries. We know the rest. On these same boats Grant's army would ferry across the Mississippi, and there on the other side fight five battles and win them all. Vicksburg will be surrounded and assaulted and pounded and its soldiers starved, till, on the nation's birthday, thirty thousand of its brave defenders will lay down their arms forever. CHAPTER VII Crossing the Mississippi on gunboats and steamers--Battle of Port Gibson--How General Grant looked to a private soldier--A boy from Mississippi--Fights at Raymond--Battle of Jackson in a thunderstorm--Digging his brothers' grave--Grant in battle--Saving a flag--How men feel in battle--An awful spectacle--The critical moment of General Grant's life--A battlefield letter from him to Sherman. Now that the boats were below the city, we were to begin the Vicksburg campaign in earnest. All the troops that had been left camped on the river levee above at Milliken's Bend hurried by roundabout roads through cane-brakes and swamps to the point where our little boats had anchored after running past the batteries that night. Here we joined the rest of the army, and the ferrying of thousands of soldiers across the great river day and night at once commenced. My own regiment was put on to one of the iron gunboats and ferried over the Mississippi at a point close to Grand Gulf. Here our river navy had silenced the Rebel forts. It was the first gunboat I had ever seen. Its sides bore great scars, indentations made by the enemy's batteries on the preceding day. We hurried on and became a part of the reserve at the hot battle of Port Gibson, as we ourselves did no fighting. In a plantation yard, close by my regiment, lay our wounded as they were carried back from the front. It was a terrible sight. Many had been torn by shrapnel and lay there on the grass in great agony. Some seemed with their own hands to be trying to tear their mangled limbs from their bodies. The possession of all Vicksburg did not seem worth the pain and the agony I saw there that afternoon. That was war; and it was "hell," sure enough. The next day, when the battle was over, I was at a negro cabin getting a loaf of corn bread. I suddenly heard a little cheering down by the river, where some men were putting down pontoons in place of the bridge burned by the enemy. I went down at once, and as I stood by the river bank I noticed an officer on horseback in full general's uniform. Suddenly he dismounted and came over to the very spot where I was standing. I did not know his face, but something told me it was Grant,--Ulysses Grant,--at that moment the hero of the Western army. Solid he stood, erect, about five feet eight in height, with square features, thin, closed lips, brown hair, brown beard, both cut short, and neat. "He must weigh one hundred and forty or fifty pounds. Looks just like the soldier he is. I think he is larger than Napoleon, but not much; he is not so dumpy, his legs are not so short, and his neck is not so short and thick. He looks like a man in earnest, and the Rebels think he is one." This was the first time I saw Grant. I think I still possess some of the feeling that came over me at that moment as I stood so near to one who held our lives, and possibly his country's life, in his hands. How little I dreamed that some day I would have the great honor of sitting beside him at my own table. Yet this occurred. Now he spoke, "Men, push right along; close up fast, and hurry over." Two or three men on mules attempted to wedge past the soldiers on the bridge. Grant noticed it, and quietly said, "Lieutenant, arrest those men and send them to the rear." Every soldier passing turned to gaze on him. But there was no further recognition. There was no McClellan begging the boys to allow him to light his cigar by theirs; no inquiring to what regiment that exceedingly fine marching company belonged; there was no Pope bullying the men for not marching faster, reproving officers for neglecting trivial details remembered only by martinets; there was no Bonaparte posturing for effect; no pointing to the pyramids, no calling the centuries to witness. There was no nonsense, no sentiment. Only a plain business man of the republic there for the one single purpose of getting that army across the river in the shortest time possible. In short, it was just plain General Grant, as he appeared on his way to Vicksburg. On a horse near by, and among the still mounted staff, sat the General's son, a bright-looking lad of perhaps eleven years. Fastened to his little waist by a broad yellow belt was his father's sword--that sword on whose clear steel was yet to be engraved "Vicksburg," "Spotsylvania," "The Wilderness," "Appomattox." The boy talked and jested with the bronzed soldiers near him, who laughingly inquired where we should camp that night; to which the young field marshal replied, "Oh, over the river." "Over the river!" Ah, that night we slept with our guns in our hands, and another night, and another, saw more than one of our division, and of my own regiment, camped over the river--in that last tenting ground--where the réveille was heard no more forever. My own command crossed the bridge that night by torchlight. It was a strange weird scene. Many of the Rebel dead--killed beyond the stream by our cannon before our approach--still lay at the roadside or in fields unburied. At one turn in the road my regiment marched close by a Rebel battery that had been completely destroyed. Men, horses, and all lay there dead in indiscriminate heaps. The face of one boy lying there among the horses I shall never forget. It was daylight now, the bright sun was just rising, when I left the ranks a moment to step aside to see that boy. He was lying on his back. His face was young and fair, his beautiful brown hair curled almost in ringlets, and his eyes, brown and beautiful, were wide open; his hands were across his breast. A cannonball had in an instant cut away the top of his head in as straight a line as if it had been done with a surgeon's saw. There had been no time for agony or pain. The boy's lips were almost in a smile. It was a Mississippi battery that had been torn to pieces there, and it may be that in a home near by a mother stood that morning praying for her boy. The South had such war costs as well as the North. My regiment now entered on all those rapid marches and battles in the rear of Vicksburg--Raymond, Jackson, Champion Hills, and the assaults on the breastworks about the city. For days we scarcely slept at all; it was hurry here and quickstep there, day or night. None of us soldiers or subordinates could tell the direction we were marching. We had few rations, little water, and almost no rest. We had left our base at the river, and in a large sense we were cut off and surrounded all the time. The capture of a Rebel scout at once changed everything. Through him Grant learned how hurrying divisions of the enemy were about to unite. A quick move could checkmate everything. Indeed, it was nothing but a great game of chess that was being played, only we, the moving pieces, had blood and life. At one time Grant's army was as likely to be captured as to capture. My regiment, like all the others, hurried along the country roads through dust that came to the shoe top. The atmosphere was yellow with it. The moving of a column far away could be traced by it. We followed it in the way that Joshua's army followed the mighty cloud. As we passed farms where there was something to eat the captains would call out to a dozen men of the line to hurry in, carry off all they could, and pass it over to the companies still marching. It was a singular looking army. So whole regiments tramped along with sides of bacon or sheaves of oats on the points of their bayonets. We dared not halt. When we bivouacked, long after dark, often it was the dust of the roadside. We always lay upon our arms. Sometimes there was a little fire, oftener there was none. The fat bacon was eaten raw. My regiment was in advance at the engagement at Raymond; also at Jackson. At Jackson it rained and thundered fearfully during the battle. A Rebel battery was on a green slope right in front of us, pouring a terrible shelling into us as we approached it from the Raymond road. The shocks of thunder so intermingled with the shocks from the guns that we could not tell the one from the other, and many times a sudden crash of thunder caused us all to drop to the ground, fearing a cannonball would cut its swath through the regiment. We were marching in columns of fours. Shortly, we formed line of battle, and in rushing to the left through a great cane-brake, while we were advancing in battle line under a fire of musketry, the order was given to lie down. We obeyed quickly. How closely, too, we hugged the ground and the depression made by a little brook! While I lay there it happened that my major (Marshall) was close behind me on horseback. He had no orders to dismount. I could glance back and see his face as the bullets zipped over our heads or past him. He sat on his horse as quiet as a statue, save that with his right hand he constantly twisted his mustache. He looked straight into the cane-brake. He was a brave man. Could the enemy behind the forests of cane have seen where they were firing he would not have lived a minute. Shortly there was roaring of cannon and quick charges at the other side of the town. Jackson was won. At daylight the next morning we hurried in the direction of Champion Hills. At our left, as we went down the road, the battlefield of the day before was strewn with corpses of our own men. In a few minutes the brave Seventeenth Regiment of Iowa had lost 80 men at this spot, out of 350 engaged in an assault. My friend Captain Walden received honorable mention, among others, for gallantry in this Jackson charge. A few hundred yards off I noticed a man in a field quite alone, digging in the ground. Out of curiosity I went to him and asked what he was doing alone when the regiments were all hurrying away. A brown blanket covered something near by. He pointed to it and said that two of his brothers lay dead under that blanket. He was digging a grave for them. He went on with his work and I hurried to overtake my command. This was the 15th of May, 1863. I did not know it then, but shortly I was to see General Grant in the midst of battle. I was to see several other things, and feel some of them also. My situation as to the Fifth Regiment was a peculiar one; being the quartermaster sergeant, I belonged to no company in particular. The good colonel, however, knowing my love for adventure, and that I was never lacking in duty, allowed me to attach myself to any company I liked, provided only, that there was a reliable substitute performing my duties with the train at the rear. I had no trouble in securing such a substitute, usually found among the slightly wounded soldiers. Since we crossed the Mississippi I had marched and carried my rifle all the way,--had been in every skirmish and engagement. Sometimes I tramped along with my old Company B of Newton, sometimes I went with the extreme left of the regiment. I was no more heroic than all the others in the command, but I was fond of the risk and the excitement of battle. I would have resigned my warrant as quartermaster sergeant in a moment rather than miss a hard march or an engagement, let the chance be what it might. I think my love of adventure, and my seeking it so often away from my proper post of duty at the rear, was often the occasion of amused comment. Once when marching at the left I heard our surgeon, Carpenter, cry out to another officer riding beside him: "There's a fight to-day. Look out. The sign's sure. The quartermaster sergeant has got his gun." None of us private soldiers now really knew in what direction we were marching. We heard only that the enemy was concentrating at Edwards Ferry Station, between us and Big Black River. General Crocker of my State was now leading our division, and the magnificent General McPherson commanded the army corps. The night of May 15 the division bivouacked in the woods by the side of a road that leads from Bolton toward Vicksburg. We marched hard and late that day. The morning of the 16th my regiment was up and getting breakfast long before daylight. The breakfast consisted of some wet dough cooked on the ends of ramrods; nothing more. Troops were hurrying past our bivouac by daylight. Once I went out to the roadside to look about a bit. It was scarcely more than early daylight, yet cannon could occasionally be heard in the far distance, something like low thunder. As I stood there watching some batteries hurrying along I noticed a general and his staff gallop through the woods, parallel with the road. They were leaping logs, brush, or whatever came in their way. It was General Grant, hurrying to the front. Shortly came the orders, "Fall in!" and we too were hurrying along that road toward Champion Hills. By ten o'clock the sound of the cannon fell thundering on our ears, and we hurried all we could, as riders came back saying the battle had already begun. As we approached the field the sound of great salvos of musketry told us the hour had surely come. The sound was indeed terrible. At the left of the road we passed a pond of dirty water. All who could broke ranks and filled canteens, knowing that in the heat of the fight we would need the water terribly. I not only filled my canteen, I filled my stomach with the yellow fluid, in order to save that in the canteen for a critical moment. Just then there was in front of us a terrific crashing, not like musketry, but more like the falling down of a thousand trees at once. Our brigade, a small one, was hurried into line of battle at the edge of an open field that sloped down a little in front of us and then up to a wood-covered ridge. That wood was full of the Rebel army. Fighting was going on to the right and left of us, and bullets flew into our own line, wounding some of us as we stood there waiting. There was an old well and curb at the immediate right of my regiment, and many of our boys were climbing over each other to get a drop of water. Soon the bullets came faster, zipping, zipping among us, thicker and thicker. We must have been in full view of the enemy as we stood there, not firing a shot. Our line stood still in terrible suspense, not knowing why we were put under fire without directions to shoot. Zip! zip! zip! came the Rebel bullets, and now and then a boy in blue would groan, strike his hand to a wounded limb or arm, drop his gun and fall to the rear; or perhaps he fell in his tracks dead, without uttering a word. We too, who saw it, uttered no word, but watched steadily, anxiously at the front. Then General Grant himself rode up behind us, and so close to the spot where I stood, that I could have heard his voice. He leaned against his little bay horse, had the inevitable cigar in his mouth, and was calm as a statue. Possibly smoking so much tranquillized his nerves a little and aided in producing calmness. Still, Grant was calm everywhere; but he also smoked everywhere. Be that as it may, it required very solid courage to stand there quietly behind that line at that moment. For my own part, I was in no agreeable state of mind. In short, I might be killed there at any moment, I thought, and I confess to having been nervous and alarmed. Every man in the line near me was looking serious, though determined. We had no reckless fools near us, whooping for blood. Once a badly wounded man was carried by the litter-bearers--the drummers of my regiment--close to the spot where the General stood. He gave a pitying glance at the man, I thought,--I was not twenty feet away,--but he neither spoke nor stirred. Then I heard an officer say, "We are going to charge." It seems that our troops in front of us in the woods had been sadly repulsed, and now our division was to rush in and fight in their stead, and the commander-in-chief was there to witness our assault. Two or three of us, near each other, expressed dissatisfaction that the commander of an army in battle should expose himself, as General Grant was doing at that moment. When staff officers came up to him, he gave orders in low tones, and they would ride away. One of them, listening to him, glanced over our heads toward the Rebels awhile, looked very grave, and gave some mysterious nods. The colonel who was about to lead us also came to the General's side a moment. He, too, listened, looked, and gave some mysterious nods. Something was about to happen. "My time has probably come now," I said to myself, and with a little bit of disgust I thought of the utter uselessness of being killed there without even firing a shot in self-defense. The suspense, the anxiety, was indeed becoming fearfully intense. Soon General Grant quietly climbed upon his horse, looked at us once, and as quietly rode away. Then the colonel came along the line with a word to each officer. As he came near me he called me from the ranks and said: "I want you to act as sergeant-major of the regiment in this battle." I was surprised, but indeed very proud of this mark of confidence in me. "Hurry to the left," he continued. "Order the men to fix bayonets--quick!" I ran as told, shouting at the top of my voice, "Fix bayonets! fix bayonets!" I was not quite to the left, when I heard other voices yelling, "Forward! quick! double quick! forward!" and the line was already on the run toward the Rebels. I kept up my shouting, "Fix bayonets!" for by some blunder the order had not been given in time, and now the men were trying to get their bayonets in place while running. We were met in a minute by a storm of bullets from the wood, but the lines in blue kept steadily on, as would a storm of wind and cloud moving among the tree-tops. Now we met almost whole companies of wounded, defeated men from the other division, hurrying by us, and they held up their bleeding and mangled hands to show us they had not been cowards. They had lost twelve hundred men on the spot we were about to occupy. Some of them were laughing even, and yelling at us: "Wade in and give them hell." We were wading in faster than I am telling the story. On the edge of a low ridge we saw a solid wall of men in gray, their muskets at their shoulders blazing into our faces and their batteries of artillery roaring as if it were the end of the world. Bravely they stood there. They seemed little over a hundred yards away. There was no charging further by our line. We halted, the two lines stood still, and for over an hour we loaded our guns and killed each other as fast as we could. The firing and the noise were simply appalling. Now, I was not scared. The first shot I fired seemed to take all my fear away and gave me courage enough to calmly load my musket at the muzzle and fire it forty times. Others, with more cartridges, fired possibly oftener still. Some of the regiments in that bloody line were resupplied with cartridges from the boxes of the dead. In a moment I saw Captain Lindsey throw up his arms, spring upward and fall dead in his tracks. Corporal McCully was struck in the face by a shell. The blood covered him all over, but he kept on firing. Lieutenant Darling dropped dead, and other officers near me fell wounded. I could not see far to left or right, the smoke of battle was covering everything. I saw bodies of our men lying near me without knowing who they were, though some of them were my messmates in the morning. The Rebels in front we could not see at all. We simply fired at their lines by guess, and occasionally the blaze of their guns showed exactly where they stood. They kept their line like a wall of fire. When I fired my first shot I had resolved to aim at somebody or something as long as I could see, and a dozen times I tried to bring down an officer I dimly saw on a gray horse before me. Pretty soon a musket ball struck me fair in the breast. "I am dead, now," I said, almost aloud. It felt as if someone had struck me with a club. I stepped back a few paces and sat down on a log to finish up with the world. Other wounded men were there, covered with blood, and some were lying by me dead. I spoke to no one. It would have been useless; thunder could scarcely have been heard at that moment. My emotions I have almost forgotten. I remember only that something said to me, "It is honorable to die so." I had not a thought of friends, or of home, or of religion. The stupendous things going on around me filled my mind. On getting my breath a little I found I was not hurt at all,--simply stunned; the obliquely-fired bullet had struck the heavy leather of my cartridge belt and glanced away. I picked up my gun, stepped back into the line of battle, and in a moment was shot through the hand. The wound did not hurt; I was too excited for that. The awful roar of battle now grew more terrific, if possible. I wonder that a man on either side was left alive. Biting the ends off my cartridges, my mouth was filled with gunpowder; the thirst was intolerable. Every soldier's face was black as a negro's, and, with some, blood from wounds trickled down over the blackness, giving them a horrible look. Once a boy from another part of the line to our left ran up to me crying out: "My regiment is gone! what shall I do?" There was now a little moment's lull in the howling noise; something was going on. "Blaze away right here," I said to the boy, and he commenced firing like a veteran. Then I heard one of our own line cry, "My God, they're flanking us!" I looked to where the boy had come from. His regiment had indeed given way. The Rebels had poured through the gap and were already firing into our rear and yelling to us to surrender. In a moment we would be surrounded. It was surrender or try to get back past them. I ran like a racehorse,--so did the left of the regiment, amid a storm of bullets and yells and curses. I saved my musket, anyway. I think all did that,--but that half-mile race through a hot Mississippi sun, with bullets and cannonballs plowing the fields behind us, will never be forgotten. My lungs seemed to be burning up. Once I saw our regimental flag lying by a log, the color-bearer wounded or dead. I cried to a comrade flying near me, "Duncan Teter, it is a shame--the Fifth Iowa running." Only the day before Teter had been reduced to the ranks for some offense or another. He picked up the flag and with a great oath dared me to stop and defend it. For a moment we two tried to rally to the flag the men who were running by. We might as well have yelled to a Kansas cyclone. Then Captain John Tait, rushing by, saw us, stopped, and, recognizing the brave deed of Corporal Teter, promoted him on the spot. But the oncoming storm was irresistible, and, carrying the flag, we all again hurried rearward. We had scarcely passed the spot where I had seen Grant mount his horse before the charge when a whole line of Union cannon, loaded to the muzzle with grape-shot and canister, opened on the howling mob that was pursuing us. The Rebels instantly halted, and now again it seemed our turn. A few minutes rest for breath and our re-formed lines once more dashed into the woods. In half an hour the battle of Champion Hills was won, and the victorious Union army was shortly in a position to compel the surrender of the key to the Mississippi River. Grant's crown of immortality was won, and the jewel that shone most brightly in it was set there by the blood of the men of Champion Hills. Had that important battle failed, Grant's army, not Pemberton's, would have become prisoners of war. Where then would have been Vicksburg, Spotsylvania, Richmond, Appomattox? Six thousand blue- and gray-coated men were lying there in the woods, dead or wounded, when the last gun of Champion Hills was fired. Some of the trees on the battlefield were tall magnolias, and many of their limbs were shot away. The trees were in full bloom, their beautiful blossoms contrasting with the horrible scene of battle. Besides killing and wounding three thousand of the enemy, we had also captured thirty cannon and three thousand prisoners. When the troops went off into the road to start in pursuit of the flying enemy, I searched over the battlefield for my best friend, poor Captain Poag, with whom I had talked of our Northern homes only the night before. He lay dead among the leaves, a bullet hole in his forehead. Somebody buried him, but I never saw his grave. Another friend I found dying. He begged me only to place him against a tree, and with leaves to shut the burning sun away from his face. While I was doing this I heard the groaning of a Rebel officer, who lay helpless in a little ditch. He called to me to lift him out, as he was shot through both thighs, and suffering terribly. "Yes," I said, "as soon as I get my friend here arranged a little comfortably." His reply was pathetic. "Yes, that's right; help your own first." I had not meant it so. I instantly got to him and, with the aid of a comrade, pulled him out of the ditch. He thanked me and told me he was a lieutenant colonel, and had been shot while riding in front of the spot where he lay. I eased his position as best I could, but all that night, with many another wounded soldier, blue and gray, he was left on the desolate battlefield. Now I realized how terrible the fire had been about us,--for some comrades counted two hundred bullet marks on a single oak tree within a few feet of where the left of the regiment had stood loading and firing that awful hour and a half. Most of the bullets had been fired too high, else we had all been killed. Near by lay the remains of a Rebel battery. Every horse and most of the cannoneers lay dead in a heap, the caissons and the gun carriages torn to pieces by our artillery. Never in any battle had I seen such a picture of complete annihilation of men, animals, and material as was the wreck of this battery, once the pride of some Southern town--its young men, the loved ones of Southern homes, lying there dead among their horses. That was war! Some weeks after this battle, and after Vicksburg had been won, my regiment was marched in pursuit of Joe Johnston, and we recrossed this same battlefield. We reached it in the night and bivouacked on the very spot where we had fought. It was a strange happening. Our sensations were very unusual, for we realized that all about us there in the woods were the graves of our buried comrades and the still unburied bones of many of our foes. Save an occasional hooting owl the woods were sad and silent. Before we lay down in the leaves to sleep the glee club of Company B sang that plaintive song, "We're Tenting To-night on the Old Camp Ground." Never was a song sung under sadder circumstances. All the night a terrible odor filled the bivouac. When daylight came one of the boys came to our company and said, "Go over to that hollow, and you will see hell." Some of us went. We looked but once. Dante himself never conjured anything so horrible as the reality before us. After the battle the Rebels in their haste had tossed hundreds of their dead into this little ravine and slightly covered them over with earth, but the rains had come, and the earth was washed away, and there stood or lay hundreds of half-decayed corpses. Some were grinning skeletons, some were headless, some armless, some had their clothes torn away, and some were mangled by dogs and wolves. The horror of that spectacle followed us for weeks. That, too, was war! I have written this random but true sketch of personal recollections of a severe battle because it may help young men who are anxious for adventure and war, as I was, to first realize what war really is. My experiences probably were the same as hundreds of others in that same battle. I only tell of what was nearest me. A third of my comrades who entered this fight were lost. Other Iowa and other Western regiments suffered equally or more. General Hovey's division had a third of its number slain. I have been in what history pronounces greater battles than Champion Hills, but only once did I ever see two lines of blue and gray stand close together and fire into each other's faces for an hour and a half. I think the courage of the private soldiers, standing in that line of fire for that awful hour and a half, gave us Vicksburg, made Grant immortal as a soldier, and helped to save this country. But I must return to that afternoon of the battle. All that could be assembled of our men gathered in line in a road near the field. It was nearly dark. Sergeant Campbell walked about, making a list of the dead and wounded of Company B. As I was not now on the company rolls, being quartermaster sergeant, my name was not put down as one of the wounded. Nor, seeing how many were sadly torn to pieces, did I think my wound worth reporting. Shortly General Grant passed us in the road. Knowing well how the regiment had fought in the battle, he rode to where our colors hung over a stack of muskets and saluted them. We all jumped to our feet and cheered. He spoke a few words to the colonel and rode on into the darkness. That night we marched ahead, and in the morning bivouacked in the woods as a reserve for troops fighting at the Black River bridge. _There it was that Grant reached the crisis of his career._ While sitting on his horse waiting to witness a charge by Lawler's brigade, a staff officer overtook him, bringing a peremptory order from Washington to _abandon the campaign_ and take his army to Port Hudson to help General Banks. That moment Grant glanced to the right of his lines and saw a dashing officer in his shirt sleeves suddenly come out of a cluster of woods, leading his brigade to the assault. It was General Lawler, and in five minutes the Rebel breastworks were carried, the enemy in flight or drowning in the rapid river. Then Grant turned to the staff officer and simply said, "_See that charge! I think it is too late to abandon this campaign._" The movements that were to make him immortal went on. Had that order of Halleck's, written of course without knowledge of the recent victories, been followed, Banks, and not Grant, would have been first commander in the West. Had Lawler's charge failed just then and the battle been lost, Grant could have had no excuse for not obeying the order that staff officer held in his hand, directing him to abandon what turned out to be one of the great campaigns of history. While sitting there in his saddle at the close of that charge, General Grant wrote a little note in pencil, the original of which is among my treasured souvenirs of the war: "DEAR GENERAL: Lawler's brigade stormed the enemy's works a few minutes since; carried them, capturing from two thousand to three thousand prisoners, ten guns, so far as heard from, and probably more will be found. The enemy have fired both bridges. A. J. Smith captured ten guns this morning, with teams, men, and ammunition. I send you a note from Colonel Wright. "Yours, "U. S. GRANT, M. G. "TO MAJOR GENERAL SHERMAN." CHAPTER VIII Assaults on the walls of Vicksburg--Logan in battle--An army mule--A promotion under the guns of Vicksburg--A storm of iron hail at Vicksburg--The Vicksburg clock--The town surrenders--The glad news--Reading my first order to the regiment--My regiment put on guard in the captured city--Eight days' furlough in four years of war. The next morning (the 18th) my regiment crossed the pontoon bridge over the Big Black and marched eight miles further toward Vicksburg. Now we knew we were getting close to the Richmond of the West. As we crossed the Black River we gazed with curiosity at the half-burned bridge from which so many unfortunates had been hurled into the water by our artillery the day before. After Lawler's charge thousands had tried to get over the stream by the trestle-work and bridge, or by swimming. General Osterhaus, seeing the fugitives from a high point where he stood, cried out to his batteries: "Now, men, is the time to give them hell." Twenty cannon instantly hurled their iron missiles at the bridge, and the flying soldiers fell to the ground or into the foaming river, almost by hundreds. "Lost at Black River," was the only message that ever reached the home of many a Southern soldier of that day. On the 19th, at two o'clock, a terrible assault was made by the army on the walls of Vicksburg. My own regiment, still in McPherson's corps, lay close to the Jackson wagon road and under a tremendous thundering of the enemy's artillery. We suffered little, however. Once I was ordered to help some men build sheds of brush for the wounded. This was in a ravine behind us. In an hour the work was done, and as I crept up the slope to get forward to my regiment again I heard the loud voice of some officer on horseback. It was General John A. Logan. The enemy's artillery was sweeping the field at this point, but I could still hear Logan's voice above the battle, cheering a number of soldiers that were near. "We have taken this fort and we have taken that," he cried in tones that were simply stentorian. "We are giving them hell everywhere." He was in full uniform, his long black hair swept his shoulders, his eyes flashed fire, he seemed the incarnation of the reckless, fearless soldier. He must have thought cannonballs would not hurt him. For five minutes, perhaps, I stood in a little dip in the ground, comparatively protected, while he rode up and down under a storm of cannonballs, calling at the top of his warrior's voice. I expected every moment to see him drop from his horse, but nothing happened, and I went on to the line where all our men were closely hugging the ground. Soon I, too, was stretched on the ground, making myself as thin as I could. On the 20th we advanced still closer to the frowning works. It was only a thousand yards to the forts of Vicksburg. We moved up in the darkness that night. I think no one knew how close we were being taken to the enemy. We lay down in line of battle and in the night our line was moved a little. When daylight came my regiment was no little astonished to find that we were on an open place in full view of the enemy. A comrade and I rose from the ground and commenced our toilet, by pouring water into each other's hands from our canteens. Almost at that moment the Rebels had caught sight of our men lying there in long lines so close to them, and instantly commenced throwing shells at us. My friend and I left our morning toilet uncompleted and, seizing our rifles, we all stood in line waiting. We could see the flags of the enemy above the forts distinctly. With a glass the gunners could be seen at their guns, hurling shot and shell at us. We were in a perilous and helpless position. We were also very tired and hungry, for we had had nothing whatever to eat. But here we stayed, and by the next morning our skirmishers had advanced so close to the Vicksburg forts that the Rebel gunners could reach us but little. Our gunboats too, down in the river now commenced hurling mighty bombs and balls into the city. On the morning of the 22d of May all the batteries of the army and the big guns of the river fleet bombarded the city for an hour, and under the fog and the smoke of the battle the infantry advanced to assault the works. It was a perilous undertaking. The day was fearfully hot; the forts, ten feet high, were many and powerful; the ditches in front of them were seven feet deep. That made seventeen feet to climb in the face of musketry. In battle line, my regiment ran down into the ravines in front and then up the opposite slope to the smoking breastwork. The colonel had ordered me to fasten two ammunition boxes across a mule and follow the regiment into the assault. I was to lead my mule. A soldier with a bush was to beat him from behind, so as to hurry him over an exposed bit of ground at our front. The moment my mule appeared in full sight of the enemy the bullets commenced whizzing past us. The mule, true to his ancestral instinct, commenced pulling backward. Yelling and pounding and pulling helped none at all. Two or three bullets struck the boxes on his back, and before we had pulled him half across he braced himself, held his ears back, and stood stock still. That moment the bridle came off. My assistant dodged back to our rifle pit and I hurried down to the ravine in front. The mule, too, as luck would have it, also ran now,--ran down into the ravine beside me, right where he was wanted. I tied him to a little bush and, awful as the situation about me was, I almost laughed to see the antics of that animal's ears as the bullets whizzed past him. My regiment was all lying against the hill close up to the fort. In front of them was the ditch seven feet deep, beyond them an armed fort ten feet high, emitting a constant blaze of cannon and musketry. The sun was broiling hot. I crept along the line of the regiment and gave ammunition to every company; then I crept back a little to where my mule was still alive and his ears still at their antics. Lying there in the line beside the boys, roasting in the sun and suffering from the musketry in front, was our brave Colonel Boomer, leading the brigade. He asked me once what I was doing, and, when I told him, he gave me some compliments in a kind, but sad, low tone. Now I saw a company of men creep by me, dragging little ladders in their hands. They were to make a rush and throw these ladders across the ditch of the forts for the assaulters to cross on. They were all volunteers for a work that seemed sure death. I looked in each hero's face as he passed me, knowing almost that he would be dead in a few minutes. Scarcely a dozen of them returned alive. My regiment, with the rest of the assaulters, was simply being shot to pieces without a hope of getting into the forts. We fell back under the smoke of the battle as best we could, only to be led into an assault at another point. McClernand had sent Grant word that he had taken a fort on our left. He wanted help to hold it. Our division, now led by Quimby, was double quicked to the next place of assault. I saved my mule. Again I strapped two ammunition boxes over his back and followed the regiment. This time I did not risk my mule so close in the battle, but took all the cartridges I could carry in my arms and went to the left of the regiment. Once I saw a body lying on the grass by me, with a handkerchief over the face. I went up and looked. It was our own Colonel Boomer, who had spoken so kindly to me in the morning. A useless charge had already been made by the brigade and he, with many brave men, was dead. Some of my own company lay dead there too. One of them had come from Iowa and joined his brother in the company that very morning. All the assaulting of the 22d of May and all the sacrifice of life had been for nothing. Vicksburg was not taken. Now commenced the regular siege of the city. We hid ourselves behind ridges, in hollows, and in holes in the ground, as best we could. Communication with our gunboats on the Yazoo was opened, and we had plenty to eat and ammunition enough to bombard a dozen cities. Then the bombardment commenced indeed, and lasted to the end, forty-four days. We often threw three hundred cannonballs and shells a day into the city. The whole Rebel army was also hidden in holes and hollows. All the people of Vicksburg lived in caves at the sides of the hills or along the bluffs of the river. Their homes now were like swallows' nests, with small entrances in the face of hills and bluffs and big, dug-out chambers inside. It was a strange life. With the eternal hail of cannon over them day and night, and starvation a familiar figure to them, it must have been a horrible one. Now we advanced our rifle pits and trenches and mines close up to the Rebel forts, though our main lines lay in the ravines and on the ridge a few hundred feet farther back. As for me, when not looking after the ammunition, a trifling duty now, I was in the trenches with the others. One morning when out there at the front among our riflemen, who were forever blazing day and night at every Rebel fort and rifle pit, I noticed our good Colonel Matthies creeping along the trench to where I was. He had a package of brown paper in his hand. Imagine my surprise and pride to have him come to me and say: "Sergeant, this officer's sash is yours." Then he announced my appointment as adjutant of the regiment. He had been made a general now, and would soon leave for his new command. This sash was one that he had worn and honored on many a battlefield. Is it any wonder that now, after the long and perilous years, it is preserved by me as a souvenir of honor? Soon after, I went to a sutler's store on the Yazoo River to buy a sword and uniform. In those days swords were not given to officers by committees in dress coats, until they had been earned. This little trip to get my sword almost cost me my life. My path to the river, six miles away, lay partly along a ridge and partly close to an empty Rebel fort. This fort showed scarcely any signs of having ever been used. I stayed all night with the sutler, whom I knew very well, and at noon on a hot day started, on my big yellow government horse, to go back to my regiment. My sword was buckled on me and my new uniform was tied in a bundle on my saddle-bow. It was too hot to ride fast, and my horse almost slept as he slowly carried me close by the seemingly abandoned fort. Suddenly there was a crash and a whole volley of musketry rattled about my ears. My poor horse fell dead. It was a quick awakening, but I managed to pull my bundle from the saddle-bow and to escape into a ravine where our own troops lay. There I learned that the fort had been occupied by the Rebels in the night, while I was with the sutler. It was a close call for me. One of the boys declared he could save my saddle and bridle. "Take them as a present," I said, "if you can get them." He crept up to where my dead horse lay, and as he rose to his feet to undo the saddle another volley from the fort hastened him to the ravine. I laughed. "If your saddle and bridle were made of gold and silver," he shouted at me as he ran back, "I wouldn't try it again." Slowly and without perceptible advance the siege went on. The little battery that my regiment had saved at Iuka was still with us and behind some breastworks at our immediate right. It was no uncommon thing to see even Grant himself come along and stop and watch Captain Sears' guns knock the dirt up from some fort in front of us. One day this battery wounded a man who was running between two Rebel breastworks. The enemy tried to secure his body, but every soul that showed himself for an instant was shot by our riflemen. For half an hour this shooting over one poor man's body was kept up, until it seemed that a battle was taking place. Now our lines were so close together that our pickets often had a cup of coffee or a chew of tobacco with the Rebel pickets at night. Drummer Bain, of my company, had a brother among the soldiers inside Vicksburg. One night he met him at the picket line, and together they walked all through the beleagured town. But such things were dangerous business and had to be kept very quiet. The weather was now very warm and fine, some of the nights clear moonlight, and when the guns had stopped their roaring many a time in the quiet night we heard the bell clock on the Vicksburg Court House measuring out the hours. It is said that this clock never stopped for an instant in all the siege, nor under the hundred cannon that rained iron hail into the town. At night, too, the big mortars from our fleet some miles from us tossed mighty bombs into the air, that sailed like blazing comets and fell at last among the people hidden in their caves. One day Governor Kirkwood of Iowa visited our regiment and made a speech to us in a hollow back of our line. We cheered, and the Rebels, hearing us and knowing we must be assembled in masses, hurled a hundred cannonballs and shells over our heads, yet I think few were hurt. This was the 3d of June. Every night that we lay there on the line we went to sleep fearing to be waked by an attack from the army of Rebels under Johnston, now assembled at our rear. This was the force we most feared, not the army we had penned up in Vicksburg. Nevertheless, the batteries in front of us gave us enough to do to prevent any ennui on our part. On the 15th of June the enemy got one big gun in a position to rake from our left the ravine in which my regiment was lying. We all stuck close to our little caves on the ridge side, and few got hurt. In the meantime we were working day and night putting more breastworks in front of us, though we were now but four hundred yards away from the Rebel lines. Here, as many times elsewhere, I copy from my diary. "Last night, the 16th, the major of our regiment, Marshall, took two hundred men and worked all night digging new ditches and building breastworks. It was rainy and muddy. The Rebels heard us at the work and in the darkness slipped up and captured a few men. Some of the enemy, however, also got taken in. This is the kind of work that is going on every night until daybreak, and then we fire bullets all the day into the enemy's lines, to prevent their repairing their forts. The cannonading and the rifle shooting never cease. The roar is simply incessant, and yet when off duty we sleep like newborn babes. "All the region we are in is hills and ravines, brush and cane-brake, with here and there a little cotton field. Nature defends Vicksburg more than a dozen armies could. She has built scores of positions around the town strong as anything at Sevastapol." The rumors kept coming of a purposed attack on our rear. On the 20th of June, at four o'clock in the morning, all the cannon on Grant's lines and all the cannon on the gunboats opened fire on the town and thundered at it for six mortal hours. They must have been awful hours for the people inside. No such cannonading ever took place on the continent before or since. We private soldiers did not know the exact object of this fearful bombardment. The Rebels probably lay in battle line, expecting an assault, and must have suffered greatly. In the night of the 22d of June, at midnight, rumors again came of a great Rebel army marching on our rear. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and my regiment, together with whole divisions of the army, received orders to hurry back toward Black River, where cavalry skirmishing had taken place. No battle came on, but for two days we lay in line of battle, or else built breastworks for defense. On the 3d of July, as we were bivouacked in a little wood, news came that the whole Rebel army in Vicksburg had prepared to surrender the next day, the Nation's jubilee day. Instantly the regiment was ordered to fall in. I had no little pride in reading to the men the dispatch from General Grant announcing the great news. It was the first order I had ever read to the regiment as its adjutant, and its great importance gratified me much. The whole command acted as if they were drunken or had suddenly lost their minds. Privates and officers shook hands and laughed and wept, while majors and colonels turned somersaults on the grass. It was indeed a great moment to us all. Twenty-seven thousand men, with twenty-four generals and one hundred and eighty cannon, was a great capture. We all knew we had made history on that day. Now the whole Rebel army passed out along the roads where we lay. I sat on a rail fence near our bivouac and watched the host go by. The officers all looked depressed, but the soldiers seemed glad the suspense and danger were over and that now they could have enough to eat. Our regiment freely divided with them all we had. "After a few days pursuit of Johnston's army at our rear (now suddenly our front), my regiment is ordered into Vicksburg. We pass in over the breastworks that had been so terrible to us a few days before. Looking at them, I wonder at our hardihood in assaulting them. It would be hard to climb through these ditches and into these forts even were no cannon and no deadly muskets behind them. "My regiment is put on duty as a city guard. It now seems strange enough to be guarding the very town and the very forts we had so recently been assaulting. There are other troops here, but the Fifth Iowa is the guard proper. We find the town badly battered up, with terrible signs of war everywhere. There, too, were the graves of the dead and brave defenders. If wrong, they still had been brave men." Years afterward, a shaft was put up to their memory, and on it I read these words: "We care not whence they came, Dear in their lifeless clay, Whether unknown, or known to fame, Their cause and country's still the same, They died, and they wore the gray." The weather continued hot while we were there guarding the town, and the place was very sickly; many citizens and very many colored soldiers died. It was pitiable to see how little people cared, even our own soldiers, whether these poor negro soldiers died or lived. Our own regiment suffered little, yet on July 28 seventy were in the hospital. We camped at Randolph and Locust streets, and spite of the mercury's being 100 degrees in the shade, had pleasant soldier times. I mounted the guard every morning and then spent most of the day reading to the colonel, who was sick. In September I secured a leave of absence to go North. For the only time during the four years' war I visited my home. I was there but eight days, half of my time having been lost by the steamer I was on sticking on sandbars. I saw strange sights in the North in those few days--women and children and old men reaping the fields; home guards training at every village; cripples and hospitals everywhere. Yet in spite of war prosperity was blessing the North. CHAPTER IX Sherman's army floats across the Tennessee River at midnight--Washington at the Delaware nothing compared to this--We assault Missionary Ridge--An awful battle--My capture. On my return from my home to my regiment I found it had been transported to Memphis, where, as a part of General Sherman's army corps, we were now to make a forced march to relieve Rosecrans' army at Chattanooga. Chickamauga had been lost. The Union army lying under Lookout Mountain was starving and its destruction almost certain. We made now the march of four hundred miles from the Tennessee River, at Florence, in twenty days, without incident. On the 22d of November, 1863, we beheld the heights of Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. November 23, 1863, and the great battle of Chattanooga was about to begin. The victorious Rebel army, seventy-five thousand strong, lay intrenched along the heights of Missionary Ridge and on top of Lookout Mountain. My regiment was in Sherman's corps that had just hurried across from Memphis. We had marched twenty miles a day. Now this corps was to form the left of Grant's forces, cross a deep river in the darkness, and assault the nearly inaccessible position of Bragg's army. That night we lay in bivouac in the woods close by the Tennessee River. We very well knew that 116 rude pontoon boats had been built for us and were lying hidden in a creek near by. We had almost no rations for the army. As for the horses and mules, they had already starved to death by the thousands, and were lying around everywhere. Rosecran's army had been virtually besieged, and was about to starve or surrender when Grant came on to the ground and took command. When Sherman's corps got up it was decided to stake all on a great battle. If defeated, we should probably all be lost. All the men in Sherman's corps who were to make the first great assault realized that, and they realized also the danger we were now to encounter by attempting to cross that rapid river in the night. Midnight came and all were still awake, though quiet in the bivouac. At two o'clock we heard some quiet splashing in the water. It was the sound of muffled oars. The boats had come for us. Every man seized his rifle, for we knew what was coming next. "Quietly, boys, fall in quietly," said the captains. Spades were handed to many of us. We did not ask for what, as we knew too well. Quietly, two by two, we slipped down to the water's edge and stepped into the rude flatboats that waited there. "Be prompt as you can, boys; there's room for thirty in a boat," said a tall man in a long waterproof coat who stood on the bank near us in the darkness. Few of us had ever before heard the voice of our beloved commander. Sherman's kind words gave us all cheer, and his personal presence, his sharing the danger we were about to undertake, gave us confidence. In a quarter of an hour a thousand of us were out in the middle of the river afloat in the darkness. Silent we sat there, our rifles and our spades across our knees. There was no sound but the swashing of the water against the boats. We had strange feelings, the chief of which was probably the thought: Would the enemy on the opposite bank fire into us and drown us all? Every moment we expected a flash of musketry or a roar of cannon. We did not know that a ruse had been played on the pickets on the other side; that a boatload of our soldiers had crossed farther up and in the darkness caught every one of them without firing a shot. One only got away. Who knew how soon all of Braggs' army might be alarmed and upon us? In half an hour we were out on the opposite bank and creeping along through the thicket, a spade in one hand a rifle in the other. What might happen any moment we knew not. Where was that escaped picket? And where was Braggs' army? Instantly we formed in line of battle and commenced digging holes for ourselves. We worked like beavers, turn about; no spade was idle for one moment. Daylight found us there, two thousand strong, with rifle pits a mile in length. Other brigades got over the river, pontoons soon were down; still other troops, whole divisions, were across, and forty cannon were massed close to the crossing to protect us. What a sight was that for General Bragg, when he woke up that morning at his headquarters' perch, on top of Missionary Ridge! All that day we maneuvered under heavy cannonading and drove the enemy from hill to hill at our front. Some of the troops did heavy fighting, but the Rebels only fell back to their great position on the Ridge. That night my regiment stood picket at the front. The ground was cold and wet, none of us slept a wink, and we were almost freezing and starving. We had not slept, indeed, for a hundred hours. It had been one vast strain, and now a battle was coming on. All that night we who were on the picket line could hear the Rebel field batteries taking position on Missionary Ridge, to fight us on the morrow. The morning of the 25th dawned clear and beautiful. Instantly whole divisions of troops commenced slaughtering each other for the possession of single hills and spurs. At times the battle in front of Sherman was a hand to hand encounter. My own brigade was so close that the Rebels even threw stones down upon us. Over to the far right Hooker's men were in possession of Lookout Mountain, and were breaking in on the enemy's left flank. It was two o'clock when our division, my own regiment with it, received orders from Sherman to fix bayonets and join in the assault on Missionary Ridge. General J. E. Smith led the division, and General Matthies, our former colonel, led the brigade. We had to charge over the open, and by this time all the cannon in the Rebel army were brought to bear on the field we had to cross. We emerged from a little wood, and at that moment the storm of shot and shell became terrific. In front of us was a rail fence, and, being in direct line of fire, its splinters and fragments flew in every direction. "Jump the fence, men! tear it down!" cried the colonel. Never did men get over a fence more quickly. Our distance was nearly half a mile to the Rebel position. We started on a charge, running across the open fields. I had heard the roaring of heavy battle before, but never such a shrieking of cannonballs and bursting of shell as met us on that charge. We could see the enemy working their guns, while in plain view other batteries galloped up, unlimbered, and let loose at us. Behind us our own batteries (forty cannon) were firing at the enemy over our heads, till the storm and roar became horrible. It sounded as if the end of the world had come. Halfway over we had to leap a ditch, perhaps six feet wide and nearly as many deep. Some of our regiment fell into this ditch and could not get out, a few tumbled in intentionally and stayed there. I saw this, and ran back and ordered them to get out, called them cowards, threatened them with my revolver; they did not move. Again I hurried on with the line. All of the officers were screaming at the top of their voices; I, too, screamed, trying to make the men hear. "Steady! steady! bear to the right! keep in line! Don't fire! don't fire!" was yelled till we all were hoarse and till the awful thunder of the cannon made all commands unheard and useless. In ten minutes, possibly, we were across the field and at the beginning of the ascent of the Ridge. Instantly the blaze of Rebel musketry was in our faces, and we began firing in return. It helped little, the foe was so hidden behind logs and stones and little breastworks. Still we charged, and climbed a fence in front of us and fired and charged again. Then the order was given to lie down and continue firing. That moment someone cried, "Look to the tunnel! They're coming through the tunnel." Sure enough, through a railway tunnel in the mountain the gray-coats were coming by hundreds. They were flanking us completely. "Stop them!" cried our colonel to those of us at the right. "Push them back." It was but the work of a few moments for four companies to rise to their feet and run to the tunnel's mouth, firing as they ran. Too late! an enfilading fire was soon cutting them to pieces. "Shall I run over there too?" I said to the colonel. We were both kneeling on the ground close to the regimental flag. He assented. When I rose to my feet and started it seemed as if even the blades of grass were being struck by bullets. As I ran over I passed many of my comrades stretched out in death, and some were screaming in agony. For a few minutes the whole brigade faltered and gave way. Colonel Matthies, our brigade commander, was sitting against a tree, shot in the head. Instantly it seemed as if a whole Rebel army was concentrated on that single spot. For a few moments I lay down on the grass, hoping the storm would pass over and leave me. Lieutenant Miller, at my side, was screaming in agony. He was shot through the hips. I begged him to try to be still; he could not. Now, as a second line of the enemy was upon us, and the first one was returning, shooting men as they found them, I rose to my feet and surrendered. "Come out of that sword," shrieked a big Georgian, with a terrible oath. Another grabbed at my revolver and bellowed at me "to get up the hill quicker than hell." It was time, for our own batteries were pouring a fearful fire on the very spot where we stood. I took a blanket from a dead comrade near me, and at the point of the bayonet I was hurried up the mountain. We passed lines of infantry in rifle pits and batteries that were pouring a hail of shells into our exposed columns. Once I glanced back, and--glorious sight!--I saw lines of bluecoats at our right and center, storming up the ridge. In a few minutes' time I was taken to where other prisoners from my regiment and brigade were already collected together in a hollow. We were quickly robbed of nearly everything we possessed and rapidly started down the railroad tracks toward Atlanta. While we were there in that little hollow General Breckenridge, the ex-Vice President of the United States, came in among us prisoners to buy a pair of Yankee gauntlets. I sold him mine for fifteen dollars (Confederate money). General Grant's victorious army was already over the Ridge and in rapid pursuit. Taking the Ridge and Lookout Mountain cost the Union army well on to six thousand dead and wounded. The Rebels lost as many, or more, so that twelve thousand human beings were lying dead, or in agony, that night among the hills of Chattanooga. Not long before, thirty thousand had been killed and wounded, on both sides, close to this same Ridge. Forty-two thousand men shot for the possession of a single position. _That was war._ That night as the guards marched us down the railroad we saw train after train whiz by loaded with the wounded of the Rebel army. The next day when they halted us, to bivouac in the woods, we were amazed to see quite a line of Union men from East Tennessee marching along in handcuffs. Many of them were old men, farmers, whose only crime was that they were true to the Union. They were hated ten times worse than the soldiers from the North. These poor men now were allowed no fire in the bivouac, and had almost nothing to eat. "They will everyone be shot or hanged," declared the officer of our guard to me. I do not know what happened to these poor Tennesseeans. Shortly after, we Northern prisoners were put aboard cattle cars and started off for Libby Prison at Richmond, most of us never to see the North or our homes again. CHAPTER X In Libby Prison--Life there--"Belle Isle"--All prisons bad--The great escape--"Maryland, My Maryland." The story of Libby Prison at Richmond has been told so often I shall not dwell on details about it here. Besides, the experiences of one man there were not materially different from the experiences of another. I was to stay there some seven months, always in the same room, and oftenest denied the poor privilege of looking out of the window. Our lives were to be very wretched there. That is now a thread-worn tale. At their very best, war prisons in every country are wretched places. One's friends do not stand guard there; it is our enemies. They are not penal establishments; they are simply places for keeping captives who, until in our so-called civilized days, would have been put to death on the battlefield. Our little company of captives from Chattanooga reached Libby Prison just after daylight of December 8, 1863. As we crossed the big bridge over the James River we looked down into the stream and saw "Belle Isle." It was a cold wet sandbar, and there, shivering in the wind, we saw five thousand ragged and emaciated human beings. They were prisoners of war. Some of them were from my own regiment. Most of them were never to see their homes again. The tales of their experiences would stagger human belief. These were all private soldiers; the commissioned officers were to be locked up in Libby Prison. The old tobacco warehouse of Libby & Son had been transformed into a monster guardhouse for officers captured from the Federal army. Little the two old tobacco merchants must have dreamed with what infamy their names would go down to history, through no fault of their own. The big brick building stood close to the James River. It had no glass in its windows, and the cold wind from the bay swept through its vast rooms day and night. Six hundred other prisoners were already there on our arrival, picked up from many battlefields. Libby Prison was three stories high and its floors were divided into several rooms each. The prisoners slept on the floor, with only old army blankets around them. When thus lying down, the floor was entirely covered with shivering human beings. Each group of half a dozen men had extemporized tables, made from old boxes. A few seats were made by cutting barrels in two. At night the seats, and whatever else might be there, were piled on top of the tables, while the prisoners stretched themselves on the floor to try to sleep. In my diary of the time I read: "The food doled out to us is miserable and scanty in the extreme. A species of corn bread, ground up cobs and all, and a little rice form the principal part of the ration. The fact that this bread is burned black outside and is raw inside renders it more detestable. Occasionally letters from the North reach us by a flag of truce, and at very rare intervals a prisoner is allowed to receive a little box of coffee, sugar, and salt, sent to him by his friends in the North." As the time went on this privilege was denied us. The high price of everything South in the war times was the flimsy excuse for giving the captured ones so little. Prices of provisions were indeed terrible in Richmond. This list I copied from a Richmond paper, December 20, 1863: Bacon, $3 per pound; potatoes, $18 per bushel; turkeys, $25 each; sugar, $3 per pound; beef, $1 per pound; butter, $5 per pound; shad, $34 per pair; whisky, $75 a gallon. This was in the discounted money of the Confederates. The beginning of the new year 1864 came in cold and gloomy. We could keep warm only by running and jumping and pushing each other about the prison. I was in the upper east room, and had for messmates Captains Page and Bascom and Lieutenants Austin and Hoffman, all of my own regiment. In the little box of provisions sent me by my mother in the North was a copy of a Latin grammar, put there by good old Professor Drake, my former school-teacher. Evidently he thought the mind needed feeding as well as the body. I took the hint and studied the book faithfully. I recited to Major Marshall, and eight times I went through this Latin grammar. I had nothing else to do, but Latin is no go on an empty stomach. When, later, I got out of prison Latin was as strange to me as if I had never seen a grammar in my life. My memory had been well-nigh ruined by my confinement. One day, fearing our escape, the authorities put iron bars on all our windows. They did not think to put glass in them to keep the cold air out. On the night of February 10 occurred the famous escape of one hundred and nine prisoners. For many weeks certain officers had been missing. They were in the earth under the prison, digging a tunnel to liberty. The length of this secret tunnel, dug under the prison, under stone walls, under the street and under the very feet of the guards, was eighty-six feet. Forty-six nights were consumed in digging it. Only certain of the prisoners knew anything about it. On the night of the escape I was told of it. I stood in the dark at an upper window and watched the prisoners as they came out at the farther end of the tunnel and slipped away. I did not try to enter the tunnel when I heard of it; there was already five times as many men in the cellar as could possible get away by daylight. As it was, a third of those escaping were captured and brought back again to the prison. On the 20th of March some exchanged Confederates were sent into Richmond under flag of truce. The President, Jefferson Davis, and all the dignitaries welcomed them. The President also came into Libby Prison one day, possibly to see with his own eyes and hear with his own ears if all the terrible tales of hardship and cruelties occurring there were true. Whatever conclusion he may have reached, the hard lines of our life in the prison were not visibly altered. They have been told of a hundred of times. All the nights now it was very cold. I had but one blanket. I, like all the others, slept on the floor, and in my clothes, with my boots under my head for a pillow. One night,--it was at the close of February, 1864,--we in the prison were greatly excited over a report that Union cavalry under Generals Kilpatrick and Dahlgren were making a raid on the city for the purpose of releasing us. It was raining outside, and very dark, but we were sure we heard the Union cannon close at hand. We thought the hour of our deliverance had come. Instantly, but secretly, we organized ourselves into bands to break out and help. Soon Major Turner, the prison commander, came into the prison, making mysterious threats of something awful that would happen should we lift a single hand. Some negro help about the prison whispered to us all that, under Turner's direction, they had been compelled to carry thirty kegs of gunpowder into the cellar of the prison. Rumor said that it was Turner's intention, if our troops should get into Richmond, to blow up the prison and destroy us. A horrible plan, if true. Sadly for us, the great raid proved a failure. Dahlgren was killed, and his body was mutilated and exposed to an enraged public at one of the railroad depots in the city. These things were not done by honorable Confederate soldiers, but by irresponsible home guards and undisciplined rowdies. Now we saw no hopes of ever getting away. We would at last all die here, we thought. The nights seemed colder than ever; perhaps our blood was getting thinner. Some of us played chess; numbers sat with cards in their hands from early morning till bedtime. A few, experts with the knife, made bone rings and the like to sell, and so increased their rations a little. Generally now the rations were getting poorer, if such a thing were possible. Many prisoners were breaking down and were carried out to die. My own health--and I was young and strong--was beginning to give way. Once I fell on the floor in an utter swoon from weakness and hunger. From Andersonville, where the private soldiers were, came the horrible reports that "all were dying." One day a lot of Marylanders, most of whom had run through the Union lines from Baltimore, were organized into a battalion called "The Maryland Line." They were led by Marshall Wilder. They were marched past the prison, singing "Maryland, My Maryland." It was the first time I ever heard the song sung by Southerners. The music seemed to stir the whole city.[A] [A] Years afterwards I wrote a song to this music myself ("The Song of Iowa"). To this day it is well known, and has become the official State song. Great battles were being fought in Virginia, and sometimes Grant's soldiers approached close to Richmond. Before daylight of May 7 our captors, fearing mutiny and escape, placed all the prisoners in cattle cars and hurried us across the Confederacy to Macon, Ga. For seven long, dreary, awful months I had been in one room in Libby Prison, with little to eat or wear. It all seems a horrible dream as I write of it now. Now there were rumors that we were to be taken to a prison farther South. CHAPTER XI Escaping from Macon--An adventure in Atlanta--In the disguise of a Confederate soldier--My wanderings inside the Confederate army and what I experienced there--I am captured as a spy--How I got out of it all. I have related how suddenly we prisoners were hurried from Libby Prison in Richmond to the town of Macon in Georgia. It was now the hot summer of 1864, that summer when Sherman, only a hundred and fifty miles from our prison, was having a battle every day. He was marching and fighting his way to Atlanta. Seven hundred of us, all Federal officers, were now penned up in a hot stockade. I copy a page from my diary: "The walls here at Macon prison are twelve feet high. Sentries are posted near the top of them on a platform running around the outside. Their orders are to shoot any prisoners seen approaching the dead line. This dead line is simply marked off by an occasional stake, and is twelve feet inside the surrounding wall. It is fearfully hot here inside this stockade. The ground is pure sand, reflecting the sun's rays powerfully. We had no cover of any kind at first, save the blankets stretched over pine sticks. It is as hot here at Macon as it was cold at Libby Prison." We tried digging a tunnel by which to escape. It was four feet under ground and seventy-five feet long. It was barely ready when some spy revealed it, and our chance was lost. For my own part, I was determined to get away. The food was now again horrible, and all kinds of indignities and insults were heaped upon the prisoners. One night during a hard rain I attempted to escape through a washout under the stockade. I remained by the spot till nearly midnight, not knowing that I was being watched every moment. As I was about to give up the attempt and go away Captain Gesner, of a New York regiment, came to the little brook for a cup of water. The guard who had been watching me then fired, and Gesner dropped dead. They came in with lanterns to see who had been killed, and the guard who had fired related how he had watched the man for nearly two hours trying to escape. I did not dare say that it was I, not poor Gesner, who had been trying to get away. Now I contemplated, too, a different means of escape. It was to get a Rebel uniform, escape from the stockade by some means, and enter the Rebel army in disguise, trusting my chance to get away during the first battle. There was but one gate or door to the stockade, and this door was kept constantly closed. It was guarded by a sentinel who stood, gun in hand, immediately above it while a corporal stood watch below. Once a day a few guards and officers entered this door, closed it behind them, and formed us into lines for counting. I had studied a small map of the country for days, and by dint of trading tobacco, etc., with an occasional guard who was dying for the weed I acquired, piece by piece, a pretty decent Rebel uniform. This I kept buried in the sand where I slept. July 15, 1864, came around. My term of enlistment expired that day. I had been in the Union army three years; was it not a good time to give the Rebels a trial? There were a few old sheds not far from the gate, and in one of these one morning about nine o'clock I waited with a friend, and saw the sergeants and the guards come in, when the bell rang, to count the prisoners. I had resurrected my Rebel uniform and had quietly slipped it on. It fitted amazingly. My friend was lingering there, simply to see what would become of me. He has often declared since then that he expected me to be shot the moment I should approach the dead-line. The prisoners were some way off, in rows, being counted. I stepped from under cover and quickly walked up to and over the dead-line by the gate. The guard walking above brought his gun from his shoulder, halted, and looked at me. I paid no attention, but knocked, when the door opened, and the corporal stepped in the opening and asked what I wanted. "The lieutenant misses a roll-list, and I must run out and bring it from headquarters," I answered, pushing by him hurriedly. There was no time for questions, and the corporal, before getting over his surprise, had passed me out as a Rebel sergeant. I quickly turned the corner, passed a number of "Johnnies" sitting on the grass drinking coffee and went straight up to the commandent's tent, near the edge of the wood, but did not go in. I had not looked behind me once, but expected every moment to hear a bullet whizzing after me. I passed behind the tent, walked slowly into the wood, and then ran my best for an hour. I was outside of prison. How free, how green, how beautiful all things seemed! It was the joy of years in a few minutes. Of course I was instantly missed at the roll-call, and bloodhounds were soon upon my track. I avoided them, however, by different maneuvers. I changed my course, shortly repassed the prison pen on the opposite side, and went back and up into the city of Macon. After wandering through its streets for an hour I again took to the woods. That night I slept in a swamp of the Ocmulgee River. What bedfellows I had!--frogs, lizards, bats, and alligators. But it was better than the inside of a war prison. All the next day I lay in a blackberry patch, fearing to move, but feasting on the luscious, ripe berries. What a contrast it was to my previous starving! Never in this world shall I enjoy food so again. Near to me was a watering-station for the railway to Atlanta. As I lay in the bushes I heard trains halting all the day. With night came a glorious moon. Such a flood of heaven's own light I had never seen before. By ten at night a long, empty train halted, and in two minutes I had sprung from the bushes and was inside of an empty freight car. In ten minutes more I stood in the door of the car watching the fair farms and the hamlets of Georgia sleeping under the glorious moonlight, while I was being hurled along heaven knew where. That was the strangest ride of my life. The conductor came along when we were near Atlanta, swinging his lantern into the cars, and found a strange passenger. He threatened all sorts of things if my fare were not paid, of course I had no money, but I put myself on my dignity, told him I was a convalescent soldier coming back from a furlough, and dared him or any other civilian to put me off the train. That ended the colloquy, and just before daylight the whistle screamed for Atlanta, and I was inside the lines of Hood's army. I left the train and in a few moments was tucked away in the haymow of a barn near the station. So far, good; but daylight brought a squad of Rebel cavalry into the barn, who, to my dismay, soon commenced climbing up to the mow for hay for their horses. My presence of mind was about leaving me utterly when I happened to notice an empty sugar hogshead in the corner of the mow. Before the Rebels were up I was in it, and there I sat and perspired for six mortal hours. Those hours were days, every one of them. All of this time Sherman's army, then besieging Atlanta, was throwing shells into our neighborhood. At last, at last! the Rebels saddled their horses and rode out of the barnyard. I was not long in changing my headquarters. For days and days I walked up and down Atlanta among the troops, to the troops, away from the troops, always moving, always just going to the regiment, to which I had attached myself as ordnance sergeant. I was very careful, however, to keep far away from that particular regiment. I knew its position, its chief officers, knew, in fact, the position of every brigade in Hood's army. It was to my interest, under the circumstances, to know them well, for I was continually halted with such exclamations as, "Hallo! which way? Where's your regiment? What you doing away over here?" A hundred times I was on the point of being arrested and carried to my alleged command. For every man I met I had a different tale, to suit the circumstances. At night I slept where I could--under a tree, behind a drygoods box; it made little difference, as my lying down on the ground, hungry, pillowless, and blanketless, and fearing every moment to be arrested, could not be called sleeping. This life was growing monotonous at last; the more so as, aside from an occasional apple, I had nothing at all to eat. About the fifth day I overheard an old Irishman, hoeing among his potatoes, bitterly reviling the war to his wife. I made his acquaintance and discovered our sentiments as to the rebellion to be very nearly identical. Under the most tremendous of oaths as to secrecy, I told who I was and that I was absolutely starving. If he would help me, I knew how to save his property when Sherman's army should enter. That it would enter, and that Atlanta would be razed to the ground, and every human being's throat cut, he had not a doubt. Still, if detected in secreting or feeding me, he would be hanged from his own door-post. There was no doubting that, either. However, that night I slept in his cellar and was fed with more than the crumbs from his table. It was arranged that I should wander about the army day-times, and come to his cellar--unknown to him, of course--about ten every night, when his family were likely to be in bed. The outside door was to be left unlocked for me. Prisoners did not carry timepieces in the South. Mine disappeared with my pistols on the battlefield of Chattanooga, and as an unfortunate result I went to my den in the cellar an hour too early one evening. None of my protector's family seemed to have been aware of the guest in the cellar. I was sitting quietly in a corner of the dark, damp place when the trap-door opened above and a young lady, bearing a lamp, descended and seemed to be searching for something. It was a romantic situation--destined to be more so. Groping about the cellar, the young lady approached me. I moved along the wall to avoid her. She unluckily followed. I moved farther again. She followed, cornered me, screamed at the top of her voice, dropped the lamp, and fainted. In half a minute three soldiers who had happened to be lunching upstairs, the old lady, and my friend, her husband, rushed down the steps, armed with lights. The old gentleman recognized me and was in despair. I think I too was in despair, but, rightfully or wrongfully, I took to my heels and escaped through the door which I had entered, leaving the fainting girl, the despairing father, and the astonished soldiers to arrange matters as they might. The girl recovered, I learned years afterward, and her father's house was one of the few that escaped the flames when Sherman started to the sea. From that night on I slept again at the roadsides, and as for rations, I might say I did not have any. The weather was terribly hot, but I spent my days wandering from regiment to regiment and from fort to fort, inspecting the positions and the works. I knew if I did get through, all this would be equal to any army corps for Sherman. Once I crept into a little deserted frame house and, happening to find an old white palmetto hat there, I changed it for my own, on account of the heat. I then laid my Rebel jacket and cap under the boards and, fastening my pantaloons up with a piece of broad red calico that happened to be with the hat, sallied out, seeing what I could see. I very soon saw more than I had calculated on. I had wandered well off to the right of the army and was quietly looking about when a squad of cavalry dashed in, shouting, "The Yankees are on us!" There was a regiment of infantry close by, which sprang to its feet, and every man in sight was ordered to seize a gun and hurry to the front. I, too, was picked up, and before I had time to explain that I was just going over to my division a gun was in my hands and I was pushed into the line. The whole force ran for a quarter of an hour into the woods, firing as they ran, and shouting. Suddenly, as a few shots were fired into us, we stopped and formed line of battle. The skirmish was soon over. Some cavalry had flanked the Yanks and brought them in, and while their pockets were being gone through with by my fellow-soldiers I slipped to the rear, and was glad to get back into my own cap and jacket. I lay in the little empty house that night. Sherman's army had been banging at the city fearfully, and setting houses on fire all night. It was a little revenge, I presume, for the losses in the skirmish in which I had taken so picturesque a part. These shelled houses had emptied their occupants into the street, and a little after daylight I noticed a family, with its worldly baggage piled on a one-mule wagon, stop in front of my residence. "Here's a house out of range of bullets. Why not move in?" I heard a manly voice call to the women and children, following with the traps. "Move in," I thought to myself. "Well, they can stand it, if I can." The house consisted of but one large room, unceiled, and reaching to the rafters, with the exception of a small compartment, finished off and ceiled, in one corner. On top of this little compartment were my headquarters. In they moved, bag and baggage, and the women folks soon commenced preparing a meal outside, under the shadows of the front door. This half-finished room had been used as a butcher shop in the past, it seemed, and the meat hooks in the corner had served me as a ladder to mount to my perch on the ceiling. "Now, Johnny," chirped the wife, "do run uptown and buy some red and white muslin. We will make a Union flag, and when Sherman gits in, as he's bound to, we're jest as good Union folks as he is. You know I'm dyin' for real coffee. I'm tired of chicory and Injun bread, and I don't keer if Sherman's folks is in to-morrow. We'll draw government rations, and be Union." These good people were probably "poor trash" of the South, not caring much which way the war went provided they could get rations. Their general talk, however, was of the real Rebel character, and it was an unsafe place for me to stop in. In an hour the banquet before the front door was prepared, and all hands went out to partake. Soon they were joined by a Rebel soldier, who seemed to be on a half-hour's furlough to visit the young lady of the party, whom I took to be his sweetheart. Sherman's army, I was sorry to learn from this soldier, was being simply "mowed out of existence." "All the woods about Atlanta were as a reeking corpse." Sherman himself was in flight northward. By looking more closely through a chink in the weather-boarding of my hiding-place I discovered that he was reading all this dreadful information from a Copperhead newspaper from Chicago, and then I felt easier. Again, there was the talk about money purses made of Yankee's scalps and finger rings from Yankee bones; and during the dinner I was no little astonished to see this valiant Southerner exhibit to his eager listeners a veritable ring, rough and yellow, made, as he said, from the bones of one of Sherman's cavalrymen. This was probably brag. The banquet of cucumbers, chicory, and Injun bread was about terminating. My soldier with the ring had used up his furlough and was gone. The house was still empty, and it was now, or never, if I proposed getting down from my perch without alarm. My plan was silently to climb down the meat hooks which I had ascended and to slip out at the still open back door of the house. On peeping over the edge of the ceiling, however, what was my amazement to see a bull-dog of immense proportions tied to one of my hooks! Here was a "situation"! He was sound asleep, but had an amiable countenance. I dropped a bit of plaster on his nose. He looked up amazed, and smiled. Then I smiled, and then he smiled again; and then I carefully crept down, patted him on the head, said good-by in a whisper, and in a twinkling was out at the back door. My gratitude to this dog is boundless. I had found it unsafe to be about houses, and again I took my lodgings in the field. Again I was busy, just _going to my division_, but never getting there. Once, near the sacred quarters of a brigadier, the guard arrested me. I protested, and our loud talk brought the brigadier to the rescue. I explained how I was "just going to my regiment," and how my pass had been lost, and the necessity of my going on at once. The brigadier took in the situation at a glance, and with a pencil wrote me a pass, good for that day. Fighting was going on about Atlanta constantly, but with so many apparent reverses to our arms that I feared I should never get away. The memorable 22d of July came, and with it the most terrific fighting on Hood's right, and in fact all round the semi-circle about the city. A division, with my Alabama regiment, entered the battle on Hood's right wing, and I followed, at a safe distance, as an ordnance sergeant. Everybody was too busy and excited to ask me questions, and in the hope that Hood would be defeated and an opportunity for getting through the lines be at last presented, I was feeling good. Hundreds, thousands possibly, of wounded men fell back by me, but all shouting, "The Yankees are beaten, and McPherson is killed." It was too true! McPherson had fallen and, if reports were correct, Sherman's army had met with an awful disaster. For me, there was nothing left but to get back to the rear and try another direction. I knew that Sherman's advance was at the ford, at Sandtown, on the Chattahoochie River, at our left. Could I only get there, I might still be saved. I had now been seen among the Rebel forts and troops so much that there was the greatest danger of my being recaptured, and shot as a spy. On the night of the 22d I took refuge under a hedge, near to a field hospital. No food and no sleep for days was killing me. Still there was no rest, for all the night long I heard the groans of the poor fellows whose arms and legs were being chopped off by the surgeons. The whole night was simply horrible. I might have died there myself; I wonder that I did not. Only the hope of escape was keeping me alive. I had not eaten a pound of food in days. Daylight of the 23d came. It was my birthday. Auspicious day, I thought, and again my hopes gave me strength and courage to work my way past lines of infantry and cavalry. All day, till nearly sunset, I had crept around in the woods, avoiding sentinels, and now I was almost in sight of the longed-for goal. It was not a mile to the ford. When darkness set in I should swim the river and be a free man. More, I had news that would help Sherman's army to capture Atlanta. A thousand pictures of home, of freedom, peace, were painting themselves in my mind. One hour more, and all would be well. Hark! a shot, and then a call to halt and hold up my arms. I was surrounded in a moment by fifty cavalrymen who had been secreted in the bushes--how or where I know not. We were in sight of the river, and the Union flag was just beyond. It was no use here to talk about being a Confederate. I was arrested as a spy, and in great danger of being shot then and there, without a hearing. I was partly stripped, searched thoroughly, and then marched between two cavalrymen to General Ross, of Texas, who, with his staff, was also at a hidden point in the woods. General Ross treated me kindly and gave me lunch and a blanket to rest on. It was his duty, however, to send me to the division headquarters, to be tried. I was again marched till nine at night, when I was turned over to General H----. He was sitting by a fire in the woods roasting potatoes and reviling the Yankees. As I was arrested as a spy, and to be tried, I deemed it best to say nothing. "Try to escape from me tonight," shouted General H----, as if he were commanding an army corps, "and I'll put you where there is no more 'scaping." Through the whole night a soldier sat at my head with a cocked pistol, but for the first time in days I slept soundly. Why not? The worst had happened. By daylight a guard marched me up to the city, where Hood had army headquarters in the yard of a private residence. On the way there my guard, a mere boy, was communicative, and I persuaded him to show me the paper that was being sent around with me, from one headquarters to another. I read it. Sure enough, I was considered a spy, and was being forwarded for trial. The paper gave the hour and place of my capture, with the statement that one of those capturing me had seen me inspecting a fort on the previous Sunday. When we reached Hood's tents, in the dooryard of the Atlanta mansion, I was turned over to a new guard, and the document brought with me was carelessly thrown into an open pigeon-hole of a desk out on the grass by a clerk who seemed too much disturbed about other matters to ask where the guard came from or what I was accused of. I, at least, noticed where the paper was put. There was the most tremendous excitement at headquarters. Orderlies and officers were dashing everywhere at once, fighting was constantly going on, and an immediate retreat seemed to be determined. I was left that night in a tent with a few other prisoners, among them two deserters, sentenced to be shot. Close by on the lawn was the desk where the clerk had deposited my paper. Our guard was very accommodating, or very negligent, for he allowed different persons to go in and out from our tent at all hours during the night. Daylight brought the provost-marshal general to the tent, to dispose of the prisoners. The name of each was called, and all but myself were taken out, heard, and sent off. "And who are you?" he said, pleasantly enough to me. I stepped forward. The clerk was asked for the paper, but it was gone. "It certainly had been misplaced," said the clerk, in embarrassment. He had put it in that particular pigeon-hole. I testified to that myself, and added,--this sudden inspiration coming to me in the emergency,--that "it was of little consequence, as it was from an officer,--I didn't know whom,--who had simply picked me up as an escaped prisoner." The provost-marshal took me aside and asked me if I had been about the works or the troops any. I told him my name, that I was really an escaped prisoner, and that I had just walked up from Macon and had hoped to get away. "You have had a hard time of it," he said, "and I almost wish you had got away. I hope you will soon be free," he added, "and that the cruel war is almost over." It was a sudden and great relief to me to know that now I was not to be regarded as a spy. What became of the "papers" and the charges against me afterward in the midst of war excitements, I never knew. The next night the provost-marshal sent me under guard back to Macon prison whence I had escaped. CHAPTER XII Under fire of our own guns at Charleston--Trying to capture a railway train--The secret band--Betrayed--The desolation of Charleston. I was scarcely returned to the Macon prison again when two hundred of us, all officers, were selected to be placed under the fire from our navy then bombarding Charleston. By some wonderful fiction of military law the "Confederates," as the Rebels called themselves, pretended to regard the bombardment of Charleston as a crime. I do not remember now how the selection of victims to be sent to Charleston was made one evening about the end of July, 1864. This, however, happened that night, to add adventure and excitement to the Charleston trip. The greater number of those selected were members of a "Secret Band" of prisoners who had resolved to mutiny or to do any act in our power that could result in our escape from captivity. I recall how Major Marshall one afternoon secretly administered to me the oath of this desperate band. With my hand on my heart I swore to instantly obey every order given to me by the "head captain." I was to ask no questions, but to strike, whenever told; to kill, no matter whom, even were my own brother to be the victim. I was ready to do anything. I had been mistreated and starved long enough. Death could be little worse than all of us had been undergoing for months. The news coming to us from our prison comrades at Andersonville was perfectly horrible. History had never related the like of it. We received the _Telegraph_, a Macon newspaper, into the prison pen every morning. At the head of one of its columns each day the editor reported the awful number of poor starving creatures who had died at Andersonville the day before. It was not unlike the reports of the number of dumb beasts killed each day in the Chicago slaughter pens. Pretty soon I learned that the eighty comrades of my regiment captured with me at Missionary Ridge were nearly every one dead. The details of their sufferings were too horrible to dilate upon. WE WONDERED SOMETIMES IF GOD HAD FORSAKEN THE WORLD. We who joined the "Band," and took the awful oath we did, knew what it all meant. Outside our stockade loaded cannon waited but the least alarm to fire upon us. On top of the stockade guards walked day and night with orders to instantly kill any prisoner who should approach within twelve feet of the high wall. We were only eight hundred prisoners all told, and nothing to fight with but naked hands. Outside whole regiments armed to the teeth lay with guns in their hands waiting to destroy every one of us should we offer to escape. What was our chance? Almost nothing; or if anything, death! Still we resolved to try. Then came that night when we were to get on the cars and start for Charleston. Instantly the word was passed along for every member of the secret "Band" to quietly arm himself with a short club, made from our bunks and sheds, and to keep it hid under his coat or blanket. Now we were counted and put into a train of box cattle cars. Twenty-five prisoners were in a car, and in the side door of each car stood a guard with his loaded musket. We who were not leaders of the "Band" wondered what desperate thing we were about to try. I do not know where the tools came from, but when the train was well in motion, and the noise deadened our movements, a big hole, large enough to permit a man to creep through, was knocked in the end of each car. The darkness, the crowd in the cars and the noise prevented the guards knowing what was going on. This was the first "_vestibule_" railroad train ever made. Shortly now one of our leaders came creeping along from car to car, and in a low voice he told us what was about to happen. The train on its way to Charleston would halt close to the sea at a little town called Pocotaligo. We knew that some ships of the Union navy lay out in the water there, scarce a dozen miles away. The design was to seize on our guards as we reached the village, disarm them, kill them, if necessary, ditch the train, destroy the road and the telegraph, and then escape to the ships. I think not a soul of us doubted the likelihood of our success. We would be free men on the morrow if all went well. It would be two or three o'clock in the night when the train would pass the point of action. Every one of us had his club and his pocket knife in his hand ready to strike. At the proper moment Colonel ----, our leader, with three comrades, was to spring through the end of the front car where he was, onto the tender, seize the engineer and fireman and wave a lantern violently as a signal for us to suddenly lay hold of every Rebel soldier on the train. Ten miles out from Pocotaligo our hearts beat in terrible excitement. No one spoke; we only waited. It was silence, all save the rumbling of the car wheels. So far our guards seemed in perfect ignorance of the approaching danger. Five miles out, so sure were we of success, a few began to act without waiting for the signal. In one or two of the cars the guards had been suddenly seized and their muskets were in our hands. In the car where I was, one of the astonished guards, finding himself without a gun, coolly said: "And what are you 'uns going to do with we 'uns?" It was a tremendous moment, as the train sped along in the dark. Three miles to Pocotaligo; two miles; one mile. With quick beating heart I leaned from our car door, straining my eyes for the lantern signal. Then the whistle blew loudly, but the train only hastened its speed, and in two minutes, instead of stopping, we shot past the station at lightning speed. What had happened? Were we discovered? Not a signal had been given to us. In the morning we were all hurried inside the jail yard of Charleston. Now we knew it all. At the crucial moment our leader _had lost his nerve_ and _become a coward_; or had he betrayed us? He had not waved the lantern, though he had captured it, and held it in his hand. We were now much alarmed as to what would be done with us for seizing the guards. We might lose our lives. Colonel ----, the false leader, was taken to another prison to save him from being torn to pieces by his own comrades. The newspapers of Charleston that morning contained flaming articles, describing how a terrible catastrophe had been averted by the cowardice or treason of one man. Where they got the details of the proposed capture of the train, no one will ever know. Was the leader simply a coward, or was he paid for betraying us? After a while we were transferred to what was called the "Roper Hospital." It was close to the jail, and the danger of being killed by the shells from our own fleet was still very great, though, in fact, few of us were hurt. The yellow fever was to be a greater scourge than Yankee cannon. Our fleet officers had learned the locality where the prisoners were guarded, and fired their shells mostly in other directions. It was a grand spectacle at night--the soaring through the heavens of so many blazing bombshells and their bursting in the city. Parts of Charleston that we could see were perfect pictures of desolation; whole quarters stood in black ruins and uninhabited. The weather was exceedingly hot, and the yellow fever broke out and raged fearfully among both prisoners and guards. It seemed as if we should all die there. At last they transported us away to a little open field in the woods, close to the town of Columbia, the capital of South Carolina. The surgeon of the prison camp at Charleston was Dr. Todd, a brother of President Lincoln's wife. A more rabid Secessionist was nowhere to be found. It was a curious situation, that the brother-in-law of the great President should be so attached to the country's opponents. On our way to the prison at Columbia Major Marshall of my regiment and two captains escaped from the train and reached the North by tramping at night through the mountains of North Carolina and Tennessee. They had horrible experiences for many weeks. CHAPTER XIII Living in a grave--An adventure in the woods of South Carolina--Life in the asylum yard at the capital of South Carolina--The song of "Sherman's March to the Sea"--How it came to be written--Final escape--The burning up of South Carolina's capital. Now we were near the capital of South Carolina. It is our third prison. We were placed in a cleared field among the pine woods, a few miles from the town. Here we spent a part of a terrible winter exposed to the storm and rain. We had no shelter save such as we made at last of sticks and logs that we were allowed to carry in from the neighboring wood. Our food was wretched, we had almost no clothing, and the weather was very bad nearly all the time. We were surrounded by a line of guards. A battery constantly in readiness to fire on us should an alarm be given stood near by. Our food was still the half-cooked corn and cobs together, with quantities of a poor and sickly sorghum molasses. We heard that the Rebel army was living little better than we were. In ridicule of the rations the prisoners dubbed this prison pen "Camp Sorghum." Every man among us was sick with diarrhoea. The little grave-yard for the prisoners near by grew rapidly. The details of our life in this miserable camp I shall not relate. They were simply too horrible. As for myself,--my only shelter was a hole in the ground, four feet deep, four feet wide and eight feet long. It was covered with boughs and earth. Lieutenant Morris and myself occupied this living grave for months. We had a tiny fire-place of clay built in the end of it, where we burned roots, and the long rainy nights we two sat there alone, reading an old newspaper by our root-light or talking of our far-away homes. One very stormy night our water-soaked roof fell in on us, and then we were compelled to walk about in the rain. I wonder now that any soul survived the miseries of that camp. Valley Forge was paradise compared to it. But all this misery was a part of war. Naturally, numbers ran the guard lines at this woeful prison pen and escaped into the woods. Firing by the sentinels on these escaping prisoners was a common occurrence on dark nights. Here and there an officer was killed, and sometimes under circumstances that marked the sentinel a common murderer. A battery of loaded cannons stood outside the guard line, with orders to open on the prisoners should five musket shots be heard. With the constant escaping of prisoners at night these five fatal shots could occur at any hour. For my own part, I resolved to again attempt escape, but my efforts failed again, and twice in succession. I recall with a shudder how one night late in November my friend, Lieutenant Ecking of New York, was foully murdered. He had bribed a guard to let two or three of us run across the line that night at midnight. The bribe was to consist of a silver watch. Some of these men were easily bribed. They were not regular Confederate soldiers, but usually cowardly home guards, who regarded the murdering of a helpless prisoner a heroic act. When midnight came three of us were secreted close to the dead line. As soon as the bribed sentinel came to his post and commenced walking up and down his beat Lieutenant Ecking rose and approached him. The night was clear moonlight. The moment Ecking had crossed the dead line, and was holding the watch up to the guard, the coward shot him dead. For this outrage the home guard received a furlough. About this time, too, Lieutenant Turbayne was murdered by a guard for mistaking the ringing of a bell. Some of us had been permitted to go out on parole and carry in wood at stated times. Without notice, this privilege was suspended, but the bellman, by mistake, rang as usual. Turbayne started for the dead line. "Go back, halt!" shouted a sentinel. Turbayne turned to obey, but was instantly shot in the back and dropped dead. There was a furious commotion among the prisoners. The guards, too, collected about the spot. The Rebel officer in charge left his lunch and walked over also. He held in his hand a great piece of pumpkin pie, and continued eating from it as he stood there by the corpse of the man they had murdered. There was almost a mutiny in the prison camp, and one proper leader at that moment would have put an end to the whole Rebel outfit. In the end it would have been death to the whole of us. Previous to this threatened outbreak I had again tried my own chance at escaping. It was now November 4, 1864, a cold blustering day, and the prisoners in their rags and almost barefooted stood and shivered in the naked field. At four o'clock a dozen were paroled and allowed to go out to the woods and carry in some fuel. Lieutenant Fritchie and myself managed to mix ourselves among this little paroled company, and forgot to return to the enclosure. We helped a little in the fuel getting, and then suddenly disappeared in the pine forests. For some days we crept about in the great pine woods, scarcely knowing our direction or where we were going. Our leaving had been so sudden that we were planless. Here and there we stumbled onto a darkey, who never hesitated to bring us corn hoe cake or whatever eatables he might happen to have in his cabin. The slaves universally were the prisoners' friends, and they knew a hundred times more about the war and its object than their plantation masters ever supposed. Many an escaping prisoner was fed by them and, with the north star as a guide, conducted to safety. Many an army movement was made possible by loyal negroes. Barring an occasional Union white man, they were the only friends the soldiers had in the South. Lieutenant Fritchie and I had some queer adventures while we wandered about the woods of South Carolina during this little leave of absence from the Confederates. We did not see a single white man, save one, and he tried to shoot us. One night we lodged in an open-topped corn-crib, not knowing in the darkness that we were quite close to an inhabited farmhouse. When daylight came we peeped over the corn-crib and were much astonished to see a woman at her wash-tub on the back porch of a cabin close by. She must have seen our heads, for that very moment she stopped her washing and entered the cabin. Shortly she appeared again, followed by a man, who took one long steady look at the corn-crib; then he entered the cabin, and we knew it was to get his gun. Very quick resolution and action on our part became advisable. A little plowed field only separated our corn-crib, at the back, from a thick piece of woods. In a moment the man was out again on the porch, bearing a musket. "Drop to the ground behind the crib and run to the woods," said Fritchie. "I'll keep watch on the man. I'll drop down too. When you are across wave your hand if he is not coming, and then I'll run." In a moment's time I was running across the plowed field, keeping the crib between me and the porch of the cabin. The man with the musket never saw me. I waved to Fritchie; he, too, started on the run, and to this hour I laugh to myself when I picture to my mind Fritchie, a short, stumpy fellow, tumbling absolutely heels over head in his haste to cover that bit of plowed ground. Very shortly we heard bloodhounds bellowing. We knew too well what that meant. Numbers of escaping prisoners had been torn to pieces by them. That was the common way of catching runaway slaves and prisoners of war down South. They hunt "niggers" that way to-day down there. By hard running, turns and counter-turns, and frequent crossing and recrossing little streams, we threw the dogs off our track, and slept until night in the thicket. The wind blew hard and cold that night, and as we stood secreted under a thorn-tree by the roadside two men passed, so close we could have touched them. Something told us they, too, were escaping prisoners. We tried to attract their attention enough to be sure. One of us spoke, scarcely more than whisper. Instantly and in alarm the two men bounded away like scared wolves. Days afterward we found out that they had been not only fleeing prisoners, but were, indeed, two of our personal friends. The next night was fair, and a full round moon lighted up the sandy desert with its oasis of tall, immense pine trees. The white winding road of sand that seemed to have been abandoned for a hundred years was almost trackless. Here and there, too, we saw an abandoned turpentine camp, the spiles still in the trees and the troughs lying rotting at their feet. There was nothing but silence there, and loneliness, and moonlight. Here in the quiet night, if anywhere in the world, two poor escaping prisoners of war would be in no danger of a foe. For hours we trudged along, going where we knew not, when suddenly to our amazement two mounted cavalrymen stood right in our way and called to us to surrender. There was nothing to do but to obey. Our capture had been an accident. These two officers, a captain and a lieutenant, had been riding the country trying to catch some deserters from their army and had blundered on to us. They started with us to Lexington jail, some miles away. The captain rode a dozen yards or so ahead, with a revolver in his hand. I trudged along in the sand at his side, faithfully hanging on to his stirrup strap. The lieutenant and Fritchie followed us in a like manner in the moonlight. It seems to have been a romantic occasion, when I think of it now; we two Federals and these two Confederates, there alone in the moonlight, and the big pine trees and the white sands about. I could not help reflecting, though, how many a captured prisoner had never been accounted for. Possibly we should never see Lexington jail. It would be an easy thing for these men to leave our bodies there in the sand somewhere. There were few words at first as we plodded our slow way in the moonlight. At last my captain and I entered into lively conversation about the South in general, and then both of us hoped the war would soon come to an end. To my surprise the young captain confided to me that he was, at heart, a Union man. "And why in the Confederate army?" I asked, in astonishment. "Because," said the captain, "everybody in my village in South Carolina is. I would have been hooted to death had I remained at home. My father is a rich man; he is opposed to the war, but he, too, is in the service at Richmond." "Under the circumstances," I said, "I being Union, and you being Union, why not look the other way a moment and let me try the time required to reach yonder clump of trees." "No, not a thought of it," he answered almost hotly. "You are my prisoner, I will do my duty." The subject was dropped, and in half an hour Fritchie and I were inside a stone cell in Lexington jail. "You can lie down on the stone floor and sleep if you want to," the jailer said, crustily. The two young officers said a cheery good-by and went away. Before daybreak the door of our cell opened again and the gruff jailer called, "Which of you is Adjutant Byers." Then he pushed a basket and blanket in to me, and a little note. The basket was full of good warm food and the little note, in a woman's hand, said: "With the compliments of the captain's wife." I think tears came to the eyes of both of us there in that cell that night. It was among the few kindnesses I ever experienced in the Confederacy. Of course it was a woman's act. The captain had gone to his home near by and told his wife about his prisoners, and here was the remembrance. The world is not so bad after all, we said to each other, Fritchie and I. The next day the jailer paraded us out in the corridor, and I think all the people in the county came to see us, to remark on us, and touch us with their hands. Most of these men, women, and children had absolutely never seen a Northern man before, and a Yankee soldier was a greater curiosity than a whole menagerie of polar bears. I saw the ignorance of the "poor white trash" of the South that day. Not one in twenty of them knew what the war was about. The negroes had a more intelligent notion of affairs than did the people of the Carolinas. In a few days Fritchie and I were conducted back to our prison pen near Columbia, South Carolina. Shortly they moved us once more. This time to the high-walled yard of the lunatic asylum, inside the city. As they marched us through the streets we could see how beautiful the little capital of South Carolina was. It had handsome shops and residences, and beautiful shade trees everywhere gave it a most attractive appearance. It was almost the best known city of the South and here the fatal heresy of secession had been born. As we went along the streets a mob of people gathered around us, hooting and hissing their hatred at us, just as they had done that first time we were taken through the town. A few wanted the guards to give them a chance to hang us. It was a sorry sight--this band of ragged, helpless, hungry loyalists being led like slaves and animals through the hooting, threatening crowd. That mob, thirsting for our blood, did not dream what was about to happen. Here now in Columbia we were walled in just as we had been at Macon, and our lives continued in much the same hardship as before. Only here I do not recall that any prisoner was murdered. It is right to say, too, that the outrages so often committed on prisoners here and elsewhere in the South were not by the regular Confederate soldiers, but by home guards usually set over us. It seems now, when I recall it, that life was not quite so bad here. We soon had some boards given us; so we built sheds to live in. As for myself, I, with three or four comrades, lived in a little wedge tent. It was very cold and midwinter now. I scarcely slept at night, but walked about to keep warm. It was on one of these midnight tramps that it occurred to me to write the song, "Sherman's March to the Sea." I recur to it here because it gave its name to the great campaign it celebrates. The story of how it came to be written cannot perhaps be wholly without interest. During the days that Sherman's army was tramping from Atlanta toward Savannah we prisoners were not permitted to have any news from the outside of any kind whatever. There was a fear that if we knew what was going on a mutiny might follow. We were constantly being told by our guards that Sherman's invading army was being headed off or destroyed. In the beginning we feared these stories to be true, but the uneasy actions and sullen looks of our captors soon began to belie their statements. As said, three or four of us prisoners occupied a little wedge tent. A negro had recently been allowed to come into the prison pen mornings to sell bread to those who had any money with which to buy. Our little mess got a small loaf now every morning; not more for the bread, though we needed that badly enough, than for a certain little roll of paper carefully hidden away in the middle of the loaf. It was a Columbia morning newspaper printed on soft thin paper and of extremely small size. Our loyal negro had easily enough been persuaded to hide a copy of this paper in the bread for us as often as he could have the chance unobserved. A knowing wink from him told us when to eat our loaf of bread inside the tent and with one of us watching at the door while another read in a low voice the news from the invading army. The paper rolled up was not larger than a walnut. It was full of misrepresentations and reports of disasters to Sherman, to mislead the Georgians and lessen their alarm. Yet between the lines we easily enough read that Sherman was surely marching on, and victorious. His columns were coming nearer to us; and how we longed night and day that he might capture the prison! At last we saw that there was no hope. He was passing us,--though, but many miles away. Then one morning, when we unrolled the little paper in the bread and read it, we knew that _he had reached the sea_. Savannah had fallen. The consternation of the Southerners was tremendous. But, next, they pretended that they could box Sherman up in Savannah and capture his whole army. One December night when I was tramping up and down the prison pen in the dark, trying to keep warm, I reflected on the tremendous importance of what Sherman had done. And I wondered what so curious a campaign would be called. It was not a series of battles--it was a great _march_. And then the title, and almost the words, of the song came to me. The next morning when my tent comrades were out of doors shivering over a little fire I remained in our little heap of straw, and completed the verses. I went out to the fire and read them to my comrades. A Lieutenant Rockwell happened to be present and asked permission to make a copy of the verses. He, with many others, slept on the ground under the hospital building. One had to crawl on his hands and knees to enter there. There was a most capable Glee Club among the officers, and they had by some means secured a flute, violins, and bass viol for accompaniments. They kept their instruments under the house, too, where they slept. Every afternoon this Glee Club was permitted to sing and play on the little elevated porch of the hospital. The only condition was that Southern songs should be sung, not less than Northern songs. There was no trouble about that. The songs of our captors were better than no songs. Besides, these singers made music. All the crowd of prisoners, eight hundred now, often stood in front of the little porch to enjoy the singing. Almost hundreds of the Rebels, too, together with many ladies of Columbia, climbed up onto the walls, where the guards stood, and applauded the singers as much as any. One drizzly afternoon I was standing by a little persimmon tree in the midst of the crowd listening to the songs, when Major Isett, leader of the Glee Club, said: "Now we will have a song about Sherman." To my astonishment, it was my "Sherman's March to the Sea." It was received in a tremendous fashion. Everybody cheered and hurrahed. The news of Sherman's victories was fresh upon them. In five minutes' time the good fortune of my song was settled. The name of the author was loudly called for; someone saw me by the little tree, and I was quickly hauled to the front and up onto the platform. In a few moments an unknown officer among the many prisoners became a sort of prison hero. Everybody wanted the song, everybody sang it; and clever penmen made a good thing making copies at twenty dollars apiece, Confederate money. As a little compliment to me the captain of the prison allowed me to sleep on the floor of the hospital room. To me that was important, as shall appear. Later in this narrative, too, will be seen how an exchanged prisoner, by the name of Tower, who had an artificial leg, carried the song in this wooden limb through the lines to our soldiers in the North, where it was sung everywhere and with demonstration. In a week it had given its name to the campaign, and a million copies of it soon passed into circulation. Lieutenant Rockwell, who had asked my leave to copy the verses that first morning, was a composer, and there in the dust under the old hospital he had, unknown to me, written the first music to which the song was ever sung. Later, it had many other settings, but that one, though difficult, remained the best. The song has often since been sung to the air of "The Red, White, and Blue." This is the history of the song, which I print here as a part of this narrative. SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA Our camp fires shone bright on the mountains That frowned on the river below, While we stood by our guns in the morning And eagerly watched for the foe-- When a rider came out from the darkness That hung over mountain and tree, And shouted, "Boys, up and be ready, For Sherman will march to the sea." Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman Went up from each valley and glen, And the bugles re-echoed the music That came from the lips of the men. For we knew that the stars in our banner More bright in their splendor would be, And that blessings from Northland would greet us When Sherman marched down to the sea. Then forward, boys, forward to battle, We marched on our wearisome way, And we stormed the wild hills of Resaca,-- God bless those who fell on that day-- Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory, Frowned down on the flag of the free, But the East and the West bore our standards, And Sherman marched on to the sea. Still onward we pressed, till our banners Swept out from Atlanta's grim walls, And the blood of the patriot dampened The soil where the traitor flag falls; But we paused not to weep for the fallen, Who slept by each river and tree; Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel As Sherman marched down to the sea. O, proud was our army that morning That stood where the pine darkly towers, When Sherman said: "Boys, you are weary, This day fair Savannah is ours." Then sang we a song for our chieftain That echoed over river and lea, And the stars in our banner shown brighter When Sherman marched down to the sea. [SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA.--From _Eggleston's Famous War Ballads_.--General Sherman, in a recent conversation with the editor of this collection, declared that it was this poem with its phrase, "march to the sea," that threw a glamour of romance over the campaign which it celebrates. Said General Sherman: "The thing was nothing more or less than a change of base; an operation perfectly familiar to every military man, but a poet got hold of it, gave it the captivating label, 'The March to the Sea,' and the unmilitary public made a romance out of it." It may be remarked that the General's modesty overlooks the important fact that the romance lay really in his own deed of derring-do; the poet merely recorded it, or at most interpreted it to the popular intelligence. The glory of the great campaign was Sherman's and his army's; the joy of celebrating it was the poet's; the admiring memory of it is the people's.--EDITOR.] As stated, I slept nights now on the floor of the prison hospital. This added comfort, however, did not tempt me to stay in prison, if I could get away. Once more we heard that the prisoners were to be carted away to some safer place, out of the line of Sherman's army, now turned North and moving rapidly toward us. A night or two before this move of prisoners really commenced Lieutenant Devine of Philadelphia joined me in an effort to get away. The walls of the least used room of the hospital were made of joined boards. By the use of an old case knife, hacked into a saw, or auger, we managed to cut a hole sufficiently large to permit us to pull ourselves through and out into an attic above a little porch. We repaired the boards as best we could and crept out into the dark hole. It was the attic of the same porch on which our Glee Club stood when they sang my song. It was a little cramped up place we were in, where we could neither sit erect nor lie at full length. There were no guards inside the prison hospital; the night was very dark; the sick prisoners seemed to be sleeping. A dim lamp hung from the ceiling. We were not detected. The next night at midnight, when the prisoners were being marched away, two of them were missing. What a night and day and part of another night that was for us, crooked and cramped as we were, in the top of that little porch. At the next midnight, when every soul, prisoners, guards and all, seemed to be gone far away and dead silence was upon the place, Devine and I crept down from our hiding place. The big gate was closed and locked. By the aid of a scantling I managed to get up onto the high brick wall. My surprise was immense to see guards waiting for us outside, and to know that we were discovered. One of the guards rushed up to his post at the top of the wall, but he was too late to shoot; we were already in hiding among the empty board huts and barracks.[B] [B] When springing down from the top of that wall I lost my shoes--I had had them in my hand. I also let fall from my pocket the pages of this diary. I could not think of losing them, and at the risk of my life I slipped over the dead line and from under the guard's very feet, I snatched them up and ran behind one of the huts. In a moment the big gate opened and a hundred men rushed in, looking for the escaping Yankees. They howled, they cursed at us, they set the barracks on fire. Then amid the mêlée and excitement in the dark my comrade and myself pulled our gray blankets about us, picked up a water bucket each, and pushed up to the guard at the gate. We were "going for water," we said. "The lieutenant says the fire must be put out." Without waiting a reply we hurried out in the darkness. There were some vain shots after us. Shortly we heard the tramp of horses coming toward us. A friendly culvert in the road into which we dodged afforded us protection while a whole company of Johnny Rebs rode over our heads. What would they have thought, that night, had they known it as they went skipping along with arms and jingling sabers, to confront Sherman's advance guards? We were gone. After a while, in the outskirts of the city, we saw a light in a cabin and a negro walking up and down by the window. Every negro we knew to be a loyal friend. This one we called out among some rose bushes in the dooryard. Instantly, and without fear, we told him who we were and that we were in his power. There is not a question but he would have been well rewarded had he betrayed us to the Confederate soldiers in the city that night. Few words were spoken. That morning two escaped prisoners were secreted under some bean stalks in the garret of the negro's cabin. The negro's sick wife lay in the single room below. Had we been discovered now that negro would have been hanged from his own door lintel. And well he knew it. Sherman's army was already pounding at the gates of the town. He was crossing the river and his shells reached to the capital. This much we knew from what we could hear in the yard below, for the negro's cabin stood at the edge of a green lawn where General Chestnut had his headquarters. We broke a little hole through the siding of the house, and now could see what the general and his staff were doing. We also could hear much that was said. Once we thought ourselves discovered, for we observed two or three of the general's negro servants standing in a group on the grass looking steadily toward the spot where our little improvised window was. What on earth were they looking at? It was not much the old negro could give us to eat. A little dried beef and some cold corn bread; that was all, save that once he brought us a gallon of buttermilk. He had no cow, but he would not tell us where this, to us, heavenly nectar had come from. There was much hurrying of officers back and forth at General Chestnut's headquarters, and plainly we could see there was great excitement. Our own negro was kept going back and forth into the town to pick up for us whatever news he could of the fight going on at the river. After awhile the cannonading grew louder, and it seemed to us the conflict must be right at the outskirts of the town. Then we saw General Chestnut hurriedly ride on to the headquarter's lawn, and we distinctly heard him say to an officer, "Sherman has got a bridge down. The game's up. We must evacuate." In a few minutes the sound of the guns increased, and then we saw General Chestnut call his slaves to him to bid them farewell. It was a touching scene, amid the dramatic surroundings. He seemed very kind, and some of them in their ignorance wept. "You will be free," he said. "Be good." I thought, he too was affected as he mounted his horse and, followed by his staff, rode away. He was hardly out of sight when our negro protector came running toward the cabin. He was tremendously excited. A tall, old cylinder hat he had picked up on the way was on his head, his eyes bulged out, his hands waved like windmills; he was celebrating. In a moment the black face and the cylinder hat shot up the ladder and through the hatch-way to where we were. "God Almighty be thanked!" he cried in a loud voice. "Massa, the Stars and Stripes are waving above the capital of South Carolina. Praise to the God Almighty!" Sure enough, Union troops, had entered, and a flag from my own State had been run up on the State House. Instantly we bade him hurry and bring some Union soldiers to us. In his absence Devine and I stood shaking each other's hands and thanking God for our deliverance. No slave who had his chains knocked off that day by the coming of the Union army felt more thankful than we, freed from the wretchedness and horrors of fifteen months of imprisonment. Now we could see the Confederate cavalry evacuating the town. Whole companies passed, each trooper having a sheaf of oats slung to his saddle bow. Shortly our black friend returned, and with him two Union soldiers. "It is time to drink, boys," they cried out, as they fairly forced us to partake of the whisky in their canteens. When we all went down into the yard I was sure we would be recaptured, for the Rebel rear-guard was passing close to our cabin. The flying troops, however, had fish of their own to fry, and were in too much haste to be looking after us. Now, too, we were surrounded by General Chestnut's black servants, who were hopping about, giving thanks for their freedom. I asked one of them what it was they had been looking at so attentively the day before, when I had seen them gazing right at our hiding-place. "Ha ha! massa! we just knowed you was up there all the time. Reckon you didn't like that ar buttermilk what we'uns sent you." Our negro friend then had made confidents of them, and we had been fed, without knowing it, on some of the good things from General Chestnut's kitchen. Should the general ever read this little book, I hope he will cease wondering what became of his buttermilk that day at Columbia. Now, our two soldiers escorted us to a street where some of the army had halted and stacked arms. A Union flag hung over a stack of muskets, and no human being will ever know with what thankful heart-beatings and tears we gathered its silken folds into our arms. Now we knew that we were free. The terrible days were indeed over, and God's rainbow illumined our sky. In half an hour the victorious veterans of Sherman's army, their great leader riding before, with bands playing and banners flying, entered the captured city. My comrade and I stood on a high door-step and saw them pass. Someone pointed us out to Sherman, and for a moment the whole moving army was halted till he greeted the freed prisoners. We two comrades lived a month in that short seventeenth day of February, 1865, in Columbia. I think we shook hands with a thousand soldiers, even with many soldiers we had never seen before. It seemed to us that everybody must be as glad to see us as we were to see them. That night Columbia was burned to the ground amid untold horrors. The conflagration had commenced from bales of cotton that the enemy had fired and left in the street to prevent falling into the Union hands. A big wind rose toward evening and the burning cotton flakes were flying all over the city. It was a terrible spectacle that night. My comrade and I walked about the streets till nearly morning. Whole squares and streets were crumbling to ashes and tall buildings tumbled down everywhere. Here and there, too, there was a terrific explosion. It was Moscow done over on a smaller scale. A division of Union troops, under Hazen, was sent into the town to fight the flames and to arrest every man discovered firing houses or walking around without a pass. So it happened that my comrade and myself, though but innocent spectators, were at midnight arrested and taken to provost headquarters. We very soon explained ourselves and were released and sent to comfortable quarters, where we slept till late the next day. It was four nights since we had had any sleep at all. But the sights of that awful night will never fade from my memory. Most of the citizens of Columbia had sons or relations in the Rebel army. Half of them were dead, the army itself was flying everywhere, and in the blackness of this terrible night their fortunes were all lost, their homes were all burning up. Many wandered about wringing their hands and crying; some sat stolid and speechless in the street watching everything that they had go to destruction. A few wandered around, wholly demented. Some of the invading soldiers tried earnestly to extinguish the flames; others broke into houses and added to the conflagration. Numbers of the Federal prisoners, who only a few weeks before had been marched through the streets like felons, had escaped, and what average human nature led them to do never will be known. There were fearful things going on everywhere. It was reported that an explosion occurred in one house and that twenty-four soldiers, carousing there, were lost in the ruins. Most of the people of Columbia would have been willing to have died that night, then and there. What had they left to live for? _This, too, was war._ When the army entered in the afternoon, Lieutenant Devine and I, as related, stood on the high steps of a mansion and watched it pass. Shortly after a very charming young woman, a Mrs. C----, seeing us, came down and invited us into her father's house and gave us food. It was the first real food we had had for many, many months. The lady's father was a rich jeweler, and, though a Southerner, was a Union man. Her own husband, however, was somewhere in the Southern army. My comrade and I spent an entertaining hour in the mansion, and then went and walked about the city. At six o'clock the awful cry, "The town is burning up, the town is burning up!" was heard everywhere. Devine and I at once thought of Mrs. C----and our friends of the afternoon, and hurried to their home to offer help. The flames were already across the street from there. Mrs. C----'s father was weeping in the drawing-room. Once he took me by the arm and led me to where we could see his own business establishment burning to the ground. "There goes the savings of a life," said he, in bitterness. "There is what the curse of secession has done for us; there is what Wade Hampton and the other political firebrands have done for South Carolina." My comrade and I at once began carrying some of the more valuable goods out of the house for them, doing everything possible to help them save some remnant from their beautiful and luxurious home. We ran up and down the mansion stairs until we were almost dead with exhaustion. Everything we could save we piled into a phaeton that stood by the yard. Once the lady cried that her child was still in the house, burning up. Her shrieks pierced even the noise of that fearful night. Her alarm was without cause, for I soon found the child safe in the arms of a faithful slave nurse. She had simply carried it out of danger. When the walls of the house seemed about to fall, Devine and I took the loaded buggy, he pulling in the shafts, I pushing behind, and, followed by the weeping family on foot, we drew it for a mile or more to the outer edge of the town. Here we left them in safety by a little wood, yet not knowing if we would ever see them again. Many of our soldiers were burnt up that night. The next day Sherman's army left the ruins of the city behind them and marched away. They had, however, left supplies of rations for their unfortunate enemies. A train of empty wagons was also furnished for those fugitives who wished to follow the army and work their way North. Hundreds, possibly thousands, left the smoking ruins of their homes and traveled along with us in every conceivable conveyance that was heard of. Black and white, slave and free, rich and poor, joined in the procession behind the army. Mrs. C---- and her father's family were among them. I now tried to find my regiment. It was gone. Many battles and many marches had so decimated it that the little fragment left had been disbanded and transferred into a regiment of cavalry. Colonel Silsby, of the Tenth Iowa, offered me a place with his mess. I accepted. The Colonel, as it happened, had charge of perhaps a hundred prisoners, captured on the march. Naturally, I was interested to go among them. I soon saw how much better they fared than I had done when in Southern hands. Two or three of them, as it happened, had been among the guards who had treated us so badly while we were in the prison known as "Camp Sorghum," outside of Columbia. They were perfectly terrified when they learned that I had been there under their charge. They seemed to fear instant and awful retaliation; but I thought of nothing of the kind. I was too glad just to be free to be thinking of any vengeance. A curious incident now happened. This was the discovery, among these prisoners, of the husband of the young Mrs. C---- who had given us food in Columbia and whose belongings I and my comrade had tried to save. He was overjoyed to learn from me that his wife and child were at least alive. I instantly went to General Logan, and related to him how this man's family had been kind to me the day that I escaped. I had no trouble in securing his release. It was at Logan's headquarters, too, that I had secured money and an order for provisions to give to Edward Edwards, the black man who had been the means of my final rescue. His sick wife had kept him behind, else he would have followed the army. We left him in Columbia. Years later, as a sign of my gratitude toward this slave, I dedicated a little volume to him, in which I had described my prison life. CHAPTER XIV The army in the Carolinas--General Sherman sends for me--Gives me a place on his staff--Experiences at army headquarters--Sherman's life on the march--Music at headquarters--Logan's violin--The General's false friend--The army wades, swims, and fights through the Carolinas--I am sent as a despatch bearer to General Grant--A strange ride down the Cape Fear River in the night--General Terry--Learn that my song "The March to the Sea" is sung through the North, and has given the campaign its name--I bring the first news of Sherman's successes to the North--An interview with General Grant. It was on this march in the Carolinas that General Sherman sent for me to come to army headquarters. We were two days away from Columbia. I was ashamed to go in my prison rags, so I waited. The next day the request was repeated, and Major Nichols of the staff came and said, "But you must go, it is an order." And I went. The General was sitting by a little rail fire in front of his tent, reading a newspaper, when we approached his bivouac in the woods. I was introduced. He at once told me how pleased he had been with my song, that I had written in prison about his army. Devine had given him a copy at that time when he halted his column to greet us by the door-step at Columbia. "Our boys shall all sing this song," he said; "and as for you, I shall give you a position on my staff. Tomorrow you will be furnished a horse and all that you need; and you must mess with me." It would be very hard to express my feelings at this sudden transition from a prisoner in rags to a post at the headquarters of the great commander. I was almost overcome, but General Sherman's extreme kindness of manner and speech at last put me partly at my ease. Shortly a big colored man, in a green coat, announced dinner. "Come," said the General, pushing me ahead of him into a tent, where a number of handsomely uniformed staff officers stood around a table waiting his approach. I was still in my rags. I could not help noticing the curious glances of the fine gentlemen, who doubtless were wondering what General Sherman had picked up now. My embarrassment was extreme. The commander however soon told them who I was, gave me the seat at his right hand, and almost his entire conversation at the table was directed to me. The officers of the staff quickly took the General's cue, and I was soon an object of interest, even to them. He directed a hundred questions to me as to the general treatment of war prisoners in the South, and he, as well as the staff, interested themselves in all the details of my escape. Telling the story very soon relieved me of my embarrassment as to my clothes. The horrible tales of Southern prison pens, however, was nothing new to General Sherman, for he related to me some of the awful things he had heard of Andersonville while his army was at Atlanta. "At one time," said he, "I had great hopes of rescuing all of them at one quick blow. I gave General Stoneman a large body of cavalry, with directions to raid down about Macon. This raid was to go farther, and, by a quick, secret dash capture Andersonville and release every prisoner there. It was a chance to do the noblest deed of the war, but it all failed miserably. Stoneman had not fully obeyed orders, and, instead of releasing a whole army of suffering captives, he got captured himself, and, with him, a lot of my best cavalry." It happened that I saw General Stoneman the very day he was brought to the prison. My narrative of how by desperately bold and violent cursing he denounced and defied his captors, and everything in Rebeldom, greatly amused Sherman and all at the table. Stoneman's awful language and flashing eyes did indeed fairly intimidate the officer in charge. Evidently he thought he had captured a tiger. It was a wonder Stoneman was not killed. The conversation about the prisoners continued. Twenty-five thousand of them were starving and dying in Andersonville. "It is one of the awful fates of war," said the General. "It can't be helped; they would have been better off had all been killed on the battlefield; and one almost wishes they had been." After a pause, he continued. "At times, I am almost satisfied it would be just as well to _kill all prisoners_." The remark, to me, a prisoner just escaped, seemed shocking. I am sure he noticed it, for he soon added: "They would be spared these atrocities. Besides, _the more awful you can make war the sooner it will be over_." It would, after all, be a mercy. "_War is hell, at the best_," he went on, half in anger, and using an expression common to him. For the moment I thought him heartless, but other remarks made to me, and to the staff, soon told us that whatever the cruelties imposed on him as a commander, they were executed with heart-pain and only as plain duty for the salvation of his own army. He even talked of how glad he would be to be out of the whole bloody business, once the Union were restored. But if the rebellion continued all his life, he would stay and fight it out. When the dinner was over each looked about him to find some garment to give me. This one had an extra coat, that one a pair of trousers, and another one a hat. In short I was quickly attired in a rather respectable uniform. This matter was just about ended when a beautiful woman was conducted to Sherman, to ask protection for her home, that was in his line of march. She was "true blue Union," despite her surroundings. In a moment the whole atmosphere about the tent was changed. The red-handed warrior, who a moment before was ready to kill even prisoners, suddenly became the most amiable, the most gallant and knightly looking man I ever saw. Beauty, that can draw a soldier with a single hair, had ensnared the great commander. He had become a gentle knight. The whole army if need be, would stand stock still to do her one little favor. I now recall how long after the war I noticed a hundred times this perfectly knightly gallantry of Sherman toward all women. This one particular woman seemed a hundred times more beautiful, more fascinating, there in the green wood alone, with an army of a hundred thousand strangers about her, when, pointing her hand toward a great banner that swung in the wind between two tall pines, she smiled and cried: "General Sherman, THAT IS MY FLAG TOO." There was a clapping of hands from all of us, and any one of us would have been glad to be sent as the protector of her home. The great army was now marching, or rather swimming and wading, in the direction of Fayetteville, N. C. There were heavy rains and the country, naturally swampy, was flooded everywhere. I soon learned from the staff where the army had already been. After the end of the march to the sea and the capture of Savannah, Sherman had started in with sixty thousand men, to treat South Carolina in the manner he had treated Georgia--march through it and desolate it. His proposed march northward from Savannah was regarded by the Southern generals as an impossibility. The obstacles were so great as to make it a hundred times as difficult as his march from Atlanta to the sea. But he led a great army of picked veterans, accustomed to everything, whose flags had almost never known defeat. Their confidence in their general and in themselves was simply absolute. So far, in their march from Savannah they had hesitated at nothing. It was midwinter, and yet that army had often waded in swamps with the cold water waist deep, carrying their clothes and their muskets on their heads. Half the roads they followed had to be corduroyed, or their horses would all have been lost in the bottomless mire and swamps. Often their artillery was for miles pulled along by the men themselves, and that in the face of the enemy, hidden behind every stream, and ready to ambush them at every roadside. Over all these infamous wagon roads, across all these bridgeless rivers and endless swamps, our army now dragged with it a train of sixty-nine cannon, twenty-five hundred six-mule wagons, and six hundred ambulances. The tremendous obstacles they encountered before reaching Columbia they were again to encounter beyond. Not a bridge was left on any creek or river in the Carolinas. Roads were built of poles and logs through swamps ten miles wide. Sherman's army had few rations and no tents. The foragers brought in all the food they could pick up near the line of march. The little rubber blankets the soldiers carried were their sole protection from storm. They were almost shoeless. There were not a dozen full tents in the army. Officers used tent flies sometimes, but oftener simply rolled themselves up in their blankets, as their men did. At army headquarters we had but one large tent, used generally for dining under; so we usually slept in deserted cabins at the roadside. I recall one fearfully stormy night when the General and his staff had all crept into a little church we found in the woods. The General would not accept the bit of carpet one of us had improvised into a bed for him on the pulpit platform. "No," he said, "keep that for some of you young fellows who are not well." He then stretched himself out on a wooden bench for the night. I think he never removed his uniform during the campaign. Day and night he was alert, and seemed never to be really asleep. We of the staff now had little to do save carrying orders occasionally to other commanders. General Sherman did most of his own writing, and he wrote a rapid, beautiful hand. We had breakfast by the light of the campfire almost every morning, and were immediately in the saddle, floundering along through the mud, always near to, or quite at, the head of the army. At noon we always dismounted and ate a simple lunch at the roadside, sometimes washed down by a little whisky. Now and then some one of the army, recognizing the General riding past, would give a cheer that would be taken up by brigades and divisions a mile away. There seemed to be something peculiar about this Sherman cheer, for soldiers far off would cry out: "Listen to them cheering Billy Sherman." On the 3d of March we took Cheraw, and twenty-four cannon, also nearly four thousand barrels of gunpowder. That day General Logan, General Howard, General Kilpatrick, General Hazen, and many other notables came to headquarters. There was a jolly time of rejoicing. Here General Logan, who could play the violin, entertained them by singing my song of "Sherman's March to the Sea," accompanying his voice with the instrument. A dozen famous generals joined in the chorus. After the singing, Logan insisted that I should also recite the poem. I did so, meeting with great applause from the very men who had been the leaders in the great "March." Alas! save one or two, they are now all dead. Among the captures that day had been eight wagonloads of fine, old wine. It was now distributed among the different headquarters of the Union army, and as a result some of the said headquarters were pretty nearly drunk. One of our staff, at dinner the next day, attempted to explain his condition of the day before. "Never mind explaining," said General Sherman crustily, and without looking up, "but only see that the like of that does not happen again; that is all." That staff officer was a very sober man the rest of the campaign. While we were lying there in Cheraw we heard an awful explosion; the very earth shook. I supposed it to be an earthquake until a messenger brought word that a lot of captured gunpowder had exploded and killed and wounded twenty soldiers. As we were crossing on our pontoons over the Pedee River at Cheraw I noticed a singular way of punishing army thieves. An offender of this kind stood on the bridge, guarded by two sentinels. He was inside of a barrel that had the ends knocked out. On the barrel in big letters were the words: "I am a thief." The whole army corps passed close by him. An occasional man indulged in some joke at his expense, but the body of soldiers affected not to see him. The day we entered Cheraw General Sherman and his staff rode through the country alone for ten miles, going across from one column to another. It was a hazardous ride, as the whole country was full of guerrillas. But nothing of note happened to us. On the 8th of March the headquarters staff was bivouacked in the woods near Laurel Hill. The army was absolutely cut off from everywhere. It had no base; it was weeks since Sherman had heard from the North or since the North had heard from him. Now he resolved to try to get a courier with a message through to Wilmington, at the seaside. An experienced spy by the name of Pike was selected to float down the Cape Fear River to ask the commander to try to send a tugboat up, to communicate with the army. I did not know then that the next one to run down Cape Fear River would be myself. In four days we had taken Fayetteville and its wonderful arsenal, built years before by the American people, and where now half the war supplies of the Rebel army were made. When the General and his staff first rode into Fayetteville headquarters were established in the arsenal. The General, wishing to look about the town for an hour or so, left me in charge. The other officers rode away with him. Very shortly a well-dressed, fine-looking old Southerner came to me and complained that his home was being disturbed by some of our soldiers. He was, he said, an old West Point friend of General Sherman's. While waiting the return of the commander, he regaled me with incidents of their early days together in the North and with his intimacies with one who would now doubtless be overwhelmed with joy at seeing him. He begged me to observe what would be his reception when the General should come. Impressed by his conversation, I at once sent a soldier or two to guard his home. Shortly after General Sherman rode in through the arsenal portal and dismounted. The Southerner advanced with open arms, and for a moment there was a ray of pleasure illuminating Sherman's face. Then he went and leaned against a column, and, turning to the Southerner, said, "Yes, we were long together, weren't we?" "Yes," answered the Southerner, delighted. "You shared my friendship, shared my bread, even, didn't you?" continued Sherman. "Indeed, indeed!" the Southerner replied, with increasing warmth. The General gave the Southerner a long, steady, almost pathetic look, and answered, "You have betrayed it all; me, your friend, your country that educated you for its defense. You are here a traitor, and you ask me to be again your friend, to protect your property, to send you these brave men, some of whose comrades were murdered by your neighbors this very morning--fired on from hidden houses by you and yours as they entered the town. Turn your back to me forever. I will not punish you; only go your way. There is room in the world even for traitors." The Southerner turned ashy white and walked away from us in silence. Sherman sat down with the rest of us to our noonday lunch. We sat about the portal on stones, or barrels, or whatever happened to answer for seats. The General could scarcely eat. Never had I seen him under such emotion; the corners of his mouth twitched as he continued talking to us of this false friend. The hand that held the bread trembled and for a moment tears were in his eyes. For a little while we all sat in silence, and we realized as never before what treason to the republic really meant. The General spoke as if he, nor we, might ever live through it all. Very soon General Howard rode in to complain anew of the outrages committed on our troops by men firing from windows as they passed along the streets. Two or three soldiers had been killed. "Who did this outrage?" cried Sherman, in a loud and bitter voice, "Texans, I think," answered General Howard. "Then shoot some Texan prisoners in retaliation," said Sherman sternly. "We have no Texans," replied Howard, not inclined, apparently, to carry out the serious, but just order. "Then take other prisoners, take any prisoners," continued General Sherman. "I will not permit my soldiers to be murdered." He turned on his heel and walked away. Howard mounted and rode into the town. What happened, I do not know. On Sunday morning General Sherman asked me to take a walk with him through the immense arsenal of Fayetteville before he should blow it up. We were gone an hour, and I was surprised at his great familiarity with all the machinery and works of the immense establishment. He talked constantly and explained many things to me. Never more than at that time was I impressed with the universal knowledge, the extraordinary genius, of the man. There seemed to be nothing there he did not understand. On our way back to headquarters I heard him give the order to destroy everything, to burn the arsenal down, blow it up, to leave absolutely nothing, and he added the prayer that the American government might never again give North Carolina an arsenal and forts to betray. He was very angry now at those who had used the United States property in their desire to destroy the government itself. He had seen nothing in the war that seemed so treasonable, unless it was the base ingratitude of those who entered the service of the Rebellion after having been educated at West Point at the Government's expense. Pretty soon he said to me: "If I can get any kind of a boat up here, I am going to have you try to reach Wilmington with dispatches." Almost at that minute a steam whistle sounded in the woods below us. "There it is," said the General joyfully. "Pike got through." Very soon someone came running to say a communication had come from the seashore; a little tug had run the Rebel gauntlet all the way from Wilmington. We went in to lunch and the General announced to the staff his intention of sending me down the river, and off to General Grant with dispatches. This chance to get word of his movements and his successes to General Grant and the North was of vast importance, and it moved him greatly. He left his lunch half finished and commenced writing letters and reports to the commander-in-chief. That evening at twilight General Sherman walked with me down to the riverside where the little tug lay waiting. "When you reach the North," he said, putting his arm around me, "don't tell them we have been cutting any great swath in the Carolinas; simply tell them the plain facts; tell them that the army is not lost, but is well, and still marching." So careful was I as to his injunctions, that even the newspapers at Washington never knew how the great news from Sherman reached the North. I did not know then, starting down the river with my message, that it was to be seven years before I was again to see the face of my beloved commander. The Cape Fear River was flooded at this time, a mile wide, in places even more, and though its banks were lined with guerrillas there could not be great danger, if we could stay in the middle of the stream, unless our little boat should get wrecked in the darkness by floating trees or by running into shallow places. The lights were all put out. The pilot house and the sides of the boat were covered by bales of cotton, to protect us against the Rebel bullets. My dispatches to General Grant were carefully sewed up inside my shirt, and were weighted, so that I could hastily sink them in the river should we be captured. A half dozen refugees from Columbia joined us. Among them was the Mrs. C----, whose property Devine and I had tried to save the night of the fire. It was a curious and dangerous voyage down that roaring, flooded river for a woman to be undertaking in the darkness, but this woman had now undertaken many dangers. Another of my companions on that strange voyage was Theodore Davis, a corresponding artist of _Harper's Weekly_. We kept the boat in the channel as far as we could guess it, and, for the rest, simply floated in the darkness. We went through undiscovered; not a shot fired at us. Before daylight, so swift had been the current, we were in Wilmington. General Terry had just taken Wilmington and was in command of the city. Some of my dispatches were for him. He was still in bed, in one of the fine residences of the place, but instantly arose and urged me to jump into bed and get some rest while he should arrange to get me immediate transportation to Grant. I slept till nine, and when I came down to the drawing-room, now used as headquarters, General Terry asked if perhaps it were I who wrote the song about Sherman's March from Atlanta seaward. It had been sung at the theater the night before, he said. I was much gratified to have him tell me that the whole army had taken it up. "Tens of thousands of men," he said, "were singing it." I knew, as already told, that an exchanged prisoner had brought the song through the Rebel lines in an artificial leg he wore, but it was an agreeable surprise to now learn of its sudden and tremendous success. General Terry impressed me as the handsomest soldier I had seen in the army--McPherson, the commander of my own corp, only excepted. He was, too, a refined and perfect gentleman. Looking at him I thought of the cavaliers of romance. Here was real knighthood, born and bred in the soil of the republic. The laurels for his heroic capture of Fort Fisher were fresh on his brow. Before noon an ocean steamer, the _Edward Everett_, was ordered to take me at once to Fortress Monroe. Two of my army friends went along. The captain, leaving on so short notice, had provided his ship with insufficient ballast, and to me, a landsman, the vessel's lurchings were very astonishing. I had never seen the ocean before, and it was not long till I wished I might never see it again. To add to my alarm, a fierce tempest sprang up as we passed around Cape Hatteras, and the danger was no longer imaginary, but very real. The few passengers on the boat might as well have been dead, so far as any self-help was to be thought of in case of disaster. Even the captain was very seasick, and, altogether, passengers and crew were badly scared. For many hours it was nothing but a fierce blow and a roll about on the mad waters. All things come to an end; so did this storm, and at last we reached Fortress Monroe, where I was hurriedly transferred by some sailors in a yawl over to a boat that had already started up the James toward Richmond. Our captain had signaled that he had a dispatch bearer from the Carolinas. We had not gone far until we passed the top of a ship's mast sticking a few feet above the water. It was the mast of the _Cumberland_, that had gone down in her fight with the _Merrimac_ with as brave a crew as ever manned a war boat. The steamer I was now on was crowded with officers in bright uniforms, apparently returning to their regiments. I wondered if all the Eastern army had been home on a furlough. I could not help contrasting to myself this ship full of sleek, brightly uniformed officers with the rough-clad soldiers and officers of the army of Sherman. Sherman's foragers and veterans of the March to the Sea might have cut an awkward figure alongside these gay youths just from Washington. In the afternoon the ship came to at City Point, and I climbed up the bank of the river bluff for perhaps a hundred feet, and was soon directed to the headquarters of the commander-in-chief of the United States armies. When I reached the open door of Grant's famous little cabin a young officer asked me to come in, and was introducing me to the chief of staff, Rawlins, who stood there with some letters in his hands. That instant General Grant showed his face at the door in the back of the room. I knew who it was at once. He stepped forward to where General Rawlins was speaking with me, listened to the conversation a moment, and without any formal introduction, smiled, took me by the hand and led me into the back room of the cabin shutting the door behind us. He asked me to sit down, but I first proceeded to rip the dispatches out of my clothing, and with intense interest watched his features while he sat on a camp stool by the window, his legs crossed, and read Sherman's letter. I could see the glow of silent satisfaction as he glanced along the lines that told of his great lieutenant's successes in the South. He glanced at another letter I held in my hand. "It is for the President," I said. "He will be here yet to-night," he answered. "His boat must now be coming up the bay." Then General Grant questioned me as to all I knew about Sherman's army, the character of the opposition he had met, the condition of his soldiers, their clothing, the roads, the weather. He also asked me how I had reached him with the dispatches, coming all the way from the interior of North Carolina. He seemed to have thought for a moment that I had come across Virginia on foot. He wanted to know of me again about the terrible treatment of prisoners in the South. What I told him only "confirmed," he said, what he had heard from a hundred sources. Very shortly he heard the voice of General Ord in the outer room. "Come in here, Ord," he said, holding the door open. "Come in and hear the news from Sherman. Look at that, listen to this," and again he went through Sherman's letter, reading parts of it aloud. "Good! Good!" cried Ord, fairly dancing about the cabin, his spurs and saber jingling. "I was really getting afraid." "Not I, not I, not a bit," exclaimed Grant enthusiastically, as he rose to his feet. "_I knew my man. I knew General Sherman._" I was astonished now at the simple and perfectly frank manner with which General Grant talked to me about the situation of the army. I had ventured to ask if there was any outlook for the immediate fall of Richmond or a battle. "Very great," he answered. "I am only afraid Lee may slip out before we can get a great blow at him. Any hour this may happen." Just then there was cannonading. I wondered if a fight were commencing somewhere in the line already. General Grant did not change a muscle in his face. "Send out and see what the firing is," he said to an officer quietly, and then as quietly continued talking, asking me to tell him all I knew of a recent escapade of Kilpatrick and his cavalry. It happened that I knew all about it. Only a couple of weeks before Kilpatrick and his headquarters had been surprised in bed at a bivouac on the flank of Sherman's army, and were surrounded and some were captured. By a heroic struggle the cavalry leader had escaped his captors, had instantly rallied his troops there in the dark woods and given the bold Rebels a little drubbing. The next day I had been with Sherman at headquarters and listened to Kilpatrick's recital of his adventure. My own narration of the night's cavalry fight, reciting how the cavalrymen and his aids dashed about with nothing on but their shirts, made General Grant smile very audibly. "I had expected the whole thing to be about as you say," he exclaimed, in a grateful way, "but the Richmond newspapers which fell into my hands made a big thing of the so-called capture of Sherman's cavalry leader." Once, as the General rose and stood directly in front of us, I was astonished to see how small he seemed. I had seen Grant before, but on horseback or in battle, and, somehow, I had always regarded him as a rather large, solidly built man. To-day in the little back room of his cabin, talking with him, I saw how mistaken I had been. General Grant, as I now saw him, was, in fact, a little man. Several times he rose and walked about the room. He was not more than five feet seven or eight inches high, and he could not have weighed more than one hundred and forty or fifty pounds. He wore a simple fatigue uniform, and his coat thrown open gave him the appearance of being larger chested than he really was. His brown hair was neither short nor long, and he wore a full beard, well trimmed. Had I not known to whom I was talking, or had I not seen the three stars on his shoulders, I would have supposed myself in the presence of some simple army captain. There was nothing whatever about him to announce the presence of genius or extraordinary ability of any kind. He was in no sense a striking-looking man. His manner and words to me were kind and earnest. There was an agreeable look about his mouth and eyes that made him seem very sincere. Indeed, if any one thing about him impressed me more than another, it was his apparent sincerity and earnestness. And he looked to me like a man of great common sense. Of vanity, pretence, or power there was not a single sign. He could not have looked very greatly different when he was hewing logs for his house at his father-in-law's farm ten years before, from what he looked just now, quietly directing a million soldiers in the greatest war of modern times. Like General Sherman, he repeatedly expressed his interest concerning the terrible experiences I had undergone in Southern prisons. "I suppose you will want to get home as quickly as possible, won't you?" he inquired, "or would you rather remain here awhile and look about the army?" A steamer was to leave for the North in an hour. Privately, I was fearing a sudden break-down of my health, and longed for a home that I had visited but eight days during four long years of war. Then I thought of my letter to Mr. Lincoln. The General seemed to anticipate my thought. "Leave the President's letter with me," he said, "if you choose, and I will give it to him, or stay over and give it to him yourself." There was no man living I was so anxious to see as Abraham Lincoln. And this was my opportunity. But something like a premonition said, "Go home." When I expressed my feeling General Grant stepped to the door of the office room and directed General Rawlins to see that I be provided with leave of absence and transportation. That little order, signed by Rawlins, I still possess. With an earnest handshake and good-by General Grant thanked me for bringing him the dispatches. I was not to see him again for many years.[C] [C] At the town of Lucerne in Switzerland there is in front of the Schweizerhof a quay lined with castanien trees. It overlooks the beautiful lake. Long years after the war General Grant sat there on a bench one quiet summer night and talked to me of the time I brought the news to him from Sherman in the Carolinas. In a few weeks from that night by the lakeside I had the honor of entertaining my old commander at my own home, in the city of Zurich, where I was now representing the government as one of his appointees. The order naming me to go to Zurich had, on a certain time, been written by his own hand. This night at Zurich proved to be almost the last time I was ever to see the great commander. His presence and words that evening are among the treasured memories of my life. CHAPTER XV Washington City in the last days of the war--Look, the President!--_The last man of the regiment._ Leaving General Grant's headquarters at City Point was for me a final good-by to the army. The little steamer _Martin_ carried me down the James River, up the Chesapeake Bay, and the Potomac, toward the North. I recall now the strange sensations I had in passing Washington's tomb at Mount Vernon. The green slopes and the oak wood in front of the old mansion were in full view. I could even see the front columns of the house, and someone on the steamer's deck pointed out to me the spot where stood the simple brick mausoleum where with folded arms slept the Father of his Country. I could not help reflecting that at that moment not a hundred miles away stood nearly all George Washington's State's descendants, with arms in their hands, striving to destroy the government that he had founded. How I enjoyed that ship ride! Here there was no sandy prison pen with poor, starving, dying comrades lying around; no futile efforts at escape; no taunts and jeers that the American flag had gone down in disgrace; now all was free and beautiful, and _mine_. The hated rag of the Confederacy that had floated over my head and threatened me every day with death for fifteen long months was gone forever. At the mast of our little vessel waved the Stars and Stripes, conscious, it seemed to me, of the free air I was breathing. That was a happy day for me. Some time in the following night the wheels of the boat stopped revolving--there was silence; and when I woke at daylight there was the land. The ship was fast in the slip at the wharf, and there, too, was the capital of the republic. I went ashore by myself and wandered into the city, my mind crowded every moment with the thoughts of what had taken place here in the last four years. Soldiers I saw everywhere, with arms and without arms. Negroes, now freedmen, by the ten thousand fairly darkened the population. With some friends I found a boarding place on the avenue above the National Hotel. If I wanted to see great men, notorious men, men making history, all kinds of men, I had only to step into the corridors of the National. I had little or no ready money, nor could I get any until the government settled my accounts. I waited in Washington for a week. General Sherman had given me papers that would insure my promotion in the regular army. I presented them; they were all-sufficient; I needed only to say the word. But I was sick and tired of war, and would not have exchanged a glimpse of my Western home for the commission of a brigadier. But while I stayed in Washington what sights I saw! Our capital is now possibly the finest in the world. Then it was the most hateful; the most hateful in every way. Militarism, treason, political scoundrelism, and every other bad ism reigned in every hotel, on every street corner, in Congress, out of Congress--everywhere; reigned right at the elbows of loyalty and patriotism such as the world never saw. Society was one grand conglomeration of everything good and bad. Washington City itself was a spectacle. It had no streets, save one or two--simply dirty unpaved roads. The dirty street cars, pulled by worn-out horses, were crowded inside and outside by a mass of struggling politicians, soldiers, gamblers, adventurers, and women. The city was also full of hospitals; everywhere there were lazarettos and graveyards. It looked as if half the Union army had dragged itself into the capital to die. The great Capital building was uncompleted; its dome stood there covered with scaffoldings and windlasses. The plaza at the east end of the structure looked like a vast stone quarry. The Washington Monument had only gotten itself safe above high-water mark; and what there was of it was in danger of falling down. It stood in the middle of the flats, the mud and the malaria--the graveyard, in short, that formed the unsavory prospect from the White House windows. Aside from the unfinished government buildings there was not a pretense of architecture in all Washington. There was nothing beautiful there. The very atmosphere seemed sickly; fever, malaria, were everywhere. It was the one city in all creation to get out of as soon as possible. Once I tried to get a glimpse of the President. I failed. The White House gates were held by sentries. "Why do you want to see that old Ape?" said a man to me one day. I was shocked, and would like to have killed him. But he was not alone in his vileness. Thousands in Washington affected to despise Lincoln. I wondered then that it was regarded safe for him to appear in public. One day a carriage rolled rapidly up the avenue in front of the National. I heard some men cry, "Look, the President!" I glanced quickly. A tall, dark man, wearing a silk hat sat in the carriage; at his side a lady. In a moment they were out of sight. There was not a cheer, not a hat touched, not a hand waved, and yet _that was Abraham Lincoln passing_, soon to be the greatest man in history. A little wrangle and almost a fist-fight between some bystanders on the pavement followed; one party denouncing the President for freeing the "damned niggers"; another thanking God for the President's noble deed. Such scenes were going on everywhere all over the capital, pro and con. Approval and hatred. The best praised, the worst abused mortal in America was just entering on his second term at the White House. I never even had a glimpse of the kindly face again. At last my accounts were ready. "But your regiment," said the Assistant War Secretary, "does not exist. What was left of them were all put into a cavalry troop long ago. _You are the last man of the regiment._" Across the face of my paper he wrote, "_Discharged as a supernumerary officer._" That paper lies before me while I write. I was paid off in shining greenbacks for all the time I had been in prison. As to the eighty comrades who had been captured with me that 25th of November in the assault on Missionary Ridge, all but sixteen were dead. Nine of my old Company B of the Fifth Regiment were taken prisoners, and only one of them had survived the horrors of Andersonville. Poor Cartwright died not long after, and I alone of the little band was left to tell the story. TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Obvious typos and printer errors have been corrected without comment. Other than obvious errors, the author's spelling, grammar, and use of punctuation are retained as in the original publication. In addition to obvious errors, the following changes have been made: Page 50: "dozen" changed to "dozens" in the phrase, "Shortly, dozens of these small boats...." Page 89: "connonballs" changed to "cannonballs" in the phrase, "... storm of cannonballs...." Page 100: opening quote mark added: "My regiment is put...." Page 132: "thousand" changed to "thousands" in the phrase, "Hundreds, thousands possibly, of...." Page 187: "gaunlet" changed to "gauntlet" in the phrase, "... had run the Rebel gauntlet...." Page 192: "cammander" changed to "commander" Page 198: "straving" changed to "starving" in the phrase, "... poor, starving...." 
26987	----	THE BROWN MOUSE By HERBERT QUICK Author of Aladdin & Company, The Broken Lance On Board the Good Ship Earth, Etc. INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright 1915 The Bobbs-Merrill Company Printed in the United States of America PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOK MANUFACTURERS BROOKLYN, N. Y. CONTENTS CHAPTER I A Maiden's "Humph" 1 II Reversed Unanimity 24 III What Is a Brown Mouse 38 IV The First Day of School 48 V The Promotion of Jennie 55 VI Jim Talks the Weather Cold 65 VII The New Wine 75 VIII And the Old Bottles 89 IX Jennie Arranges a Christmas Party 99 X How Jim Was Lined Up 111 XI The Mouse Escapes 122 XII Facing Trial 132 XIII Fame or Notoriety 147 XIV The Colonel Takes the Field 164 XV A Minor Casts Half a Vote 188 XVI The Glorious Fourth 203 XVII A Trouble Shooter 218 XVIII Jim Goes to Ames 235 XIX Jim's World Widens 242 XX Think of It 248 XXI A School District Held Up 258 XXII An Embassy From Dixie 277 XXIII And So They Lived---- 295 THE BROWN MOUSE CHAPTER I A MAIDEN'S "HUMPH" A Farm-hand nodded in answer to a question asked him by Napoleon on the morning of Waterloo. The nod was false, or the emperor misunderstood--and Waterloo was lost. On the nod of a farm-hand rested the fate of Europe. This story may not be so important as the battle of Waterloo--and it may be. I think that Napoleon was sure to lose to Wellington sooner or later, and therefore the words "fate of Europe" in the last paragraph should be understood as modified by "for a while." But this story may change the world permanently. We will not discuss that, if you please. What I am endeavoring to make plain is that this history would never have been written if a farmer's daughter had not said "Humph!" to her father's hired man. Of course she never said it as it is printed. People never say "Humph!" in that way. She just closed her lips tight in the manner of people who have a great deal to say and prefer not to say it, and--I dislike to record this of a young lady who has been "off to school," but truthfulness compels--she grunted through her little nose the ordinary "Humph!" of conversational commerce, which was accepted at its face value by the farm-hand as an evidence of displeasure, disapproval, and even of contempt. Things then began to happen as they never would have done if the maiden hadn't "Humphed!" and this is a history of those happenings. As I have said, it may be more important than Waterloo. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ was, and I hope--I am just beginning, you know--to make this a much greater book than _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. And it all rests on a "Humph!" Holmes says, "Soft is the breath of a maiden's 'Yes,' Not the light gossamer stirs with less." but what bard shall rightly sing the importance of a maiden's "Humph!" when I shall have finished telling what came of what Jennie Woodruff said to Jim Irwin, her father's hired man? Jim brought from his day's work all the fragrances of next year's meadows. He had been feeding the crops. All things have opposite poles, and the scents of the farm are no exception to the rule. Just now, Jim Irwin possessed in his clothes and person the olfactory pole opposite to the new-mown hay, the fragrant butter and the scented breath of the lowing kine--perspiration and top-dressing. He was not quite so keenly conscious of this as was Jennie Woodruff. Had he been so, the glimmer of her white piqué dress on the bench under the basswood would not have drawn him back from the gate. He had come to the house to ask Colonel Woodruff about the farm work, and having received instructions to take a team and join in the road work next day, he had gone down the walk between the beds of four o'clocks and petunias to the lane. Turning to latch the gate, he saw through the dusk the white dress under the tree and drawn by the greatest attraction known in nature, had re-entered the Woodruff grounds and strolled back. A brief hello betrayed old acquaintance, and that social equality which still persists in theory between the work people on the American farm and the family of the employer. A desultory murmur of voices ensued. Jim Irwin sat down on the bench--not too close, be it observed, to the piqué skirt.... There came into the voices a note of deeper earnestness, betokening something quite aside from the rippling of the course of true love running smoothly. In the man's voice was a tone of protest and pleading.... "I know you are," said she; "but after all these years don't you think you should be at least preparing to be something more than that?" "What can I do?" he pleaded. "I'm tied hand and foot.... I might have ..." "You might have," said she, "but, Jim, you haven't ... and I don't see any prospects...." "I have been writing for the farm papers," said Jim; "but ..." "But that doesn't get you anywhere, you know.... You're a great deal more able and intelligent than Ed ---- and see what a fine position he has in Chicago...." "There's mother, you know," said Jim gently. "You can't do anything here," said Jennie. "You've been a farm-hand for fifteen years ... and you always will be unless you pull yourself loose. Even a girl can make a place for herself if she doesn't marry and leaves the farm. You're twenty-eight years old." "It's all wrong!" said Jim gently. "The farm ought to be the place for the best sort of career--I love the soil!" "I've been teaching for only two years, and they say I'll be nominated for county superintendent if I'll take it. Of course I won't--it seems silly--but if it were you, now, it would be a first step to a life that leads to something." "Mother and I can live on my wages--and the garden and chickens and the cow," said Jim. "After I received my teacher's certificate, I tried to work out some way of doing the same thing on a country teacher's wages. I couldn't. It doesn't seem right." Jim rose and after pacing back and forth sat down again, a little closer to Jennie. Jennie moved away to the extreme end of the bench, and the shrinking away of Jim as if he had been repelled by some sort of negative magnetism showed either sensitiveness or temper. "It seems as if it ought to be possible," said Jim, "for a man to do work on the farm, or in the rural schools, that would make him a livelihood. If he is only a field-hand, it ought to be possible for him to save money and buy a farm." "Pa's land is worth two hundred dollars an acre," said Jennie. "Six months of your wages for an acre--even if you lived on nothing." "No," he assented, "it can't be done. And the other thing can't, either. There ought to be such conditions that a teacher could make a living." "They do," said Jennie, "if they can live at home during vacations. _I_ do." "But a man teaching in the country ought to be able to marry." "Marry!" said Jennie, rather unfeelingly, I think. "_You_ marry!" Then after remaining silent for nearly a minute, she uttered the syllable--without the utterance of which this narrative would not have been written. "_You_ marry! Humph!" Jim Irwin rose from the bench tingling with the insult he found in her tone. They had been boy-and-girl sweethearts in the old days at the Woodruff schoolhouse down the road, and before the fateful time when Jennie went "off to school" and Jim began to support his mother. They had even kissed--and on Jim's side, lonely as was his life, cut off as it necessarily was from all companionship save that of his tiny home and his fellow-workers of the field, the tender little love-story was the sole romance of his life. Jennie's "Humph!" retired this romance from circulation, he felt. It showed contempt for the idea of his marrying. It relegated him to a sexless category with other defectives, and badged him with the celibacy of a sort of twentieth-century monk, without the honor of the priestly vocation. From another girl it would have been bad enough, but from Jennie Woodruff--and especially on that quiet summer night under the linden--it was insupportable. "Good night," said Jim--simply because he could not trust himself to say more. "Good night," replied Jennie, and sat for a long time wondering just how deeply she had unintentionally wounded the feelings of her father's field-hand; deciding that if he was driven from her forever, it would solve the problem of terminating that old childish love affair which still persisted in occupying a suite of rooms all of its own in her memory; and finally repenting of the unpremeditated thrust which might easily have hurt too deeply so sensitive a man as Jim Irwin. But girls are not usually so made as to feel any very bitter remorse for their male victims, and so Jennie slept very well that night. Great events, I find myself repeating, sometimes hinge on trivial things. Considered deeply, all those matters which we are wont to call great events are only the outward and visible results of occurrences in the minds and souls of people. Sir Walter Raleigh thought of laying his cloak under the feet of Queen Elizabeth as she passed over a mud-puddle, and all the rest of his career followed, as the effect of Sir Walter's mental attitude. Elias Howe thought of a machine for sewing, Eli Whitney of a machine for ginning cotton, George Stephenson of a tubular boiler for his locomotive engine, and Cyrus McCormick of a sickle-bar, and the world was changed by those thoughts, rather than by the machines themselves. John D. Rockefeller thought strongly that he would be rich, and this thought, and not the Standard Oil Company, changed the commerce and finance of the world. As a man thinketh so is he; and as men think so is the world. Jim Irwin went home thinking of the "Humph!" of Jennie Woodruff--thinking with hot waves and cold waves running over his body, and swellings in his throat. Such thoughts centered upon his club foot made Lord Byron a great sardonic poet. That club foot set him apart from the world of boys and tortured him into a fury which lasted until he had lashed society with the whips of his scorn. Jim Irwin was not club-footed; far from it. He was bony and rugged and homely, with a big mouth, and wide ears, and a form stooped with labor. He had fine, lambent, gentle eyes which lighted up his face when he smiled, as Lincoln's illuminated his. He was not ugly. In fact, if that quality which fair ladies--if they are wise--prize far more than physical beauty, the quality called charm, can with propriety be ascribed to a field-hand who has just finished a day of the rather unfragrant labor to which I have referred, Jim Irwin possessed charm. That is why little Jennie Woodruff had asked him to help with her lessons, rather oftener than was necessary, in those old days in the Woodruff schoolhouse when Jennie wore her hair down her back. But in spite of this homely charm of personality, Jim Irwin was set off from his fellows of the Woodruff neighborhood in a manner quite as segregative as was Byron by his deformity. He was different. In local parlance, he was an off ox. He was as odd as Dick's hatband. He ran in a gang by himself, like Deacon Avery's celebrated bull. He failed to matriculate in the boy banditti which played cards in the haymows on rainy days, told stereotyped stories that smelled to heaven, raided melon patches and orchards, swore horribly like Sir Toby Belch, and played pool in the village saloon. He had always liked to read, and had piles of literature in his attic room which was good, because it was cheap. Very few people know that cheap literature is very likely to be good, because it is old and unprotected by copyright. He had Emerson, Thoreau, a John B. Alden edition of Chambers' _Encyclopedia of English Literature_, some Franklin Square editions of standard poets in paper covers, and a few Ruskins and Carlyles--all read to rags. He talked the book English of these authors, mispronouncing many of the hard words, because he had never heard them pronounced by any one except himself, and had no standards of comparison. You find this sort of thing in the utterances of self-educated recluses. And he had piles of reports of the secretary of agriculture, college bulletins from Ames, and publications of the various bureaus of the Department of Agriculture at Washington. In fact, he had a good library of publications which can be obtained gratis, or very cheaply--and he knew their contents. He had a personal philosophy, which while it had cost him the world in which his fellows lived, had given him one of his own, in which he moved as lonely as a cloud, and as untouched of the life about him. He seemed superior to the neighbor boys, and felt so; but this feeling was curiously mingled with a sense of degradation. By every test of common life, he was a failure. His family history was a badge of failure. People despised a man who was so incontestably smarter than they, and yet could do no better with himself than to work in the fields alongside the tramps and transients and hoboes who drifted back and forth as the casual market for labor and the lure of the cities swept them. Save for his mother and their cow and garden and flock of fowls and their wretched little rented house, he was a tramp himself. His father had been no better. He had come into the neighborhood from nobody knows where, selling fruit trees, with a wife and baby in his old buggy--and had died suddenly, leaving the baby and widow, and nothing else save the horse and buggy. That horse and buggy were still on the Irwin books represented by Spot the cow--so persistent are the assets of cautious poverty. Mrs. Irwin had labored in kitchen and sewing room until Jim had been able to assume the breadwinner's burden--which he did about the time he finished the curriculum of the Woodruff District school. He was an off ox and odd as Dick's hatband, largely because his duties to his mother and his love of reading kept him from joining the gangs whereof I have spoken. His duties, his mother, and his father's status as an outcast were to him the equivalent of the Byronic club foot, because they took away his citizenship in Boyville, and drove him in upon himself, and, at first, upon his school books which he mastered so easily and quickly as to become the star pupil of the Woodruff District school, and later upon Emerson, Thoreau, Ruskin and the poets, and the agricultural reports and bulletins. All this degraded--or exalted--him to the position of an intellectual farm-hand, with a sense of superiority and a feeling of degradation. It made Jennie Woodruff's "Humph!" potent to keep him awake that night, and send him to the road work with Colonel Woodruff's team next morning with hot eyes and a hotter heart. What was he anyhow? And what could he ever be? What was the use of his studies in farming practise, if he was always to be an underling whose sole duty was to carry out the crude ideas of his employers? And what chance was there for a farm-hand to become a farm owner, or even a farm renter, especially if he had a mother to support out of the twenty-five or thirty dollars of his monthly wages? None. A man might rise in the spirit, but how about rising in the world? Colonel Woodruff's gray percherons seemed to feel the unrest of their driver, for they fretted and actually executed a clumsy prance as Jim Irwin pulled them up at the end of the turnpike across Bronson's Slew--the said slew being a peat-marsh which annually offered the men of the Woodruff District the opportunity to hold the male equivalent of a sewing circle while working out their road taxes, with much conversational gain, and no great damage to the road. In fact, Columbus Brown, the pathmaster, prided himself on the Bronson Slew Turnpike as his greatest triumph in road engineering. The work consisted in hauling, dragging and carrying gravel out on the low fill which carried the road across the marsh, and then watching it slowly settle until the next summer. "Haul gravel from the east gravel bed, Jim," called Columbus Brown from the lowest spot in the middle of the turnpike. "Take Newt here to help load." Jim smiled his habitual slow, gentle smile at Newton Bronson, his helper. Newton was seventeen, undersized, tobacco-stained, profane and proud of the fact that he had once beaten his way from Des Moines to Faribault on freight trains. A source of anxiety to his father, and the subject of many predictions that he would come to no good end, Newton was out on the road work because he was likely to be of little use on the farm. Clearly, Newton was on the downward road in a double sense--and yet, Jim Irwin rather liked him. "The fellers have put up a job on you, Jim," volunteered Newton, as they began filling the wagon with gravel. "What sort of job?" asked Jim. "They're nominating you for teacher," replied Newton. "Since when has the position of teacher been an elective office?" asked Jim. "Sure, it ain't elective," answered Newton. "But they say that with as many brains as you've got sloshing around loose in the neighborhood, you're a candidate that can break the deadlock in the school board." Jim shoveled on silently for a while, and by example urged Newton to earn the money credited to his father's assessment for the day's work. "Aw, what's the use of diggin' into it like this?" protested Newton, who was developing an unwonted perspiration. "None of the others are heatin' themselves up." "Don't you get any fun out of doing a good day's work?" asked Jim. "Fun!" exclaimed Newton. "You're crazy!" A slide of earth from the top of the pit threatened to bury Newton in gravel, sand and good top soil. A sweet-clover plant growing rankly beside the pit, and thinking itself perfectly safe, came down with it, its dark green foliage anchored by the long roots which penetrated to a depth below the gravel pit's bottom. Jim Irwin pulled it loose from its anchorage, and after looking attentively at the roots, laid the whole plant on the bank for safety. "What do you want of that weed?" asked Newton. Jim picked it up and showed him the nodules on its roots--little white knobs, smaller than pinheads. "Know what they are, Newt?" "Just white specks on the roots," replied Newton. "The most wonderful specks in the world," said Jim. "Ever hear of the use of nitrates to enrich the soil?" "Ain't that the stuff the old man used on the lawn last spring?" "Yes," said Jim, "your father used some on his lawn. We don't put it on our fields in Iowa--not yet; but if it weren't for those white specks on the clover-roots, we should be obliged to do so--as they do back east." "How do them white specks keep us from needin' nitrates?" "It's a long story," said Jim. "You see, before there were any plants big enough to be visible--if there had been any one to see them--the world was full of little plants so small that there may be billions of them in one of these little white specks. They knew how to take the nitrates from the air----" "Air!" ejaculated Newton. "Nitrates in the air! You're crazy!" "No," said Jim. "There are tons of nitrogen in the air that press down on your head--but the big plants can't get it through their leaves, or their roots. They never had to learn, because when the little plants--bacteria--found that the big plants had roots with sap in them, they located on those roots and tapped them for the sap they needed. They began to get their board and lodgings off the big plants. And in payment for their hotel bills, the little plants took nitrogen out of the air for both themselves and their hosts." "What d'ye mean by 'hosts'?" "Their hotel-keepers--the big plants. And now the plants that have the hotel roots for the bacteria furnish nitrogen not only for themselves but for the crops that follow. Corn can't get nitrogen out of the air; but clover can--and that's why we ought to plow down clover before a crop of corn." "Gee!" said Newt. "If you could get to teach our school, I'd go again." "It would interfere with your pool playing." "What business is that o' yours?" interrogated Newt defiantly. "Well, get busy with that shovel," suggested Jim, who had been working steadily, driving out upon the fill occasionally to unload. On his return from dumping the next load, Newton seemed, in a superior way, quite amiably disposed toward his workfellow--rather the habitual thing in the neighborhood. "I'll work my old man to vote for you for the job," said he. "What job?" asked Jim. "Teacher for our school," answered Newt. "Those school directors," replied Jim, "have become so bullheaded that they'll never vote for any one except the applicants they've been voting for." "The old man says he will have Prue Foster again, or he'll give the school a darned long vacation, unless Peterson and Bonner join on some one else. That would beat Prue, of course." "And Con Bonner won't vote for any one but Maggie Gilmartin," added Jim. "And," supplied Newton, "Haakon Peterson says he'll stick to Herman Paulson until the Hot Springs freeze over." "And there you are," said Jim. "You tell your father for me that I think he's a mere mule--and that the whole district thinks the same." "All right," said Newt. "I'll tell him that while I'm working him to vote for you." Jim smiled grimly. Such a position might have been his years ago, if he could have left his mother or earned enough in it to keep both alive. He had remained a peasant because the American rural teacher is placed economically lower than the peasant. He gave Newton's chatter no consideration. But when, in the afternoon, he hitched his team with others to the big road grader, and the gang became concentrated within talking distance, he found that the project of heckling and chaffing him about his eminent fitness for a scholastic position was to be the real entertainment of the occasion. "Jim's the candidate to bust the deadlock," said Columbus Brown, with a wink. "Just like Garfield in that Republican convention he was nominated in--eh, Con?" "Con" was Cornelius Bonner, an Irishman, one of the deadlocked school board, and the captain of the road grader. He winked back at the pathmaster. "Jim's the gray-eyed man o' destiny," he replied, "if he can get two votes in that board." "You'd vote for me, wouldn't you, Con?" asked Jim. "I'll try annything wance," replied Bonner. "Try voting with Ezra Bronson once, for Prue Foster," suggested Jim. "She's done good work here." "Opinions differ," said Bonner, "an' when you try annything just for wance, it shouldn't be an irrevocable shtip, me bye." "You're a reasonable board of public servants," said Jim ironically. "I'd like to tell the whole board what I think of them." "Come down to-night," said Bonner jeeringly. "We're going to have a board meeting at the schoolhouse and ballot a few more times. Come down, and be the Garfield of the convintion. We've lacked brains on the board, that's clear. They ain't a man on the board that iver studied algebra, 'r that knows more about farmin' than their impl'yers. Come down to the schoolhouse, and we'll have a field-hand addriss the school board--and begosh, I'll move yer illiction mesilf! Come, now, Jimmy, me bye, be game. It'll vary the program, anny-how." The entire gang grinned. Jim flushed, and then reconquered his calmness of spirit. "All right, Con," said he. "I'll come and tell you a few things--and you can do as you like about making the motion." CHAPTER II REVERSED UNANIMITY The great blade of the grading machine, running diagonally across the road and pulling the earth toward its median line, had made several trips, and much persiflage about Jim Irwin's forthcoming appearance before the board had been addressed to Jim and exchanged by others for his benefit. To Newton Bronson was given the task of leveling and distributing the earth rolled into the road by the grader--a labor which in the interests of fitting a muzzle on his big mongrel dog he deserted whenever the machine moved away from him. No dog would have seemed less deserving of a muzzle, for he was a friendly animal, always wagging his tail, pressing his nose into people's palms, licking their clothing and otherwise making a nuisance of himself. That there was some mystery about the muzzle was evident from Newton's pains to make a secret of it. Its wires were curled into a ring directly over the dog's nose, and into this ring Newton had fitted a cork, through which he had thrust a large needle which protruded, an inch-long bayonet, in front of Ponto's nose. As the grader swept back, horses straining, harness creaking and a billow of dark earth rolling before the knife, Ponto, fully equipped with this stinger, raced madly alongside, a friend to every man, but not unlike some people, one whose friendship was of all things to be most dreaded. As the grader moved along one side of the highway, a high-powered automobile approached on the other. It was attempting to rush the swale for the hill opposite, and making rather bad weather of the newly repaired road. A pile of loose soil that Newton had allowed to lie just across the path made a certain maintenance of speed desirable. The knavish Newton planted himself in the path of the laboring car, and waved its driver a command to halt. The car came to a standstill with its front wheels in the edge of the loose earth, and the chauffeur fuming at the possibility of stalling--a contingency upon which Newton had confidently reckoned. "What d'ye want?" he demanded. "What d'ye mean by stopping me in this kind of place?" "I want to ask you," said Newton with mock politeness, "if you have the correct time." The chauffeur sought words appropriate to his feelings. Ponto and his muzzle saved him the trouble. A pretty pointer leaped from the car, and attracted by the evident friendliness of Ponto's greeting, pricked up its ears, and sought, in a spirit of canine brotherhood, to touch noses with him. The needle in Ponto's muzzle did its work to the agony and horror of the pointer, which leaped back with a yelp, and turned tail. Ponto, in an effort to apologize, followed, and finding itself bayonetted at every contact with this demon dog, the pointer definitely took flight, howling, leaving Ponto in a state of wonder and humiliation at the sudden end of what had promised to be a very friendly acquaintance. I have known instances not entirely dissimilar among human beings. The pointer's master watched its strange flight, and swore. His eye turned to the boy who had caused all this, and he alighted pale with anger. "I've got time," said he, remembering Newton's impudent question, "to give you what you deserve." Newton grinned and dodged, but the bank of loose earth was his undoing, and while he stumbled, the chauffeur caught and held him by the collar. And as he held the boy, the operation of flogging him in the presence of the grading gang grew less to his taste. Again Ponto intervened, for as the chauffeur stood holding Newton, the dog, evidently regarding the stranger as his master's friend, thrust his nose into the chauffeur's palm--the needle necessarily preceding the nose. The chauffeur behaved much as his pointer had done, saving and excepting that the pointer did not swear. It was funny--even the pain involved could not make it otherwise than funny. The grading gang laughed to a man. Newton grinned even while in the fell clutch of circumstance. Ponto tried to smell the chauffeur's trousers, and what had been a laugh became a roar, quite general save for the fact that the chauffeur did not join in it. Caution and mercy departed from the chauffeur's mood; and he drew back his fist to strike the boy--and found it caught by the hard hand of Jim Irwin. "You're too angry to punish this boy," said Jim gently,--"even if you had the right to punish him at all!" "Oh, cut it out," said a fat man in the rear of the car, who had hitherto manifested no interest in anything save Ponto. "Get in, and let's be on our way!" The chauffeur, however, recognized in a man of mature years and full size, and a creature with no mysterious needle in his nose, a relief from his embarrassment. Unhesitatingly, he released Newton, and blindly, furiously and futilely, he delivered a blow meant for Jim's jaw, but which really miscarried by a foot. In reply, Jim countered with an awkward swinging uppercut, which was superior to the chauffeur's blow in one respect only--it landed fairly on the point of the jaw. The chauffeur staggered and slowly toppled over into the soft earth which had caused so much of the rumpus. Newton Bronson slipped behind a hedge, and took his infernally equipped dog with him. The grader gang formed a ring about the combatants and waited. Colonel Woodruff, driving toward home in his runabout, held up by the traffic blockade, asked what was going on here, and the chauffeur, rising groggily, picked up his goggles, climbed into the car; and the meeting dissolved, leaving Jim Irwin greatly embarrassed by the fact that for the first time in his life, he had struck a man in combat. "Good work, Jim," said Cornelius Bonner. "I didn't think 'twas in ye!" "It's beastly," said Jim, reddening. "I didn't know, either." Colonel Woodruff looked at his hired man sharply, gave him some instructions for the next day and drove on. The road gang dispersed for the afternoon. Newton Bronson carefully secreted the magic muzzle, and chuckled at what had been perhaps the most picturesquely successful bit of deviltry in his varied record. Jim Irwin put out his team, got his supper and went to the meeting of the school board. The deadlocked members of the board had been so long at loggerheads that their relations had swayed back to something like amity. Jim had scarcely entered when Con Bonner addressed the chair. "Mr. Prisidint," said he, "we have wid us t'night, a young man who nades no introduction to an audience in this place, Mr. Jim Irwin. He thinks we're bullheaded mules, and that all the schools are bad. At the proper time I shall move that we hire him f'r teacher; and pinding that motion, I move that he be given the floor. Ye've all heared of Mr. Irwin's ability as a white hope, and I know he'll be listened to wid respect!" Much laughter from the board and the spectators, as Jim arose. He looked upon it as ridicule of himself, while Con Bonner regarded it as a tribute to his successful speech. "Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Board," said Jim, "I'm not going to tell you anything that you don't know about yourselves. You are simply making a farce of the matter of hiring a teacher for this school. It is not as if any of you had a theory that the teaching methods of one of these teachers would be any better than or much different from those of the others. You know, and I know, that whichever is finally engaged, or even if your silly deadlock is broken by employing a new candidate, the school will be the same old story. It will still be the school it was when I came into it a little ragged boy"--here Jim's voice grew a little husky--"and when I left it, a bigger boy, but still as ragged as ever." There was a slight sensation in the audience, as if, as Con Bonner said about the knockdown, they hadn't thought Jim Irwin could do it. "Well," said Con, "you've done well to hold your own." "In all the years I attended this school," Jim went on, "I never did a bit of work in school which was economically useful. It was all dry stuff copied from the city schools. No other pupil ever did any real work of the sort farmers' boys and girls should do. We copied city schools--and the schools we copied are poor schools. We made bad copies of them, too. If any of you three men were making a fight for what Roosevelt's Country Life Commission called a 'new kind of rural school,' I'd say fight. But you aren't. You're just making individual fights for your favorite teachers." Jim Irwin made a somewhat lengthy speech after the awkwardness wore off, so long that his audience was nodding and yawning by the time he reached his peroration, in which he abjured Bronson, Bonner and Peterson to study his plan of a new kind of rural school,--in which the work of the school should be correlated with the life of the home and the farm--a school which would be in the highest degree cultural by being consciously useful and obviously practical. There sharp spats of applause from the useless hands of Newton Bronson gave the final touch of absurdity to a situation which Jim had felt to be ridiculous all through. Had it not been for Jennie Woodruff's "Humph!" stinging him to do something outside the round of duties into which he had fallen, had it not been for the absurd notion that perhaps, after they had heard his speech, they would place him in charge of the school, and that he might be able to do something really important in it, he would not have been there. As he sat down, he felt himself a silly clodhopper, filled with the east wind of his own conceit, out of touch with the real world of men. He knew himself a dreamer. The nodding board of directors, the secretary, actually snoring, and the bored audience restored the field-hand to a sense of his proper place. "We have had the privilege of list'nin'," said Con Bonner, rising, "to a great speech, Mr. Prisidint. We should be proud to have a borned orator like this in the agricultural pop'lation of the district. A reg'lar William Jennin's Bryan. I don't understand what he was trying to tell us, but sometimes I've had the same difficulty with the spaches of the Boy Orator of the Platte. Makin' a good spache is one thing, and teaching a good school is another, but in order to bring this matter before the board, I nominate Mr. James E. Irwin, the Boy Orator of the Woodruff District, and the new white hope, f'r the job of teacher of this school, and I move that when he shall have received a majority of the votes of this board, the secretary and prisidint be insthructed to enter into a contract with him f'r the comin' year." The seconding of motions on a board of three has its objectionable features, since it seems to commit a majority of the body to the motion in advance. The president, therefore, followed usage, when he said--"If there's no objection, it will be so ordered. The chair hears no objection--and it is so ordered. Prepare the ballots for a vote on the election of teacher, Mr. Secretary. Each votes his preference for teacher. A majority elects." For months, the ballots had come out of the box--an empty crayon-box--Herman Paulson, one; Prudence Foster, one; Margaret Gilmartin, one; and every one present expected the same result now. There was no surprise, however, in view of the nomination of Jim Irwin by the blarneying Bonner when the secretary smoothed out the first ballot, and read: "James E. Irwin, one." Clearly this was the Bonner vote; but when the next slip came forth, "James E. Irwin, two," the Board of Directors of the Woodruff Independent District were stunned at the slowly dawning knowledge that they had made an election! Before they had rallied, the secretary drew from the box the third and last ballot, and read, "James E. Irwin, three." President Bronson choked as he announced the result--choked and stammered, and made very hard weather of it, but he went through with the motion, as we all run in our grooves. "The ballot having shown the unanimous election of James E. Irwin, I declare him elected." He dropped into his chair, while the secretary, a very methodical man, drew from his portfolio a contract duly drawn up save for the signatures of the officers of the district, and the name and signature of the teacher-elect. This he calmly filled out, and passed over to the president, pointing to the dotted line. Mr. Bronson would have signed his own death-warrant at that moment, not to mention a perfectly legal document, and signed with Peterson and Bonner looking on stonily. The secretary signed and shoved the contract over to Jim Irwin. "Sign there," he said. Jim looked it over, saw the other signatures, and felt an impulse to dodge the whole thing. He could not feel that the action of the board was serious. He thought of the platform he had laid down for himself, and was daunted. He thought of the days in the open field, and of the untroubled evenings with his books, and he shrank from the work. Then he thought of Jennie Woodruff's "Humph!"--and he signed! "Move we adjourn," said Peterson. "No 'bjection 't's so ordered!" said Mr. Bronson. The secretary and Jim went out, while the directors waited. "What the Billy--" began Bonner, and finished lamely! "What for did you vote for the dub, Ez?" "I voted for him," replied Bronson, "because he fought for my boy this afternoon. I didn't want it stuck into him too hard. I wanted him to have _one_ vote." "An' I wanted him to have wan vote, too," said Bonner. "I thought mesilf the only dang fool on the board--an' he made a spache that airned wan vote--but f'r the love of hivin, that dub f'r a teacher! What come over you, Haakon--you voted f'r him, too!" "Ay vanted him to have one wote, too," said Peterson. And in this wise, Jim became the teacher in the Woodruff District--all on account of Jennie Woodruff's "Humph!" CHAPTER III WHAT IS A BROWN MOUSE Immediately upon the accidental election of Jim Irwin to the position of teacher of the Woodruff school, he developed habits somewhat like a ghost's or a bandit's. That is, he walked of nights and on rainy days. On fine days, he worked in Colonel Woodruff's fields as of yore. Had he been appointed to a position attached to a salary of fifty thousand dollars a year, he might have spent six months on a preliminary vacation in learning something about his new duties. But Jim's salary was to be three hundred and sixty dollars for nine months' work in the Woodruff school, and he was to find himself--and his mother. Therefore, he had to indulge in his loose habits of night walking and roaming about after hours only, or on holidays and in foul weather. The Simms family, being from the mountings of Tennessee, were rather startled one night, when Jim Irwin, homely, stooped and errandless, silently appeared in their family circle about the front door. They had lived where it was the custom to give a whoop from the big road before one passed through the palin's and up to the house. Otherwise, how was one to know whether the visitor was friend or foe? From force of habit, Old Man Simms started for his gun-rack at Jim's appearance, but the Lincolnian smile and the low slow speech, so much like his own in some respects, ended that part of the matter. Besides, Old Man Simms remembered that none of the Hobdays, whose hostilities somewhat stood in the way of the return of the Simmses to their native hills, could possibly be expected to appear thus in Iowa. "Stranger," said Mr. Simms, after greetings had been exchanged, "you're right welcome, but in my kentry you'd find it dangersome to walk in thisaway." "How so?" queried Jim Irwin. "You'd more'n likely git shot up some," replied Mr. Simms, "onless you whooped from the big road." "I didn't know that," replied Jim. "I'm ignorant of the customs of other countries. Would you rather I'd whoop from the big road--nobody else will." "I reckon," replied Mr. Simms, "that we-all will have to accommodate ourse'ves to the ways hyeh." Evidently Jim was the Simms' first caller since they had settled on the little brushy tract whose hills and trees reminded them of their mountains. Low hills, to be sure, with only a footing of rocks where the creek had cut through, and not many trees, but down in the creek bed, with the oaks, elms and box-elders arching overhead, the Simmses could imagine themselves beside some run falling into the French Broad, or the Holston. The creek bed was a withdrawing room in which to retire from the eternal black soil and level corn-fields of Iowa. What if the soil was so poor, in comparison with those black uplands, that the owner of the old wood-lot could find no renter? It was better than the soil in the mountains, and suited the lonesome Simmses much more than a better farm would have done. They were not of the Iowa people anyhow, not understood, not their equals--they were pore, and expected to stay pore--while the Iowa people all seemed to be either well-to-do, or expecting to become so. It was much more agreeable to the Simmses to retire to the back wood-lot farm with the creek bed running through it. Jim Irwin asked Old Man Simms about the fishing in the creek, and whether there was any duck shooting spring and fall. "We git right smart of these little panfish," said Mr. Simms, "an' Calista done shot two butterball ducks about 'tater-plantin' time." Calista blushed--but this stranger, so much like themselves, could not see the rosy suffusion. The allusion gave him a chance to look about him at the family. There was a boy of sixteen, a girl--the duck-shooting Calista--younger than Raymond--a girl of eleven, named Virginia, but called Jinnie--and a smaller lad who rejoiced in the name of McGeehee, but was mercifully called Buddy. Calista squirmed for something to say. "Raymond runs a line o' traps when the fur's prime," she volunteered. Then came a long talk on traps and trapping, shooting, hunting and the joys of the mountings--during which Jim noted the ignorance and poverty of the Simmses. The clothing of the girls was not decent according to local standards; for while Calista wore a skirt hurriedly slipped on, Jim was quite sure--and not without evidence to support his views--that she had been wearing when he arrived the same regimentals now displayed by Jinnie--a pair of ragged blue overalls. Evidently the Simmses were wearing what they had and not what they desired. The father was faded, patched, gray and earthy, and the boys looked better than the rest solely because we expect boys to be torn and patched. Mrs. Simms was invisible except as a gray blur beyond the rain-barrel, in the midst of which her pipe glowed with a regular ebb and flow of embers. On the next rainy day Jim called again and secured the services of Raymond to help him select seed corn. He was going to teach the school next winter, and he wanted to have a seed-corn frolic the first day, instead of waiting until the last--and you had to get seed corn while it was on the stalk, if you got the best. No Simms could refuse a favor to the fellow who was so much like themselves, and who was so greatly interested in trapping, hunting and the Tennessee mountains--so Raymond went with Jim, and with Newt Bronson and five more they selected Colonel Woodruff's seed corn for the next year, under the colonel's personal superintendence. In the evening they looked the grain over on the Woodruff lawn, and the colonel talked about corn and corn selection. They had supper at half past six, and Jennie waited on them--having assisted her mother in the cooking. It was quite a festival. Jim Irwin was the least conspicuous person in the gathering, but the colonel, who was a seasoned politician, observed that the farm-hand had become a fisher of men, and was angling for the souls of these boys, and their interest in the school. Jim was careful not to flush the covey, but every boy received from the next winter's teacher some confidential hint as to plans, and some suggestion that Jim was relying on the aid and comfort of that particular boy. Newt Bronson, especially, was leaned on as a strong staff and a very present help in time of trouble. As for Raymond Simms, it was clearly best to leave him alone. All this talk of corn selection and related things was new to him, and he drank it in thirstily. He had an inestimable advantage over Newt in that he was starved, while Newt was surfeited with "advantages" for which he had no use. "Jennie," said Colonel Woodruff, after the party had broken up, "I'm losing the best hand I ever had, and I've been sorry." "I'm glad he's leaving you," said Jennie. "He ought to do something except work in the field for wages." "I've had no idea he could make good as a teacher--and what is there in it if he does?" "What has he lost if he doesn't?" rejoined Jennie. "And why can't he make good?" "The school board's against him, for one thing," replied the colonel. "They'll fire him if they get a chance. They're the laughing-stock of the country for hiring him by mistake, and they're irritated. But after seeing him perform to-night, I wonder if he can't make good." "If he could _feel_ like anything but an underling he'd succeed," said Jennie. "That's his heredity," stated the colonel, whose live-stock operations were based on heredity. "Jim's a scrub, I suppose; but he acts as if he might turn out to be a Brown Mouse." "What do you mean, pa," scoffed Jennie--"a Brown Mouse!" "A fellow in Edinburgh," said the colonel, "crossed the Japanese waltzing mouse with the common white mouse. Jim's pedling father was a waltzing mouse, no good except to jump from one spot to another for no good reason. Jim's mother is an albino of a woman, with all the color washed out in one way or another. Jim ought to be a mongrel, and I've always considered him one. But the Edinburgh fellow every once in a while got out of his variously-colored, waltzing and albino hybrids, a brown mouse. It wasn't a common house mouse, either, but a wild mouse unlike any he had ever seen. It ran away, and bit and gnawed, and raised hob. It was what we breeders call a Mendelian segregation of genetic factors that had been in the waltzers and albinos all the time--their original wild ancestor of the woods and fields. If Jim turns out to be a Brown Mouse, he may be a bigger man than any of us. Anyhow, I'm for him." "He'll have to be a big man to make anything out of the job of a country school-teacher," said Jennie. "Any job's as big as the man who holds it down," said her father. Next day, Jim received a letter from Jennie. * * * * * "Dear Jim," it ran. "Father says you are sure to have a hard time--the school board's against you, and all that. But he added, 'I'm for Jim, anyhow!' I thought you'd like to know this. Also he said, 'Any job's as big as the man who holds it down,' And I believe this also, _and I'm for you, too!_ You are doing wonders even before the school starts in getting the pupils interested in a lot of things, which, while they don't belong to school work, will make them friends of yours. I don't see how this will help you much, but it's a fine thing, and shows your interest in them. Don't be too original. The wheel runs easiest in the beaten track. Yours. Jennie." Jennie's caution made no impression on Jim--but he put the letter away, and every evening took it out and read the italicized words, _"I'm for you, too!"_ The colonel's dictum, "Any job's as big as the man who holds it down," was an Emersonian truism to Jim. It reduced all jobs to an equality, and it meant equality in intellectual and spiritual development. It didn't mean, for instance, that any job was as good as another in making it possible for a man to marry--and Jennie Woodruff's "Humph!" returned to kill and drag off her "I'm for you, too!" CHAPTER IV THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL I suppose every reader will say that genius consists very largely in seeing Opportunity in the set of circumstances or thoughts or impressions that constitute Opportunity, and making the best of them. Jim Irwin would have said so, anyhow. He was full of his Emerson's _Representative Men_, and his Carlyle's _French Revolution_, and the other old-fashioned, excellent good literature which did not cost over twenty-five cents a volume; and he had pored long and with many thrills over the pages of Matthews' _Getting on in the World_--which is the best book of purely conventional helpfulness in the language. And his view of efficiency was that it is the capacity to see opportunity where others overlook it, and make the most of it. All through his life he had had his own plans for becoming great. He was to be a general, hurling back the foes of his country; he was to be the nation's master in literature; a successful drawing on his slate had filled him with ambition, confidently entertained, of becoming a Rubens--and the story of Benjamin West in his school reader fanned this spark to a flame; science, too, had at times been his chosen field; and when he had built a mousetrap which actually caught mice, he saw himself a millionaire inventor. As for being president, that was a commonplace in his dreams. And all the time, he was barefooted, ill-clad and dreamed his dreams to the accompaniment of the growl of the plow cutting the roots under the brown furrow-slice, or the wooshing of the milk in the pail. At twenty-eight, he considered these dreams over. As for this new employment, he saw no great opportunity in it. Of any spark of genius he was to show in it, of anything he was to suffer in it, of those pains and penalties wherewith the world pays its geniuses, Jim Irwin anticipated nothing. He went into the small, mean, ill-paid task as a part of the day's work, with no knowledge of the stirring of the nation for a different sort of rural school, and no suspicion that there lay in it any highway to success in life. He was not a college man or even a high-school man. All his other dreams had found rude awakening in the fact that he had not been able to secure the schooling which geniuses need in these days. He was unfitted for the work geniuses do. All he was to be was a rural teacher, accidentally elected by a stupid school board, and with a hard tussle before him to stay on the job for the term of his contract. He could have accepted positions quite as good years ago, save for the fact that they would have taken him away from his mother, their cheap little home, their garden and their fowls. He rather wondered why he had allowed Jennie's sneer to sting him into the course of action which put him in this new relation to his neighbors. But, true to his belief in honest thorough work, like a general preparing for battle, he examined his field of operations. His manner of doing this seemed to prove to Colonel Woodruff, who watched it with keen interest as something new in the world, that Jim Irwin was possibly a Brown Mouse. But the colonel knew only a part of Jim's performances. He saw Jim clothed in slickers, walking through rainstorms to the houses in the Woodruff District, as greedy for every moment of rain as a haymaker for shine; and he knew that Jim made a great many evening calls. But he did not know that Jim was making what our sociologists call a survey. For that matter, neither did Jim; for books on sociology cost more than twenty-five cents a volume, and Jim had never seen one. However, it was a survey. To be sure, he had long known everybody in the district, save the Simmses--and he was now a friend of all that exotic race; but there is knowing and knowing. He now had note-books full of facts about people and their farms. He knew how many acres each family possessed, and what sort of farming each husband was doing--live stock, grain or mixed. He knew about the mortgages, and the debts. He knew whether the family atmosphere was happy and contented, or the reverse. He knew which boys and girls were wayward and insubordinate. He made a record of the advancement in their studies of all the children, and what they liked to read. He knew their favorite amusements. He talked with their mothers and sisters--not about the school, to any extent, but on the weather, the horses, the automobiles, the silo-filling machinery and the profits of farming. I suppose that no person who has undertaken the management of the young people of any school in all the history of education, ever did so much work of this sort before his school opened. Really, though Jennie Woodruff did not see how such doings related to school work, Jim Irwin's school was running full blast in the homes of the district and the minds of many pupils, weeks and weeks before that day when he called them to order on the Monday specified in his contract as the first day of school. Con Bonner, who came to see the opening, voiced the sentiments of the older people when he condemned the school as disorderly. To be sure, there were more pupils enrolled than had ever entered on a first day in the whole history of the school, and it was hard to accommodate them all. But the director's criticism was leveled against the free-and-easy air of the children. Most of them had brought seed corn and a good-sized corn show was on view. There was much argument as to the merits of the various entries. Instead of a language lesson from the text-book, Jim had given them an exercise based on an examination of the ears of corn. The number exercises of the little chaps had been worked out with ears and kernels of corn. One class in arithmetic calculated the percentage of inferior kernels at tip and butt to the full-sized grains in the middle of the ear. All the time, Jim Irwin, awkward and uncouth, clad in his none-too-good Sunday suit and trying to hide behind his Lincolnian smile the fact that he was pretty badly frightened and much embarrassed, passed among them, getting them enrolled, setting them to work, wasting much time and laboring like a heavy-laden barge in a seaway. "That feller'll never do," said Bonner to Bronson next day. "Looks like a tramp in the schoolroom." "Wearin' his best, I guess," said Bronson. "Half the kids call him 'Jim,'" said Bonner. "That's all right with me," replied Bronson. "The room was as noisy as a caucus," was Bonner's next indictment, "and the flure was all over corn like a hog-pin." "Oh! I don't suppose he can get away with it," assented Bronson disgustedly, "but that boy of mine is as tickled as a colt with the whole thing. Says he's goin' reg'lar this winter." "That's because Jim don't keep no order," said Bonner. "He lets Newt do as he dam pleases." "First time he's ever pleased to do anything but deviltry," protested Bronson. "Oh, I suppose Jim'll fall down, and we'll have to fire him--but I wish we could git a _good_ teacher that would git hold of Newt the way he seems to!" CHAPTER V THE PROMOTION OF JENNIE If Jennie Woodruff was the cause of Jim Irwin's sudden irruption into the educational field by her scoffing "Humph!" at the idea of a farm-hand's ever being able to marry, she also gave him the opportunity to knock down the driver of the big motor-car, and perceptibly elevate himself in the opinion of the neighborhood, while filling his own heart with something like shame. The fat man who had said "Cut it out" to his driver, was Mr. Charles Dilly, a business man in the village at the extreme opposite corner of the county. His choice of the Woodruff District as a place for motoring had a secret explanation. I am under no obligation to preserve the secret. He came to see Colonel Woodruff and Jennie. Mr. Dilly was a candidate for county treasurer, and wished to be nominated at the approaching county convention. In his part of the county lived the county superintendent--a candidate for renomination. He was just a plain garden or field county superintendent of schools, no better and no worse than the general political run of them, but he had local pride enlisted in his cause, and was a good politician. Mr. Dilly was in the Woodruff District to build a backfire against this conflagration of the county superintendent. He expected to use Jennie Woodruff to light it withal. That is, while denying that he wished to make any deal or trade--every candidate in every convention always says that--he wished to say to Miss Woodruff and her father, that if Miss Woodruff would permit her name to be used for the office of county superintendent of schools, a goodly group of delegates could be selected in the other corner of the county who would be glad to reciprocate any favors Mr. Charles J. Dilly might receive in the way of votes for county treasurer with ballots for Miss Jennie Woodruff for superintendent of schools. Mr. Dilly never inquired as to Miss Woodruff's abilities as an educator. That would have been eccentric. Miss Woodruff never asked herself if she knew anything about rural education which especially fitted her for the task; for was she not a popular and successful teacher--and was not that enough? Mr. Dilly merely asked himself if Miss Woodruff's name could command strength enough to eliminate the embarrassing candidate in his part of the county and leave the field to himself. Miss Woodruff asked herself whether the work would not give her a pleasanter life than did teaching, a better salary, and more chances to settle herself in life. So are the officials chosen who supervise and control the education of the farm children of America. This secret mission to effect a political trade accounted for Mr. Dilly's desire that his driver should "cut out" the controversy with Newton Bronson, and the personal encounter with Jim Irwin--and it may account for Jim's easy victory in his first and only physical encounter. An office seeker could scarcely afford to let his friend or employee lick a member of a farmers' road gang. It certainly explains the fact that when Jim Irwin started home from putting out his team the day after his first call on the Simms family, Jennie was waiting at the gate to be congratulated on her nomination. "I congratulate you," said Jim. "Thanks," said Jennie, extending her hand. "I hope you're elected," Jim went on, holding the hand; "but there's no doubt of that." "They say not," replied Jennie; "but father says I must go about and let the people see me. He believes in working just as if we didn't have a big majority for the ticket." "A woman has an advantage of a man in such a contest," said Jim; "she can work just as hard as he can, and at the same time profit by the fact that it's supposed she can't." "I need all the advantage I possess," said Jennie, "and all the votes. Say a word for me when on your pastoral rounds." "All right," said Jim, "what shall I say you'll do for the schools?" "Why," said Jennie, rather perplexed, "I'll be fair in my examinations of teachers, try to keep the unfit teachers out of the schools, visit schools as often as I can, and--why, what does any good superintendent do?" "I never heard of a good county superintendent," said Jim. "Never heard of one--why, Jim Irwin!" "I don't believe there is any such thing," persisted Jim, "and if you do no more than you say, you'll be off the same piece as the rest. Your system won't give us any better schools than we have--of the old sort--and we need a new kind." "Oh, Jim, Jim! Dreaming as of yore! Why can't you be practical! What do you mean by a new kind of rural school?" "A truly-rural rural school," said Jim. "I can't pronounce it," smiled Jennie, "to say nothing of understanding it. What would your tralalooral rural school do?" "It would be correlated with rural life," said Jim. "How?" "It would get education out of the things the farmers and farmers' wives are interested in as a part of their lives." "What, for instance?" "Dairying, for instance, in this district; and soil management; and corn-growing; and farm manual training for boys; and sewing, cooking and housekeeping for the girls--and caring for babies!" Jennie looked serious, after smothering a laugh. "Jim," said she, "you're going to have a hard enough time to succeed in the Woodruff school, if you confine yourself to methods that have been tested, and found good." "But the old methods," urged Jim, "have been tested and found bad. Shall I keep to them?" "They have made the American people what they are," said Jennie. "Don't be unpatriotic, Jim." "They have educated our farm children for the cities," said Jim. "This county is losing population--and it's the best county in the world." "Pessimism never wins," said Jennie. "Neither does blindness," answered Jim. "It is losing the farms their dwellers, and swelling the cities with a proletariat." For some time, now, Jim had ceased to hold Jennie's hand; and their sweetheart days had never seemed farther away. "Jim," said Jennie, "I may be elected to a position in which I shall be obliged to pass on your acts as teacher--in an official way, I mean. I hope they will be justifiable." Jim smiled his slowest and saddest smile. "If they're not, I'll not ask you to condone them," said he. "But first, they must be justifiable to me, Jennie." "Good night," said Jennie curtly, and left him. Jennie, I am obliged to admit, gave scant attention to the new career upon which her old sweetheart seemed to be entering. She was in politics, and was playing the game as became the daughter of a local politician. The reader must not by this term get the impression that Colonel Woodruff was a man of the grafting tricky sort of which we are prone to think when the term is used. The West has been ruled by just such men as he, and the West has done rather well, all things considered. Colonel Albert Woodruff went south with the army as a corporal in 1861, and came back a lieutenant. His title of colonel was conferred by appointment as a member of the staff of the governor, long years ago, when he was county auditor. He was not a rich man, as I may have suggested, but a well-to-do farmer, whose wife did her own work much of the time, not because the colonel could not afford to hire "help," but for the reason that "hired girls" were hard to get. The colonel, having seen the glory of the coming of the Lord in the triumph of his side in the great war, was inclined to think that all reform had ceased, and was a political stand-patter--a very honest and sincere one. Moreover, he was influential enough so that when Mr. Cummins or Mr. Dolliver came into the county on political errands, Colonel Woodruff had always been called into conference. He was of the old New England type, believed very much in heredity, very much in the theory that whatever is is right, in so far as it has secured money or power. He had hated General Weaver and his forces; and had sometimes wondered how a man of Horace Boies' opinions had succeeded in being so good a governor. He broke with Governor Larrabee when that excellent man had turned against the great men who had developed Iowa by building the railroads. He was always in the county convention, and preferred to serve on the committee on credentials, and leave to others the more showy work of membership in the committee on resolutions. He believed in education, provided it did not unsettle things. He had a good deal of Latin and some Greek, and lived on a farm rather than in a fine house in the county seat because of his lack of financial ability. As a matter of fact, he had been too strictly scrupulous to do the things--such as dealing in lands belonging to eastern speculators who were not advised as to their values, speculating in county warrants, buying up tax titles with county money, and the like--by which his fellow-politicians who held office in the early years of the county had founded their fortunes. A very respectable, honest, American tory was the colonel, fond of his political sway, and rather soured by the fact that it was passing from him. He had now broken with Cummins and Dolliver as he had done years ago with Weaver and later with Larrabee--and this breach was very important to him, whether they were greatly concerned about it or not. Such being her family history, Jennie was something of a politician herself. She was in no way surprised when approached by party managers on the subject of accepting the nomination for county superintendent of schools. Colonel Woodruff could deliver some delegates to his daughter, though he rather shied at the proposal at first, but on thinking it over, warmed somewhat to the notion of having a Woodruff on the county pay-roll once more. CHAPTER VI JIM TALKS THE WEATHER COLD "Going to the rally, James?" Jim had finished his supper, and yearned for a long evening in his attic den with his cheap literature. But as the district schoolmaster he was to some extent responsible for the protection of the school property, and felt some sense of duty as to exhibiting an interest in public affairs. "I guess I'll have to go, mother," he replied regretfully. "I want to see Mr. Woodruff about borrowing his Babcock milk tester, and I'll go that way. I guess I'll go on to the meeting." He kissed his mother when he went--a habit from which he never deviated, and another of those personal peculiarities which had marked him as different from the other boys of the neighborhood. His mother urged his overcoat upon him in vain--for Jim's overcoat was distinctly a bad one, while his best suit, now worn every day as a concession to his scholastic position, still looked passably well after several weeks of schoolroom duty. She pressed him to wear a muffler about his neck, but he declined that also. He didn't need it, he said; but he was thinking of the incongruity of a muffler with no overcoat. It seemed more logical to assume that the weather was milder than it really was, on that sharp October evening, and appear at his best, albeit rather aware of the cold. Jennie was at home, and he was likely to see and be seen of her. "You can borrow that tester," said the colonel, "and the cows that go with it, if you can use 'em. They ain't earning their keep here. But how does the milk tester fit into the curriculum of the school? A decoration?" "We want to make a few tests of the cows in the neighborhood," answered Jim. "Just another of my fool notions." "All right," said the colonel. "Take it along. Going to the speakin'?" "Certainly, he's going," said Jennie, entering. "This is my meeting, Jim." "Surely, I'm going," assented Jim. "And I think I'll run along." "I wish we had room for you in the car," said the colonel. "But I'm going around by Bronson's to pick up the speaker, and I'll have a chuck-up load." "Not so much of a load as you think," said Jennie. "I'm going with Jim. The walk will do me good." Any candidate warms to her voting population just before election; but Jennie had a special kindness for Jim. He was no longer a farm-hand. The fact that he was coming to be a center of disturbance in the district, and that she quite failed to understand how his eccentric behavior could be harmonized with those principles of teaching which she had imbibed at the state normal school in itself lifted him nearer to equality with her. A public nuisance is really more respectable than a nonentity. She gave Jim a thrill as she passed through the gate that he opened for her. White moonlight on her white furs suggested purity, exaltation, the essence of womanhood--things far finer in the woman of twenty-seven than the glamour thrown over him by the schoolgirl of sixteen. Jim gave her no thrill; for he looked gaunt and angular in his skimpy, ready-made suit, too short in legs and sleeves, and too thin for the season. Yet, as they walked along, Jim grew upon her. He strode on with immense strides, made slow to accommodate her shorter steps, and embarrassing her by his entire absence of effort to keep step. For all that, he lifted his face to the stars, and he kept silence, save for certain fragments of his thoughts, in dropping which he assumed that she, like himself, was filled with the grandeur of the sparkling sky, its vast moon, plowing like an astronomical liner through the cloudlets of a wool-pack. He pointed out the great open spaces in the Milky Way, wondering at their emptiness, and at the fact that no telescope can find stars in them. They stopped and looked. Jim laid his hard hands on the shoulders of her white fur collarette. "What's the use of political meetings," said Jim, "when you and I can stand here and think our way out, even beyond the limits of our Universe?" "A wonderful journey," said she, not quite understanding his mood, but very respectful to it. "And together," said Jim. "I'd like to go on a long, long journey with you to-night, Jennie, to make up for the years since we went anywhere together." "And we shouldn't have come together to-night," said Jennie, getting back to earth, "if I hadn't exercised my leap-year privilege." She slipped her arm in his, and they went on in a rather intimate way. "I'm not to blame, Jennie," said he. "You know that at any time I'd have given anything--anything--" "And even now," said Jennie, taking advantage of his depleted stock of words, "while we roam beyond the Milky Way, we aren't getting any votes for me for county superintendent." Jim said nothing. He was quite, quite reestablished on the earth. "Don't you want me to be elected, Jim?" Jim seemed to ponder this for some time--a period of taking the matter under advisement which caused Jennie to drop his arm and busy herself with her skirts. "Yes," said Jim, at last; "of course I do." Nothing more was said until they reached the schoolhouse door. "Well," said Jennie rather indignantly, "I'm glad there are plenty of voters who are more enthusiastic about me than you seem to be!" More interesting to a keen observer than the speeches, were the unusual things in the room itself. To be sure, there were on the blackboards exercises and outlines, of lessons in language, history, mathematics, geography and the like. But these were not the usual things taken from text-books. The problems in arithmetic were calculations as to the feeding value of various rations for live stock, records of laying hens and computation as to the excess of value in eggs produced over the cost of feed. Pinned to the wall were market reports on all sorts of farm products, and especially numerous were the statistics on the prices of cream and butter. There were files of farm papers piled about, and racks of agricultural bulletins. In one corner of the room was a typewriting machine, and in another a sewing machine. Parts of an old telephone were scattered about on the teacher's desk. A model of a piggery stood on a shelf, done in cardboard. Instead of the usual collection of text-books in the desk, there were hectograph copies of exercises, reading lessons, arithmetical tables and essays on various matters relating to agriculture, all of which were accounted for by two or three hand-made hectographs--a very fair sort of printing plant--lying on a table. The members of the school board were there, looking on these evidences of innovation with wonder and more or less disfavor. Things were disorderly. The text-books recently adopted by the board against some popular protest had evidently been pitched, neck and crop, out of the school by the man whom Bonner had termed a dub. It was a sort of contempt for the powers that be. Colonel Woodruff was in the chair. After the speechifying was over, and the stereotyped, though rather illogical, appeal had been made for voters of the one party to cast the straight ticket, and for those of the other faction to scratch, the colonel rose to adjourn the meeting. Newton Bronson, safely concealed behind taller people, called out, "Jim Irwin! speech!" There was a giggle, a slight sensation, and many voices joined in the call for the new schoolmaster. Colonel Woodruff felt the unwisdom of ignoring the demand. Probably he relied upon Jim's discretion and expected a declination. Jim arose, seedy and lank, and the voices ceased, save for another suppressed titter. "I don't know," said Jim, "whether this call upon me is a joke or not. If it is, it isn't a practical one, for I can't talk. I don't care much about parties or politics. I don't know whether I'm a Democrat, a Republican or a Populist." This caused a real sensation. The nerve of the fellow! Really, it must in justice be said, Jim was losing himself in a desire to tell his true feelings. He forgot all about Jennie and her candidacy--about everything except his real, true feelings. This proves that he was no politician. "I don't see much in this county campaign that interests me," he went on--and Jennie Woodruff reddened, while her seasoned father covered his mouth with his hand to conceal a smile. "The politicians come out into the farming districts every campaign and get us hayseeds for anything they want. They always have got us. They've got us again! They give us clodhoppers the glad hand, a cheap cigar, and a cheaper smile after election;--and that's all. I know it, you all know it, they know it. I don't blame them so very much. The trouble is we don't ask them to do anything better. I want a new kind of rural school; but I don't see any prospect, no matter how this election goes, for any change in them. We in the Woodruff District will have to work out our own salvation. Our political ring never'll do anything but the old things. They don't want to, and they haven't sense enough to do it if they did. That's all--and I don't suppose I should have said as much as I have!" There was stark silence for a moment when he sat down, and then as many cheers for Jim as for the principal speaker of the evening, cheers mingled with titters and catcalls. Jim felt a good deal as he had done when he knocked down Mr. Billy's chauffeur--rather degraded and humiliated, as if he had made an ass of himself. And as he walked out of the door, the future county superintendent passed by him in high displeasure, and walked home with some one else. Jim found the weather much colder than it had been while coming. He really needed an Eskimo's fur suit. CHAPTER VII THE NEW WINE In the little strip of forest which divided the sown from the Iowa sown wandered two boys in earnest converse. They seemed to be Boy Trappers, and from their backloads of steel-traps one of them might have been Frank Merriwell, and the other Dead-Shot Dick. However, though it was only mid-December, and the fur of all wild varmints was at its primest, they were bringing their traps into the settlements, instead of taking them afield. "The settlements" were represented by the ruinous dwelling of the Simmses, and the boy who resembled Frank Merriwell was Raymond Simms. The other, who was much more barbarously accoutered, whose overalls were fringed, who wore a cartridge belt about his person, and carried hatchet, revolver, and a long knife with a deerfoot handle, and who so studiously looked like Dead-Shot Dick, was our old friend of the road gang, Newton Bronson. On the right, on the left, a few rods would have brought the boys out upon the levels of rich corn-fields, and in sight of the long rows of cottonwoods, willows, box-elders and soft maples along the straight roads, and of the huge red barns, each of which possessed a numerous progeny of outbuildings, among which the dwelling held a dubious headship. But here, they could be the Boy Trappers--a thin fringe of bushes and trees made of the little valley a forest to the imagination of the boys. Newton put down his load, and sat upon a stump to rest. Raymond Simms was dimly conscious of a change in Newton since the day when they met and helped select Colonel Woodruff's next year's seed corn. Newton's mother had a mother's confidence that Newton was now a good boy, who had been led astray by other boys, but had reformed. Jim Irwin had a distinct feeling of optimism. Newton had quit tobacco and beer, casually stating to Jim that he was "in training." Since Jim had shown his ability to administer a knockout to that angry chauffeur, he seemed to this hobbledehoy peculiarly a proper person for athletic confidences. Newton's mind seemed gradually filling up with interests that displaced the psychological complex out of which oozed the bad stories and filthy allusion. Jim attributed much of this to the clear mountain atmosphere which surrounded Raymond Simms, the ignorant barbarian driven out of his native hills by a feud. Raymond was of the open spaces, and refused to hear fetid things that seemed out of place in them. There was a dignity which impressed Newton, in the blank gaze with which Raymond greeted Newton's sallies that were wont to set the village pool room in a roar; but how could you have a fuss with a feller who knew all about trapping, who had seen a man shot, who had shot a bear, who had killed wild turkeys, who had trapped a hundred dollars' worth of furs in one winter, who knew the proper "sets" for all fur-bearing animals, and whom you liked, and who liked you? As the reason for Newton's improvement in manner of living, Raymond, out of his own experience, would have had no hesitation in naming the school and the schoolmaster. "I wouldn't go back on a friend," said Newton, seated on the stump with his traps on the ground at his feet, "the way you're going back on me." "You got no call to talk thataway," replied the mountain boy. "How'm I goin' back on you?" "We was goin' to trap all winter," asseverated Newton, "and next winter we were goin' up in the north woods together." "You know," said Raymond somberly, "that we cain't run any trap line and do whut we got to do to he'p Mr. Jim." Newton sat mute as one having no rejoinder. "Mr. Jim," went on Raymond, "needs all the he'p every kid in this settlement kin give him. He's the best friend I ever had. I'm a pore ignerant boy, an' he teaches me how to do things that will make me something." "Darn it all!" said Newton. "You know," said Raymond, "that you'd think mahgty small of me, if I'd desert Mr. Jim Irwin." "Well, then," replied Newton, seizing his traps and throwing them across his shoulder, "come on with the traps, and shut up! What'll we do when the school board gets Jennie Woodruff to revoke his certificate and make him quit teachin', hey?" "Nobody'll eveh do that," said Raymond. "I'd set in the schoolhouse do' with my rifle and shoot anybody that'd come to th'ow Mr. Jim outen the school." "Not in this country," said Newton. "This ain't a gun country." "But it orto be either a justice kentry, or a gun kentry," replied the mountain boy. "It stands to reason it must be one 'r the otheh, Newton." "No, it don't, neither," said Newton dogmatically. "Why should they th'ow Mr. Jim outen the school?" inquired Raymond. "Ain't he teachin' us right?" Newton explained for the tenth time that his father, Mr. Con Bonner and Mr. Haakon Peterson had not meant to hire Jim Irwin at all, but each had voted for him so that he might have one vote. They were all against him from the first, but they had not known how to get rid of him. Now, however, Jim had done so many things that no teacher was supposed to do, and had left undone so many things that teachers were bound by custom to perform, that Newton's father and Mr. Bonner and Mr. Peterson had made up up their minds that they would call upon him to resign, and if he wouldn't, they would "turn him out" in some way. And the best way if they could do it, would be to induce County Superintendent Woodruff, who didn't like Jim since the speech he made at the political meeting, to revoke his certificate. "What wrong's he done committed?" asked Raymond. "I don't know what teachers air supposed to do in this kentry, but Mr. Jim seems to be the only shore-enough teacher I ever see!" "He don't teach out of the books the school board adopted," replied Newton. "But he makes up better lessons," urged Raymond. "An' all the things we do in school, he'ps us make a livin'." "He begins at eight in the mornin'," said Newton, "an' he has some of us there till half past five, and comes back in the evening. And every Saturday, some of the kids are doin' something at the schoolhouse." "They don't pay him for overtime, do they?" queried Raymond. "Well, then, they orto, instid of turnin' him out!" "Well, they'll turn him out!" prophesied Newton. "I'm havin' more fun in school than I ever--an' that's why I'm with you on this quittin' trapping--but they'll get Jim, all right!" "I'm having something betteh'n fun," replied Raymond. "My pap has never understood this kentry, an' we-all has had bad times hyeh; but Mr. Jim an' I have studied out how I can make a betteh livin' next year--and pap says we kin go on the way Mr. Jim says. I'll work for Colonel Woodruff a part of the time, an' pap kin make corn in the biggest field. It seems we didn't do our work right last year--an' in a couple of years, with the increase of the hawgs, an' the land we kin get under plow...." Raymond was off on his pet dream of becoming something better than the oldest of the Simms tribe of outcasts, and Newton was subconsciously impressed by the fact that never for a moment did Raymond's plans fail to include the elevation with him of Calista and Jinnie and Buddy and Pap and Mam. It was taken for granted that the Simmses sank or swam together, whether their antagonists were poverty and ignorance, or their ancient foes, the Hobdays. Newton drew closer to Raymond's side. It was still an hour before nine--when the rural school traditionally "takes up"--when the boys had stored their traps in a shed at the Bronson home, and walked on to the schoolhouse. That rather scabby and weathered edifice was already humming with industry of a sort. In spite of the hostility of the school board, and the aloofness of the patrons of the school, the pupils were clearly interested in Jim Irwin's system of rural education. Never had the attendance been so large or regular; and one of the reasons for sessions before nine and after four was the inability of the teacher to attend to the needs of his charges in the five and a half hours called "school hours." This, however, was not the sole reason. It was the new sort of work which commanded the attention of Raymond and Newton as they entered. This morning, Jim had arranged in various sorts of dishes specimens of grain and grass seeds. By each was a card bearing the name of the farm from which one of the older boys or girls had brought it. "Wheat, Scotch Fife, from the farm of Columbus Smith." "Timothy, or Herd's Grass, from the farm of A. B. Talcott." "Alsike Clover, from the farm of B. B. Hamm." Each lot was in a small cloth bag which had been made by one of the little girls as a sewing exercise; and each card had been written as a lesson in penmanship by one of the younger pupils, and contained, in addition to the data above mentioned, heads under which to enter the number of grains of the seed examined, the number which grew, the percentage of viability, the number of alien seeds of weeds and other sorts, the names of these adulterants, the weight of true and vitalized, and of foul and alien and dead seeds, the value per bushel in the local market of the seeds under test, and the real market values of the samples, after dead seeds and alien matter had been subtracted. "Now get busy, here," cried Jim Irwin. "We're late! Raymond, you've a quick eye--you count seeds--and you, Calista, and Mary Smith--and mind, next year's crop may depend on making no mistakes!" "Mistakes!" scoffed Mary Smith, a dumpy girl of fourteen. "We don't make mistakes any more, teacher." It was a frolic, rather than a task. All had come with a perfect understanding that this early attendance was quite illegal, and not to be required of them--but they came. "Newt," suggested Jim, "get busy on the percentage problems for that second class in arithmetic." "Sure," said Newt. "Let's see.... Good seed is the base, and bad seed and dead seed the percentage--find the rate...." "Oh, you know!" said Jim. "Make them easy and plain and as many as you can get out--and be sure that you name the farm every pop!" "Got you!" answered Newton, and in a fine frenzy went at the job of creating a text-book in arithmetic. "Buddy," said Jim, patting the youngest Simms on the head, "you and Virginia can print the reading lessons this morning, can't you?" "Yes, Mr. Jim," answered both McGeehee Simms and his sister cheerily. "Where's the copy?" "Here," answered the teacher, handing each a typewritten sheet for use as the original from which the young mountaineers were to make hectograph copies, "and mind you make good copies! Bettina Hansen pretty nearly cried last night because she had to write them over so many times on the typewriter before she got them all right." The reading lesson was an article on corn condensed from a farm paper, and a selection from _Hiawatha_--the Indian-corn myth. "We'll be careful, Mr. Jim," said Buddy. Half past eight, and only half an hour until school would officially be "called." Newton Bronson was writing in aniline ink for the hectographs, such problems as these: "If Mr. Ezra Bronson's seed wheat carries in each 250 grains, ten cockle grains, fifteen rye grains, twenty fox-tail seeds, three iron-weed seeds, two wild oats grains, twenty-seven wild buckwheat seeds, one wild morning-glory seed, and eighteen lamb's quarter seeds, what percentage of the seeds sown is wheat, and what foul seed?" "If in each 250 grains of wheat in Mr. Bronson's bins, 30 are cracked, dead or otherwise not capable of sprouting, what per cent, of the seed sown will grow?" "If the foul seed and dead wheat amount to one-eighth by weight of the mass, what did Mr. Bronson pay per bushel for the good wheat, if it cost him $1.10 in the bin, and what per cent, did he lose by the adulterations and the poor wheat?" Jim ran over these rapidly. "Your mathematics is good, Newton," said the schoolmaster, "but if you expect to pass in penmanship, you'll have to take more pains." "How about the grammar?" asked Newton. "The writing is pretty bad, I'll own up." "The grammar is good this morning. You're gradually mastering the art of stating a problem in arithmetic in English--and that's improvement." The hands of Jim Irwin's dollar watch gradually approached the position indicating nine o'clock--at which time the schoolmaster rapped on his desk and the school came to order. Then, for a while, it became like other schools. A glance over the room enabled him to enter the names of the absentees, and those tardy. There was a song by the school, the recitation in concert of _Little Brown Hands_, some general remarks and directions by the teacher, and the primary pupils came forward for their reading exercises. A few classes began poring over their text-books, but most of the pupils had their work passed out to them in the form of hectograph copies of exercises prepared in the school itself. As the little ones finished their recitations, they passed to the dishes of wheat, and began aiding Raymond's squad in the counting and classifying of the various seeds. They counted to five, and they counted the fives. They laughed in a subdued way, and whispered constantly, but nobody seemed disturbed. "Do they help much, Calista?" asked the teacher, as the oldest Simms girl came to his desk for more wheat. "No, seh, not much," replied Calista, beaming, "but they don't hold us back any--and maybe they do he'p a little." "That's good," said Jim, "and they enjoy it, don't they?" "Oh, yes, Mr. Jim," assented Calista, "and the way Buddy is learnin' to count is fine! They-all will soon know all the addition they is, and a lot of multiplication. Angie Talcott knows the kinds of seeds better'n what I do!" CHAPTER VIII AND THE OLD BOTTLES The day passed. Four o'clock came. In order that all might reach home for supper, there was no staying, except that Newt Bronson and Raymond Simms remained to sweep and dust the schoolroom, and prepare kindling for the next morning's fire--a work they had taken upon themselves, so as to enable the teacher to put on the blackboards such outlines for the morrow's class work as might be required. Jim was writing on the board a list of words constituting a spelling exercise. They were not from the text-book, but grew naturally out of the study of the seed wheat--"cockle," "morning-glory," "convolvulus," "viable," "viability," "sprouting," "iron-weed" and the like. A tap was heard at the door, and Raymond Simms opened it. In filed three women--and Jim Irwin knew as he looked at them that he was greeting a deputation, and felt that it meant a struggle. For they were the wives of the members of the school board. He placed for them the three available chairs, and in the absence of any for himself remained standing before them, a gaunt shabby-looking revolutionist at the bar of settled usage and fixed public opinion. Mrs. Haakon Peterson was a tall blonde woman who, when she spoke betrayed her Scandinavian origin by the northern burr to her "r's," and a slight difficulty with her "j's," her "y's" and long "a's." She was slow-spoken and dignified, and Jim felt an instinctive respect for her personality. Mrs. Bronson was a good motherly woman, noted for her housekeeping, and for her church activities. She looked oftener at her son, and his friend Raymond than at the schoolmaster. Mrs. Bonner was the most voluble of the three, and was the only one who shook hands with Jim; but in spite of her rather offhand manner, Jim sensed in the little, black-eyed Irishwoman the real commander of the expedition against him--for such he knew it to be. "You may think it strange of us coming after hours," said she, "but we wanted to speak to you, teacher, without the children here." "I wish more of the parents would call," said Jim. "At any hour of the day." "Or night either, I dare say," suggested Mrs. Bonner. "I hear you've the scholars here at all hours, Jim." Jim smiled his slow patient smile. "We do break the union rules, I guess, Mrs. Bonner," said he; "there seems to be more to do than we can get done during school hours." "What right have ye," struck in Mrs. Bonner, "to be burning the district's fuel, and wearing out the school's property out of hours like that--not that it's anny of my business," she interposed, hastily, as if she had been diverted from her chosen point of attack. "I just thought of it, that's all. What we came for, Mr. Irwin, is to object to the way the teachin's being done--corn and wheat, and hogs and the like, instead of the learnin' schools was made to teach." "Schools were made to prepare children for life, weren't they, Mrs. Bonner?" "To be sure," went on Mrs. Bonner, "I can see an' the whole district can see that it's easier for a man that's been a farm-hand to teach farm-hand knowledge, than the learnin' schools was set up to teach; but if so be he hasn't the book education to do the right thing, we think he should get out and give a real teacher a chance." "What am I neglecting?" asked Jim mildly. Mrs. Bonner seemed unprepared for the question, and sat for an instant mute. Mrs. Peterson interposed her attack while Mrs. Bonner might be recovering her wind. "We people that have had a hard time," she said in a precise way which seemed to show that she knew exactly what she wanted, "want to give our boys and girls a chance to live easier lives than we lived. We don't want our children taught about nothing but work. We want higher things." "Mrs. Peterson," said Jim earnestly, "we must have first things first. Making a living is the first thing--and the highest." "Haakon and I will look after making a living for our family," said she. "We want our children to learn nice things, and go to high school, and after a while to the Juniwersity." "And I," declared Jim, "will send out from this school, if you will let me, pupils better prepared for higher schools than have ever gone from it--because they will be trained to think in terms of action. They will go knowing that thoughts must always be linked with things. Aren't your children happy in school, Mrs. Peterson?" "I don't send them to school to be happy, Yim," replied Mrs. Peterson, calling him by the name most familiarly known to all of them; "I send them to learn to be higher people than their father and mother. That's what America means!" "They'll be higher people--higher than their parents--higher than their teacher--they'll be efficient farmers, and efficient farmers' wives. They'll be happy, because they will know how to use more brains in farming than any lawyer or doctor or merchant can possibly use in his business. I'm educating them to find an outlet for genius in farming!" "It's a fine thing," said Mrs. Bonner, coming to the aid of her fellow soldiers, "to work hard for a lifetime, an' raise nothing but a family of farmers! A fine thing!" "They will be farmers anyhow," cried Jim, "in spite of your efforts--ninety out of every hundred of them! And of the other ten, nine will be wage-earners in the cities, and wish to God they were back on the farm; and the hundredth one will succeed in the city. Shall we educate the ninety-and-nine to fail, that the hundredth, instead of enriching the rural life with his talents, may steal them away to make the city stronger? It is already too strong for us farmers. Shall we drive our best away to make it stronger?" The guns of Mrs. Bonner and Mrs. Peterson were silenced for a moment, and Mrs. Bronson, after gazing about at the typewriter, the hectograph, the exhibits of weed seeds, the Babcock milk tester, and the other unscholastic equipment, pointed to the list of words, and the arithmetic problems on the board. "Do you get them words from the speller?" she asked. "No," said he, "we got them from a lesson on seed wheat." "Did them examples come out of an arithmetic book?" cross-examined she. "No," said Jim, "we used problems we made ourselves. We were figuring profits and losses on your cows, Mrs. Bronson!" "Ezra Bronson," said Mrs. Bronson loftily, "don't need any help in telling what's a good cow. He was farming before you was born!" "Like fun, he don't need help! He's going to dry old Cherry off and fatten her for beef; and he can make more money on the cream by beefing about three more of 'em. The Babcock test shows they're just boarding on us without paying their board!" The delegation of matrons ruffled like a group of startled hens at this interposition, which was Newton Bronson's effective seizing of the opportunity to issue a progress bulletin in the research work on the Bronson dairy herd. "Newton!" said his mother, "don't interrupt me when I'm talking to the teacher!" "Well, then," said Newton, "don't tell the teacher that pa knew which cows were good and which were poor. If any one in this district wants to know about their cows they'll have to come to this shop. And I can tell you that it'll pay 'em to come too, if they're going to make anything selling cream. Wait until we get out our reports on the herds, ma!" The women were rather stampeded by this onslaught of the irregular troops--especially Mrs. Bronson. She was placed in the position of a woman taking a man's wisdom from her ne'er-do-well son for the first time in her life. Like any other mother in this position, she felt a flutter of pride--but it was strongly mingled with a motherly desire to spank him. The deputation rose, with a unanimous feeling that they had been scored upon. "Cows!" scoffed Mrs. Peterson. "If we leave you in this yob, Mr. Irwin, our children will know nothing but cows and hens and soils and grains--and where will the culture come in? How will our boys and girls appear when we get fixed so we can move to town? We won't have no culture at all, Yim!" "Culture!" exclaimed Jim. "Why--why, after ten years of the sort of school I would give you if I were a better teacher, and could have my way, the people of the cities would be begging to have their children admitted so that they might obtain real culture--culture fitting them for life in the twentieth century--" "Don't bother to get ready for the city children, Jim," said Mrs. Bonner sneeringly, "you won't be teaching the Woodruff school that long." All this time, the dark-faced Cracker had been glooming from a corner, earnestly seeking to fathom the wrongness he sensed in the gathering. Now he came forward. "I reckon I may be making a mistake to say anything," said he, "f'r we-all is strangers hyeh, an' we're pore; but I must speak out for Mr. Jim--I must! Don't turn him out, folks, f'r he's done mo' f'r us than eveh any one done in the world!" "What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Peterson. "I mean," said Raymond, "that when Mr. Jim began talking school to us, we was a pore no-'count lot without any learnin', with nothin' to talk about except our wrongs, an' our enemies, and the meanness of the Iowa folks. You see we didn't understand you-all. An' now, we have hope. We done got hope from this school. We're goin' to make good in the world. We're getting education. We're all learnin' to use books. My little sister will be as good as anybody, if you'll just let Mr. Jim alone in this school--as good as any one. An' I'll he'p pap get a farm, and we'll work and think at the same time, an' be happy!" CHAPTER IX JENNIE ARRANGES A CHRISTMAS PARTY The great party magnates who made up the tickets from governor down to the lowest county office, doubtless regarded the little political plum shaken off into the apron of Miss Jennie Woodruff of the Woodruff District, as the very smallest and least bloomy of all the plums on the tree; but there is something which tends to puff one up in the mere fact of having received the votes of the people for any office, especially in a region of high average civilization, covering six hundred or seven hundred square miles of good American domain. Jennie was a sensible country girl. Being sensible, she tried to avoid uppishness. But she did feel some little sense of increased importance as she drove her father's little one-cylinder runabout over the smooth earth roads, in the crisp December weather, just before Christmas. The weather itself was stimulating, and she was making rapid progress in the management of the little car which her father had offered to lend her for use in visiting the one hundred or more rural schools soon to come under her supervision. She rather fancied the picture of herself, clothed in more or less authority and queening it over her little army of teachers. Mr. Haakon Peterson was phlegmatically conscious that she made rather an agreeable picture, as she stopped her car alongside his top buggy to talk with him. She had bright blue eyes, fluffy brown hair, a complexion whipped pink by the breeze, and she smiled at him ingratiatingly. "Don't you think father is lovely?" said she. "He is going to let me use the runabout when I visit the schools." "That will be good," said Haakon. "It will save you lots of time. I hope you make the county pay for the gasoline." "I haven't thought about that," said Jennie. "Everybody's been so nice to me--I want to give as well as receive." "Why," said Haakon, "you will yust begin to receive when your salary begins in Yanuary." "Oh, no!" said Jennie. "I've received much more than that now! You don't know how proud I feel. So many nice men I never knew before, and all my old friends like you working for me in the convention and at the polls, just as if I amounted to something." "And you don't know how proud I feel," said Haakon, "to have in county office a little girl I used to hold on my lap." In early times, when Haakon was a flat-capped immigrant boy, he had earned the initial payment on his first eighty acres of prairie land as a hired man on Colonel Woodruff's farm. Now he was a rather richer man than the colonel, and not a little proud of his ascent to affluence. He was a mild-spoken, soft-voiced Scandinavian, quite completely Americanized, and possessed of that aptitude for local politics which makes so good a citizen of the Norwegian and Swede. His influence was always worth fifty to sixty Scandinavian votes in any county election. He was a good party man and conscious of being entitled to his voice in party matters. This seemed to him an opportunity for exerting a bit of political influence. "Yennie," said he, "this man Yim Irwin needs to be lined up." "Lined up! What do you mean?" "The way he is doing in the school," said Haakon, "is all wrong. If you can't line him up, he will make you trouble. We must look ahead. Everybody has his friends, and Yim Irwin has his friends. If you have trouble with him, his friends will be against you when we want to nominate you for a second term. The county is getting close. If we go to conwention without your home delegation it would weaken you, and if we nominate you, every piece of trouble like this cuts down your wote. You ought to line him up and have him do right." "But he is so funny," said Jennie. "He likes you," said Haakon. "You can line him up." Jennie blushed, and to conceal her slight embarrassment, got out for the purpose of cranking her machine. "But if I can not line him up?" said she. "I tank," said Haakon, "if you can't line him up, you will have a chance to rewoke his certificate when you take office." So Jim Irwin was to be crushed like an insect. The little local gearing of the big party machine was to crush him. Jennie dimly sensed the tragedy of it, but very dimly. Mainly she thought of Mr. Peterson's suggestion as to "lining up" Jim Irwin as so thoroughly sensible that she gave it a good deal of thought that day. She could not help feeling a little resentment at Jim for following his own fads and fancies so far. We always resent the necessity of crushing any weak creature which must needs be wiped out. The idea that there could be anything fundamentally sane in his overturning of the old and tried school methods under which both he and she had been educated, was absurd to Jennie. To be sure, everybody had always favored "more practical education," and Jim's farm arithmetic, farm physiology, farm reading and writing, cow-testing exercises, seed analysis, corn clubs and the tomato, poultry and pig clubs he proposed to have in operation the next summer, seemed highly practical; but to Jennie's mind, the fact that they introduced dissension in the neighborhood and promised to make her official life vexatious, seemed ample proof that Jim's work was visionary and impractical. Poor Jennie was not aware of the fact that new truth always comes bringing, not peace to mankind, but a sword. "Father," said she that night, "let's have a little Christmas party." "All right," said the colonel. "Whom shall we invite?" "Don't laugh," said she. "I want to invite Jim Irwin and his mother, and nobody else." "All right," reiterated the colonel. "But why?" "Oh," said Jennie, "I want to see whether I can talk Jim out of some of his foolishness." "You want to line him up, do you?" said the colonel. "Well, that's good politics, and incidentally, you may get some good ideas out of Jim." "Rather unlikely," said Jennie. "I don't know about that," said the colonel, smiling. "I begin to think that Jim's a Brown Mouse. I've told you about the Brown Mouse, haven't I?" "Yes," said Jennie. "You've told me. But Professor Darbishire's brown mice were simply wild and incorrigible creatures. Just because it happens to emerge suddenly from the forests of heredity, it doesn't prove that the Brown Mouse is any good." "Justin Morgan was a Brown Mouse," said the colonel. "And he founded the greatest breed of horses in the world." "You say that," said Jennie, "because you're a lover of the Morgan horse." "Napoleon Bonaparte was a Brown Mouse," said the colonel. "So was George Washington, and so was Peter the Great. Whenever a Brown Mouse appears he changes things in a little way or a big way." "For the better, always?" asked Jennie. "No," said the colonel. "The Brown Mouse may throw back to slant-headed savagery. But Jim ... sometimes I think Jim is the kind of Mendelian segregation out of which we get Franklins and Edisons and their sort. You may get some good ideas out of Jim. Let us have them here for Christmas, by all means." In due time Jennie's invitation reached Jim and his mother, like an explosive shell fired from a distance into their humble dwelling--quite upsetting things. Twenty-five years constitute rather a long wait for social recognition, and Mrs. Irwin had long since regarded herself as quite outside society. To be sure, for something like half of this period, she had been of society if not in it. She had done the family washings, scrubbings and cleanings, had made the family clothes and been a woman of all work, passing from household to household, in an orbit determined by the exigencies of threshing, harvesting, illness and child-bearing. At such times she sat at the family table and participated in the neighborhood gossip, in quite the manner of a visiting aunt or other female relative; but in spite of the democracy of rural life, there is and always has been a social difference between a hired woman and an invited guest. And when Jim, having absorbed everything which the Woodruff school could give him in the way of education, found his first job at "making a hand," Mrs. Irwin, at her son's urgent request, ceased going out to work for a while, until she could get back her strength. This she had never succeeded in doing, and for a dozen years or more had never entered a single one of the houses in which she had formerly served. "I can't go, James," said she; "I can't possibly go." "Oh, yes, you can! Why not?" said Jim. "Why not?" "You know I don't go anywhere," urged Mrs. Irwin. "That's no reason," said her son. "I haven't a thing to wear," said Mrs. Irwin. "Nothing to wear!" I wonder if any ordinary person can understand the shock with which Jim Irwin heard those words from his mother's lips. He was approaching thirty, and the association of the ideas of Mother and Costume was foreign to his mind. Other women had surfaces different from hers, to be sure--but his mother was not as other women. She was just Mother, always at work in the house or in the garden, always doing for him those inevitable things which made up her part in life, always clothed in the browns, grays, gray-blues, neutral stripes and checks which were cheap and common and easily made. Clothes! They were in the Irwin family no more than things by which the rules of decency were complied with, and the cold of winter turned back--but as for their appearance! Jim had never given the thing a thought further than to wear out his Sunday best in the schoolroom, to wonder where the next suit of Sunday best was to come from, and to buy for his mother the cheap and common fabrics which she fashioned into the garments in which alone, it seemed to him, she would seem like Mother. A boy who lives until he is nearly thirty in intimate companionship with Carlyle, Thoreau, Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Emerson, Professor Henry, Liberty H. Bailey, Cyril Hopkins, Dean Davenport and the great obscurities of the experiment stations, may be excused if his views regarding clothes are derived in a transcendental manner from _Sartor Resartus_ and the agricultural college tests as to the relation between Shelter and Feeding. "Why, mother," said he, "I think it would be pretty hard to explain to the Woodruffs that you stayed away because of clothes. They have seen you in the clothes you wear pretty often for the last thirty years!" * * * * * Was a woman ever quite without a costume? Mrs. Irwin gazed at vacancy for a while, and went to the old bureau. From the bottom drawer she took an old, old black alpaca dress--a dress which Jim had never seen. She spread it out on her bed in the alcove off the combined kitchen, parlor and dining-room in which they lived, and smoothed out the wrinkles. It was almost whole, save for the places where her body, once so much fuller than now, had drawn the threads apart--under the arms, and at some of the seams--and she handled it as one deals with something very precious. "I never thought I'd wear it again," said she, "but once. I've been saving it for my last dress. But I guess it won't hurt to wear it once for the benefit of the living." Jim kissed his mother--a rare thing, save as the caress was called for by the established custom between them. "Don't think of that, mother," said he, "for years and years yet!" CHAPTER X HOW JIM WAS LINED UP There is no doubt that Jennie Woodruff was justified in thinking that they were a queer couple. They weren't like the Woodruffs, at all. They were of a different pattern. To be sure, Jim's clothes were not especially noteworthy, being just shiny, and frayed at cuff and instep, and short of sleeve and leg, and ill-fitting and cheap. They betrayed poverty, and the inability of a New York sweatshop to anticipate the prodigality of Nature in the matter of length of leg and arm, and wealth of bones and joints which she had lavished upon Jim Irwin. But the Woodruff table had often enjoyed Jim's presence, and the standards prevailing there as to clothes were only those of plain people who eat with their hired men, buy their clothes at a county seat town, and live simply and sensibly on the fat of the land. Jim's queerness lay not so much in his clothes as in his personality. On the other hand, Jennie could not help thinking that Mrs. Irwin's queerness was to be found almost solely in her clothes. The black alpaca looked undeniably respectable, especially when it was helped out by a curious old brooch of goldstone, bordered with flowers in blue and white and red and green--tiny blossoms of little stones which looked like the flowers which grow at the snow line on Pike's Peak. Jennie felt that it must be a cheap affair, but it was decorative, and she wondered where Mrs. Irwin got it. She guessed it must have a story--a story in which the stooped, rusty, somber old lady looked like a character drawn to harmonize with the period just after the war. For the black alpaca dress looked more like a costume for a masquerade than a present-day garment, and Mrs. Irwin was so oppressed with doubt as to whether she was presentable, with knowledge that her dress didn't fit, and with the difficulty of behaving naturally--like a convict just discharged from prison after a ten years' term--that she took on a stiffness of deportment quite in keeping with the idea that she was a female Rip Van Winkle not yet quite awake. But Jennie had the keenness to see that if Mrs. Irwin could have had an up-to-date costume she would have become a rather ordinary and not bad-looking old lady. What Jennie failed to divine was that if Jim could have invested a hundred dollars in the services of tailors, haberdashers, barbers and other specialists in personal appearance, and could for this hour or so have blotted out his record as her father's field-hand, he would have seemed to her a distinguished-looking young man. Not handsome, of course, but the sort people look after--and follow. "Come to dinner," said Mrs. Woodruff, who at this juncture had a hired girl, but was yoked to the oar nevertheless when it came to turkey and the other fixings of a Christmas dinner. "It's good enough, what there is of it, and there's enough of it such as it is--but the dressing in the turkey would be better for a little more sage!" The bountiful meal piled mountain high for guest and hired help and family melted away in a manner to delight the hearts of Mrs. Woodruff and Jennie. The colonel, in stiff starched shirt, black tie and frock coat, carved with much empressement, and Jim felt almost for the first time a sense of the value of manner. "I had bigger turkeys," said Mrs. Woodruff to Mrs. Irwin, "but I thought it would be better to cook two turkey-hens instead of one great big gobbler with meat as tough as tripe and stuffed full of fat." "One of the hens would 'a' been plenty," replied Mrs. Irwin. "How much did they weigh?" "About fifteen pounds apiece," was the answer. "The gobbler would 'a' weighed thirty, I guess. He's pure Mammoth Bronze." "I wish," said Jim, "that we could get a few breeding birds of the wild bronze turkeys from Mexico." "Why?" asked the colonel. "They're the original blood of the domestic bronze turkeys," said Jim, "and they're bigger and handsomer than the pure-bred bronzes, even. They're a better stock than the northern wild turkeys from which our common birds originated." "Where do you learn all these things, Jim?" asked Mrs. Woodruff. "I declare, I often tell Woodruff that it's as good as a lecture to have Jim Irwin at table. My intelligence has fallen since you quit working here, Jim." There came into Jim's eyes the gleam of the man devoted to a Cause--and the dinner tended to develop into a lecture. Jennie saw a little more plainly wherein his queerness lay. "There's an education in any meal, if we would just use the things on the table as materials for study, and follow their trails back to their starting-points. This turkey takes us back to the chaparral of Mexico----" "What's chaparral?" asked Jennie, as a diversion. "It's one of the words I have seen so often and know perfectly to speak it and read it--but after all it's just a word, and nothing more." "Ain't that the trouble with our education, Jim?" queried the colonel, cleverly steering Jim back into the track of his discourse. "They are not even living words," answered Jim, "unless we have clothed them in flesh and blood through some sort of concrete notion. 'Chaparral' to Jennie is just the ghost of a word. Our civilization is full of inefficiency because we are satisfied to give our children these ghosts and shucks and husks of words, instead of the things themselves, that can be seen and hefted and handled and tested and heard." Jennie looked Jim over carefully. His queerness was taking on a new phase--and she felt a sense of surprise such as one experiences when the conjurer causes a rose to grow into a tree before your very eyes. Jim's development was not so rapid, but Jennie's perception of it was. She began to feel proud of the fact that a man who could make his impractical notions seem so plausible--and who was clearly fired with some sort of evangelistic fervor--had kissed her, once or twice, on bringing her home from the spelling school. "I think we lose so much time in school," Jim went on, "while the children are eating their dinners." "Well, Jim," said Mrs. Woodruff, "every one but you is down on the human level. The poor kids have to eat!" "But think how much good education there is wrapped up in the school dinner--if we could only get it out." Jennie grew grave. Here was this Brown Mouse actually introducing the subject of the school--and he ought to suspect that she was planning to line him up on this very thing--if he wasn't a perfect donkey as well as a dreamer. And he was calmly wading into the subject as if she were the ex-farm-hand country teacher, and he was the county superintendent-elect! "Eating a dinner like this, mother," said the colonel gallantly, "is an education in itself--and eating some others requires one; but just how 'larnin' is wrapped up in the school lunch is a new one on me, Jim." "Well," said Jim, "in the first place the children ought to cook their meals as a part of the school work. Prior to that they ought to buy the materials. And prior to that they ought to keep the accounts of the school kitchen. They'd like to do these things, and it would help prepare them for life on an intelligent plane, while they prepared the meals." "Isn't that looking rather far ahead?" asked the county superintendent-elect. "It's like a lot of other things we think far ahead," urged Jim. "The only reason why they're far off is because we think them so. It's a thought--and a thought is as near the moment we think it as it will ever be." "I guess that's so--to a wild-eyed reformer," said the colonel. "But go on. Develop your thought a little. Have some more dressing." "Thanks, I believe I will," said Jim. "And a little more of the cranberry sauce. No more turkey, please." "I'd like to see the school class that could prepare this dinner," said Mrs. Woodruff. "Why," said Jim, "you'd be there showing them how! They'd get credits in their domestic-economy course for getting the school dinner--and they'd bring their mothers into it to help them stand at the head of their classes. And one detail of girls would cook one week, and another serve. The setting of the table would come in as a study--flowers, linen and all that. And when we get a civilized teacher, table manners!" "I'd take on that class," said the hired man, winking at Selma Carlson, the maid, from somewhere below the salt. "The way I make my knife feed my face would be a great help to the children." "And when the food came on the table," Jim went on, with a smile at his former fellow-laborer, who had heard most of this before as a part of the field conversation, "just think of the things we could study while eating it. The literary term for eating a meal is discussing it--well, the discussion of a meal under proper guidance is much more educative than a lecture. This breast-bone, now," said he, referring to the remains on his plate. "That's physiology. The cranberry-sauce--that's botany, and commerce, and soil management--do you know, Colonel, that the cranberry must have an acid soil--which would kill alfalfa or clover?" "Read something of it," said the colonel, "but it didn't interest me much." "And the difference between the types of fowl on the table--that's breeding. And the nutmeg, pepper and cocoanut--that's geography. And everything on the table runs back to geography, and comes to us linked to our lives by dollars and cents--and they're mathematics." "We must have something more than dollars and cents in life," said Jennie. "We must have culture." "Culture," cried Jim, "is the ability to think in terms of life--isn't it?" "Like Jesse James," suggested the hired man, who was a careful student of the life of that eminent bandit. There was a storm of laughter at this sally amidst which Jennie wished she had thought of something like that. Jim joined in the laughter at his own expense, but was clearly suffering from argumentative shock. "That's the best answer I've had on that point, Pete," he said, after the disturbance had subsided. "But if the James boys and the Youngers had had the sort of culture I'm for, they would have been successful stock men and farmers, instead of train-robbers. Take Raymond Simms, for instance. He had all the qualifications of a member of the James gang when he came here. All he needed was a few exasperated associates of his own sort, and a convenient railway with undefended trains running over it. But after a few weeks of real 'culture' under a mighty poor teacher, he's developing into the most enthusiastic farmer I know. That's real culture." "It's snowing like everything," said Jennie, who faced the window. "Don't cut your dinner short," said the colonel to Pete, "but I think you'll find the cattle ready to come in out of the storm when you get good and through." "I think I'll let 'em in now," said Pete, by way of excusing himself. "I expect to put in most of the day from now on getting ready to quit eating. Save some of everything for me, Selma,--I'll be right back!" "All right, Pete," said Selma. CHAPTER XI THE MOUSE ESCAPES Jennie played the piano and sang. They all joined in some simple Christmas songs. Mrs. Woodruff and Jim's mother went into other parts of the house on research work connected with their converse on domestic economy. The colonel withdrew for an inspection of the live stock on the eve of the threatened blizzard. And Jim was left alone with Jennie in the front parlor. After the buzz of conversation, they seemed to have nothing to say. Jennie played softly, and looked at nothing, but scrutinized Jim by means of the eyes which women have concealed in their back hair. There was something new in the man--she sensed that. He was more confident, more persuasive, more dynamic. She was used to him only as a static force. And Jim felt something new, too. He had felt it growing in him ever since he began his school work, and knew not the cause of it. The cause, however, would not have been a mystery to a wise old yogi who might discover the same sort of change in one of his young novices. Jim Irwin had been a sort of ascetic since his boyhood. He had mortified the flesh by hard labor in the fields, and by flagellations of the brain to drive off sleep while he pored over his books in the attic--which was often so hot after a day of summer's sun on its low thin roof, that he was forced to do his reading in the midmost night. He had looked long on such women as Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Isabel, Cressida, Volumnia, Virginia, Evangeline, Agnes Wickfleld and Fair Rosamond; but on women in the flesh he had gazed as upon trees walking. The aforesaid spiritual director, had this young ascetic been under one, would have foreseen the effects on the psychology of a stout fellow of twenty-eight of freedom from the toil of the fields, and association with a group of young human beings of both sexes. To the novice struggling for emancipation from earthly thoughts, he would have recommended fasting and prayer, and perhaps, a hair shirt. Just what his prescription would have been for a man in Jim's position is, of course, a question. He would, no doubt, have considered carefully his patient's symptoms. These were very largely the mental experiences which most boys pass through in their early twenties, save, perhaps that, as in a belated season, the transition from winter to spring was more sudden, and the contrast more violent. Jim was now thrown every day into contact with his fellows. He was no longer a lay monk, but an active member of a very human group. He was becoming more of a boy, with the boys, and still more was he developing into a man with the women. The budding womanhood of Calista Simms and the other girls of his school thrilled him as Helen of Troy or Juliet had never done. This will not seem very strange to the experienced reader, but it astonished the unsophisticated young schoolmaster. The floating hair, the heaving bosom, the rosebud mouth, the starry eye, the fragrant breath, the magnetic hand--all these disturbed the hitherto sedate mind, and filled the brief hours he was accustomed to spend in sleep with strange dreams. And now, as he gazed at Jennie, he was suddenly aware of the fact that, after all, whenever these thoughts and dreams took on individuality, they were only persistent and intensified continuations of his old dreams of her. They had always been dormant in him, since the days they both studied from the same book. He was quite sure, now, that he had never forgotten for a moment, that Jennie was the only girl in the world for him. And possibly he was right about this. It is perfectly certain, however, that for years he had not consciously been in love with her. Now, however, he arose as from some inner compulsion, and went to her side. He wished that he knew enough of music to turn her sheets for her, but, alas! the notes were meaningless to him. Still scanning him by means of her back hair, Jennie knew that in another moment Jim would lay his hand on her shoulder, or otherwise advance to personal nearness, as he had done the night of his ill-starred speech at the schoolhouse--and she rose in self-defense. Self-defense, however, did not seem to require that he be kept at too great a distance; so she maneuvered him to the sofa, and seated him beside her. Now was the time to line him up. "It seems good to have you with us to-day," said she. "We're such old, old friends." "Yes," repeated Jim, "old friends .... We are, aren't we, Jennie?" "And I feel sure," Jennie went on, "that this marks a new era in our friendship." "Why?" asked Jim, after considering the matter. "Oh! everything is different, now--and getting more different all the time. My new work, and your new work, you know." "I should like to think," said Jim, "that we are beginning over again." "Oh, we are, we are, indeed! I am quite sure of it." "And yet," said Jim, "there is no such thing as a new beginning. Everything joins itself to something which went before. There isn't any seam." "No?" said Jennie interrogatively. "Our regard for each other," Jennie noted most pointedly his word "regard"--"must be the continuation of the old regard." "I hardly know what you mean," said Jennie. Jim reached over and possessed himself of her hand. She pulled it from him gently, but he paid no attention to the little muscular protest, and examined the hand critically. On the back of the middle finger he pointed out a scar--a very tiny scar. "Do you remember how you got that?" he asked. Because Jim clung to the hand, their heads were very close together as she joined in the examination. "Why, I don't believe I do," said she. "I do," he replied. "We--you and I and Mary Forsythe were playing mumble-peg, and you put your hand on the grass just as I threw the knife--it cut you, and left that scar." "I remember, now!" said she. "How such things come back over the memory. And did it leave a scar when I pushed you toward the red-hot stove in the schoolhouse one blizzardy day, like this, and you peeled the skin off your wrist where it struck the stove?" "Look at it," said he, baring his long and bony wrist. "Right there!" And they were off on the trail that leads back to childhood. They had talked long, and intimately, when the shadows of the early evening crept into the corners of the room. He had carried her across the flooded slew again after the big rain. They had relived a dozen moving incidents by flood and field. Jennie recalled the time when the tornado narrowly missed the schoolhouse, and frightened everybody in school nearly to death. "Everybody but you, Jim," Jennie remembered. "You looked out of the window and told the teacher that the twister was going north of us, and would kill somebody else." "Did I?" asked Jim. "Yes," said Jennie, "and when the teacher asked us to kneel and thank God, you said, 'Why should we thank God that somebody else is blowed away?' She was greatly shocked." "I don't see to this day," Jim asserted, "what answer there was to my question." In the gathering darkness Jim again took Jennie's hand, but this time she deprived him of it. He was trembling like a leaf. Let it be remembered in his favor that this was the only girl's hand he had ever held. "You can't find any more scars on it," she said soberly. "Let me see how much it has changed since I stuck the knife in it," begged Jim. Jennie held it up for inspection. "It's longer, and slenderer, and whiter, and even more beautiful," said he, "than the little hand I cut; but it was then the most beautiful hand in the world to me--and still is." "I must light the lamps," said the county superintendent-elect, rather flustered, it must be confessed. "Mama! Where are all the matches?" Mrs. Woodruff and Mrs. Irwin came in, and the lamplight reminded Jim's mother that the cow was still to milk, and that the chickens might need attention. The Woodruff sleigh came to the door to carry them home; but Jim desired to breast the storm. He felt that he needed the conflict. Mrs. Irwin scolded him for his foolishness, but he strode off into the whirling drift, throwing back a good-by for general consumption, and a pathetic smile to Jennie. "He's as odd as Dick's hatband," said Mrs. Woodruff, "tramping off in a storm like this." "Did you line him up?" asked the colonel of Jennie. The young lady started and blushed. She had forgotten all about the politics of the situation. "I--I'm afraid I didn't, papa," she confessed. "Those brown mice of Professor Darbishire's," said the colonel, "were the devil and all to control." Jennie was thinking of this as she dropped asleep. "Hard to control!" she thought. "I wonder. I wonder, after all, if Jim is not capable of being easily lined up--when he sees how foolish I think he is!" And Jim? He found himself hard to control that night. So much so that it was after midnight before he had finished work on a plan for a cooperative creamery. "The boys can be given work in helping to operate it," he wrote on a tablet, "which, in connection with the labor performed by the teacher, will greatly reduce the expense of operation. A skilled butter-maker, with slender white hands"--but he erased this last clause and retired. CHAPTER XII FACING TRIAL A distinct sensation ran through the Woodruff school, but the schoolmaster and a group of five big boys and three girls engaged in a very unclasslike conference in the back of the room were all unconscious of it. The geography classes had recited, and the language work was on. Those too small for these studies were playing a game under the leadership of Jinnie Simms, who had been promoted to the position of weed-seed monitor. The game was forfeits. Each child had been encouraged to bring some sort of weed from the winter fields--preferably one the seed of which still clung to the dried receptacles--but anyhow, a weed. Some pupils had brought merely empty tassels, some bare stalks, and some seeds which they had winnowed from the grain in their father's bins; and with them they played forfeits. They counted out by the "arey, Ira, ickery an'" method, and somebody was "It." Then, in order, they presented to him a seed, stalk or head of a weed, and if the one who was It could tell the name of the weed, the child who brought the specimen became It, and the name was written on slates or tablets, and the new It told where the weed or seed was collected. If any pupil brought in a specimen the name of which he himself could not correctly give, he paid a forfeit. If a specimen was brought in not found in the school cabinet--which was coming to contain a considerable collection--it was placed there, and the task allotted to the best penman in the school to write its proper label. All this caused excitement, and not a little buzz--but it ceased when the county superintendent entered the room. For it was after the first of January, and Jennie was visiting the Woodruff school. The group in the back of the room went on with its conference, oblivious of the entrance of Superintendent Jennie. Their work was rather absorbing, being no more nor less than the compilation of the figures of a cow census of the district. "Altogether," said Mary Talcott, "we have in the district one hundred and fifty-three cows." "I don't make it that," said Raymond Simms. "I don't get but a hundred and thirty-eight." "The trouble is," said Newton Bronson, "that Mary's counting in the Bailey herd of Shorthorns." "Well, they're cows, ain't they?" interrogated Mary. "Not for this census," said Raymond. "Why not?" asked Mary. "They're the prettiest cows in the neighborhood." "Scotch Shorthorns," said Newton, "and run with their calves." "Leave them out," said Jim, "and to-morrow, I want each one to tell in the language class, in three hundred words or less, whether there are enough cows in the district to justify a cooperative creamery, and give the reason. You'll find articles in the farm papers if you look through the card index. Now, how about the census in the adjoining districts?" "There are more than two hundred within four miles on the roads leading west," said a boy. "My father and I counted up about a hundred beyond us," said Mary. "But I couldn't get the exact number." "Why," said Raymond, "we could find six hundred dairy cows in this neighborhood, within an hour's drive." "Six hundred!" scoffed Newton. "You're crazy! In an hour's drive?" "I mean an hour's drive each way," said Raymond. "I believe we could," said Jim. "And after we find how far we will have to go to get enough cows, if half of them patronized the creamery, we'll work over the savings the business would make, if we could get the prices for butter paid the Wisconsin cooperative creameries, as compared with what the centralizers pay us, on a basis of the last six months. Who's in possession of that correspondence with the Wisconsin creameries?" "I have it," said Raymond. "I'm hectographing a lot of arithmetic problems from it." "How do you do, Mr. Irwin!" It was the superintendent who spoke. Jim's brain whirled little prismatic clouds before his vision, as he rose and shook Jennie's extended hand. "Let me give you a chair," said he. "Oh, no, thank you!" she returned. "I'll just make myself at home. I know my way about in this schoolhouse, you know!" She smiled at the children, and went about looking at their work--which was not noticeably disturbed, by reason of the fact that visitors were much more frequent now than ever before, and were no rarity. Certainly, Jennie Woodruff was no novelty, since they had known her all their lives. Most of the embarrassment was Jim's. He rose to the occasion, however, went through the routine of the closing day, and dismissed the flock, not omitting making an engagement with a group of boys for that evening to come back and work on the formalin treatment for smut in seed grains, and the blue-vitriol treatment for seed potatoes. "We hadn't time for these things," said he to the county superintendent, "in the regular class work--and it's getting time to take them up if we are to clean out the smut in next year's crop." They repeated Whittier's _Corn Song_ in concert, and school was out. Alone with her in the old schoolhouse, Jim confronted Jennie in the flesh. She felt a sense of his agitation, but if she had known the power of it, she would have been astonished. Since that Christmas afternoon when she had undertaken to follow Mr. Peterson's advice and line Yim Irwin up, Jim had gone through an inward transformation. He had passed from a late, cold, backward sexual spring, into a warm June of the spirit, in which he had walked amid roses and lilies with Jennie. He was in love with her. He knew how insane it was, how much less than nothing had taken place in his circumstances to justify the hope that he could ever emerge from the state in which she would not say "Humph!" at the thought that he could marry her or any one else. Yet, he had made up his mind that he would marry Jennie Woodruff .... She ought never have tried to line him up. She knew not what she did. He saw her through clouds of rose and pink; but she looked at him as at a foolish man who was making trouble for her, chasing rainbows at her expense, and deeply vexing her. She was in a cold official frame of mind. "Jim," said she, "do you know that you are facing trouble?" "Trouble," said Jim, "is the natural condition of a man in my state of mind. But it is going to be a delicious sort of tribulation." "I don't know what you mean," she replied in perfect honesty. "Then I don't know what you mean," replied Jim. "Jim," she said pleadingly, "I want you to give up this sort of teaching. Can't you see it's all wrong?" "No," answered Jim, in much the manner of a man who has been stabbed by his sweetheart. "I can't see that it's wrong. It's the only sort I can do. What do you see wrong in it?" "Oh, I can see some very wonderful things in it," said Jennie, "but it can't be done in the Woodruff District. It may be correct in theory, but it won't work in practise." "Jennie," said he, "when a thing won't work, it isn't correct in theory." "Well, then, Jim," said she, "why do you keep on with it?" "It works," said Jim. "Anything that's correct in theory will work. If the theory seems correct, and yet won't work, it's because something is wrong in an unsuspected way with the theory. But my theory is correct, and it works." "But the district is against it." "Who are the district?" "The school board are against it." "The school board elected me after listening to an explanation of my theories as to the new sort of rural school in which I believe. I assume that they commissioned me to carry out my ideas." "Oh, Jim!" cried Jennie. "That's sophistry! They all voted for you so you wouldn't be without support. Each wanted you to have just one vote. Nobody wanted you elected. They were all surprised. You know that!" "They stood by and saw the contract signed," said Jim, "and--yes, Jennie, I _am_ dealing in sophistry! I got the school by a sort of shell-game, which the board worked on themselves. But that doesn't prove that the district is against me. I believe the people are for me, now, Jennie. I really do!" Jennie rose and walked to the rear of the room and back, twice. When she spoke, there was decision in her tone--and Jim felt that it was hostile decision. "As an officer," she said rather grandly, "my relations with the district are with the school board on the one hand, and with your competency as a teacher on the other." "Has it come to that?" asked Jim. "Well, I have rather expected it." His tone was weary. The Lincolnian droop in his great, sad, mournful mouth accentuated the resemblance to the martyr president. Possibly his feelings were not entirely different from those experienced by Lincoln at some crises of doubt, misunderstanding and depression. "If you can't change your methods," said Jennie, "I suggest that you resign." "Do you think," said Jim, "that changing my methods would appease the men who feel that they are made laughing-stocks by having elected me?" Jennie was silent; for she knew that the school board meant to pursue their policy of getting rid of the accidental incumbent regardless of his methods. "They would never call off their dogs," said Jim. "But your methods would make a great difference with my decision," said Jennie. "Are you to be called upon to decide?" asked Jim. "A formal complaint against you for incompetency," she replied, "has been lodged in my office, signed by the three directors. I shall be obliged to take notice of it." "And do you think," queried Jim, "that my abandonment of the things in which I believe in the face of this attack would prove to your mind that I am competent? Or would it show me incompetent?" Again Jennie was silent. "I guess," said Jim, "that we'll have to stand or fall on things as they are." "Do you refuse to resign?" asked Jennie. "Sometimes I think it's not worth while to try any longer," said Jim. "And yet, I believe that in my way I'm working on the question which must be solved if this nation is to stand--the question of making the farm and farm life what they should be and may well be. At this moment, I feel like surrendering--for your sake more than mine; but I'll have to think about it. Suppose I refuse to resign?" Jennie had drawn on her gloves, and stood ready for departure. "Unless you resign before the twenty-fifth," said she, "I shall hear the petition for your removal on that date. You will be allowed to be present and answer the charges against you. The charges are incompetency. I bid you good evening!" "Incompetency!" The disgraceful word, representing everything he had always despised, rang through Jim's mind as he walked home. He could think of nothing else as he sat at the simple supper which he could scarcely taste. Incompetent! Well, had he not always been incompetent, except in the use of his muscles? Had he not always been a dreamer? Were not all his dreams as foreign to life and common sense as the Milky Way from the earth? What reason was there for thinking that this crusade of his for better schools had any sounder foundation than hia dream of being president, or a great painter, or a poet or novelist or philosopher? He was just a hayseed, a rube, a misfit, as odd as Dick's hatband, an off ox. He _was_ incompetent. He picked up a pen, and began writing. He wrote, "To the Honorable the Board of Education of the Independent District of ----" And he heard a tap at the door. His mother admitted Colonel Woodruff. "Hello, Jim," said he. "Good evening, Colonel," said Jim. "Take a chair, won't you?" "No," replied the colonel. "I thought I'd see if you and the boys at the schoolhouse can't tell me something about the smut in my wheat. I heard you were going to work on that to-night." "I had forgotten!" said Jim. "I wondered if you hadn't," said the colonel, "and so I came by for you. I was waiting up the road. Come on, and ride up with me." The colonel had always been friendly, but there was a new note in his manner to-night. He was almost deferential. If he had been talking to Senator Cummins or the president of the state university, his tone could not have been more courteous, more careful to preserve the amenities due from man to man. He worked with the class on the problem of smut. He offered to aid the boys in every possible way in their campaign against scab in potatoes. He suggested some tests which would show the real value of the treatment. The boys were in a glow of pride at this cooperation with Colonel Woodruff. This was real work! Jim and the colonel went away together. It had been a great evening. "Jim," said the colonel, "can these kids spell?" "You mean these boys?" "I mean the school." "I think," said Jim, "that they can outspell any school about here." "Good," said the colonel. "How are they about reading aloud?" "Better than they were when I took hold." "How about arithmetic and the other branches? Have you sort of kept them up to the course of study?" "I have carried them in a course parallel to the text-books," said Jim, "and covering the same ground. But it has been vocational work, you know--related to life." "Well," said the colonel, "if I were you, I'd put them over a rapid review of the text-books for a few days--say between now and the twenty-fifth." "What for?" "Oh, nothing--just to please me .... And say, Jim, I glanced over a communication you have started to the more or less Honorable Board of Education." "Yes?" "Well, don't finish it .... And say, Jim, I think I'll give myself the luxury of being a wild-eyed reformer for once." "Yes," said Jim, dazed. "And if you think, Jim, that you've got no friends, just remember that I'm for you." "Thank you, Colonel." "And we'll show them they're in a horse race." "I don't see ..." said Jim. "You're not supposed to see," said the colonel, "but you can bet that we'll be with them at the finish; and, by thunder! while they're getting a full meal, we'll get at least a lunch. See?" "But Jennie says," began Jim. "Don't tell me what she says," said the colonel. "She's acting according to her judgment, and her lights and other organs of perception, and I don't think it fittin' that her father should try to influence her official conduct. But you go on and review them common branches, and keep your nerve. I haven't felt so much like a scrap since the day we stormed Lookout Mountain. I kinder like being a wild-eyed reformer, Jim." CHAPTER XIII FAME OR NOTORIETY The office of county superintendent was, as a matter of course, the least desirable room of the court-house. I say "room" advisedly, because it consisted of a single chamber of moderate size, provided with office furniture of the minimum quantity and maximum age. It opened off the central hall at the upper end of the stairway which led to the court room, and when court was in session, served the extraordinary needs of justice as a jury room. At such times the county superintendent's desk was removed to the hall, where it stood in a noisy and confusing but very democratic publicity. Superintendent Jennie might have anticipated the time when, during the March term, offenders passing from the county jail in the basement to arraignment at the bar of justice might be able to peek over her shoulders and criticize her method of treating examination papers. On the twenty-fifth of February, however, this experience lurked unsuspected in her official future. Poor Jennie! She anticipated nothing more than the appearance of Messrs. Bronson, Peterson and Bonner in her office to confront Jim Irwin on certain questions of fact relating to Jim's competency to hold a teacher's certificate. The time appointed was ten o'clock. At nine forty-five Cornelius Bonner and his wife entered the office, and took twenty-five per cent. of the chairs therein. At nine fifty Jim Irwin came in, haggard, weather-beaten and seedy as ever, and looked as if he had neither eaten nor slept since his sweetheart stabbed him. At nine fifty-five Haakon Peterson and Ezra Bronson came in, accompanied by Wilbur Smythe, attorney-at-law, who carried under his arm a code of Iowa, a compilation of the school laws of the state, and _Throop on Public Officers_. At nine fifty-six, therefore, the crowd in Jennie's office exceeded its seating capacity, and Jennie was in a flutter as the realization dawned upon her that this promised to be a bigger and more public affair than she had anticipated. At nine fifty-nine Raymond Simms opened the office door and there filed in enough children, large and small, some of them accompanied by their parents, and all belonging to the Woodruff school, to fill completely the interstices of the corners and angles of the room and between the legs of the grownups. In addition there remained an overflow meeting in the hall, under the command of that distinguished military gentleman, Colonel Albert Woodruff. "Say, Bill, come here!" said the colonel, crooking his finger at the deputy sheriff. "What you got here, Al!" said Bill, coming up the stairs, puffing. "Ain't it a little early for Sunday-school picnics?" "This is a school fight in our district," said the colonel. "It's Jennie's baptism of fire, I reckon ... and say, you're not using the court room, are you?" "Nope," said Bill. "Well, why not just slip around, then," said the colonel, "and tell Jennie she'd better adjourn to the big room." Which suggestion was acted upon instanter by Deputy Bill. "But I can't, I can't," said Jennie to the courteous deputy sheriff. "I don't want all this publicity, and I don't want to go into the court room." "I hardly see," said Deputy Bill, "how you can avoid it. These people seem to have business with you, and they can't get into your office." "But they have no business with me," said Jennie. "It's mere curiosity." Whereupon Wilbur Smythe, who could see no particular point in restricted publicity, said, "Madame County Superintendent, this hearing certainly is public or quasi-public. Your office is a public one, and while the right to attend this hearing may not possibly be a universal one, it surely is one belonging to every citizen and taxpayer of the county, and if the taxpayer, _qua_ taxpayer, then certainly _a fortiori_ to the members of the Woodruff school and residents of that district." Jennie quailed. "All right, all right!" said she. "But, shall I have to sit on the bench!" "You will find it by far the most convenient place," said Deputy Bill. Was this the life to which public office had brought her? Was it for this that she had bartered her independence--for this and the musty office, the stupid examination papers, and the interminable visiting of schools, knowing that such supervision as she could give was practically worthless? Jim had said to her that he had never heard of such a thing as a good county superintendent of schools, and she had thought him queer. And now, here was she, called upon to pass on the competency of the man who had always been her superior in everything that constitutes mental ability; and to make the thing more a matter for the laughter of the gods, she was perched on the judicial bench, which Deputy Bill had dusted off for her, tipping a wink to the assemblage while doing it. He expected to be a candidate for sheriff, one of these days, and was pleasing the crowd. And that crowd! To Jennie it was appalling. The school board under the lead of Wilbur Smythe took seats inside the railing which on court days divided the audience from the lawyers and litigants. Jim Irwin, who had never been in a court room before, herded with the crowd, obeying the attraction of sympathy, but to Jennie, seated on the bench, he, like other persons in the auditorium, was a mere blurry outline with a knob of a head on its top. She couldn't call the gathering to order. She had no idea as to the proper procedure. She sat there while the people gathered, stood about whispering and talking under their breaths, and finally became silent, all their eyes fixed on her, as she wished that the office of county superintendent had been abolished in the days of her parents' infancy. "May it please the court," said Wilbur Smythe, standing before the bar. "Or, Madame County Superintendent, I should say ..." A titter ran through the room, and a flush of temper tinted Jennie's face. They were laughing at her! She wouldn't be a spectacle any longer! So she rose, and handed down her first and last decision from the bench--a rather good one, I think. "Mr. Smythe," said she, "I feel very ill at ease up here, and I'm going to get down among the people. It's the only way I have of getting the truth." She descended from the bench, shook hands with everybody near her, and sat down by the attorney's table. "Now," said she, "this is no formal proceeding and we will dispense with red tape. If we don't, I shall get all tangled up in it. Where's Mr. Irwin? Please come in here, Jim. Now, I know there's some feeling in these things--there always seems to be; but I have none. So I'll just hear why Mr. Bronson, Mr. Peterson and Mr. Bonner think that Mr. James E. Irwin isn't competent to hold a certificate." Jennie was able to smile at them now, and everybody felt more at ease, save Jim Irwin, the members of the board and Wilbur Smythe. That individual arose, and talked down at Jennie. "I appear for the proponents here," said he, "and I desire to suggest certain principles of procedure which I take it belong indisputably to the conduct of this hearing." "Have you a lawyer?" asked the county superintendent of the respondent. "A what?" exclaimed Jim. "Nobody here has a lawyer!" "Well, what do you call Wilbur Smythe?" queried Newton Bronson from the midst of the crowd. "He ain't lawyer enough to hurt!" said the thing which the dramatists call A Voice. There was a little tempest of laughter at Wilbur Smythe's expense, which was quelled by Jennie's rapping on the table. She was beginning to feel the mouth of the situation. "I have no way of retaining a lawyer," said Jim, on whom the truth had gradually dawned. "If a lawyer is necessary, I am without protection--but it never occurred to me ..." "There is nothing in the school laws, as I remember them," said Jennie, "giving the parties any right to be represented by counsel. If there is, Mr. Smythe will please set me right." She paused for Mr. Smythe's reply. "There is nothing which expressly gives that privilege," said Mr. Smythe, "but the right to the benefit of skilled advisers is a universal one. It can not be questioned. And in opening this case for my clients, I desire to call your honor's attention--" "You may advise your clients all you please," said Jennie, "but I'm not going to waste time in listening to speeches, or having a lot of lawyers examine witnesses." "I protest," said Mr. Smythe. "Well, you may file your protest in writing," said Jennie. "I'm going to talk this matter over with these old friends and neighbors of mine. I don't want you dipping into it, I say!" Jennie's voice was rising toward the scream-line, and Mr. Smythe recognized the hand of fate. One may argue with a cantankerous judge, but the woman, who like necessity, knows no law, and who is smothering in a flood of perplexities, is beyond reason. Moreover, Jennie dimly saw that what she was doing had the approval of the crowd, and it solved the problem of procedure. There was a little wrangling, and a little protest from Con Bonner, but Jennie ruled with a rod of iron, and adhered to her ruling. When the hearing was resumed after the noon recess, the crowd was larger than ever, but the proceedings consisted mainly in a conference of the principals grouped about Jennie at the big lawyers' table. They were talking about the methods adopted by Jim in his conduct of the Woodruff school--just talking. The only new thing was the presence of a couple of newspaper men, who had queried Chicago papers on the story, and been given orders for a certain number of words on the case of the farm-hand schoolmaster on trial before his old sweetheart for certain weird things he had done in the home school in which they had once been classmates. The fact that the old school-sweetheart had kicked a lawyer out of the case was not overlooked by the gentlemen of the fourth estate. It helped to make it a "good story." By the time at which gathering darkness made it necessary for the bailiff to light the lamps, the parties had agreed on the facts. Jim admitted most of the allegations. He had practically ignored the text-books. He had burned the district fuel and worn out the district furniture early and late, and on Saturdays. He had introduced domestic economy and manual training, to some extent, by sending the boys to the workshops and the girls to the kitchens and sewing-rooms of the farmers who allowed those privileges. He had used up a great deal of time in studying farm conditions. He had induced the boys to test the cows of the district for butter-fat yield. He was studying the matter of a cooperative creamery. He hoped to have a blacksmith shop on the schoolhouse grounds sometime, where the boys could learn metal working by repairing the farm machinery, and shoeing the farm horses. He hoped to install a cooperative laundry in connection with the creamery. He hoped to see a building sometime, with an auditorium where the people would meet often for moving picture shows, lectures and the like, and he expected that most of the descriptions of foreign lands, industrial operations, wild animals--in short, everything that people should learn about by seeing, rather than reading--would be taught the children by moving pictures accompanied by lectures. He hoped to open to the boys and girls the wonders of the universe which are touched by the work on the farm. He hoped to make good and contented farmers of them, able to get the most out of the soil, to sell what they produced to the best advantage, and at the same time to keep up the fertility of the soil itself. And he hoped to teach the girls in such a way that they would be good and contented farmers' wives. He even had in mind as a part of the schoolhouse the Woodruff District would one day build, an apartment in which the mothers of the neighborhood would leave their babies when they went to town, so that the girls could learn the care of infants. "An' I say," interposed Con Bonner, "that we can rest our case right here. If that ain't the limit, I don't know what is!" "Well," said Jennie, "do you desire to rest your case right here?" Mr. Bonner made no reply to this, and Jennie turned to Jim. "Now, Mr. Irwin," said she, "while you have been following out these very interesting and original methods, what have you done in the way of teaching the things called for by the course of study?" "What is the course of study?" queried Jim. "Is it anything more than an outline of the mental march the pupils are ordered to make? Take reading: why does it give the children any greater mastery of the printed page to read about Casabianca on the burning deck, than about the cause of the firing of corn by hot weather? And how can they be given better command of language than by writing about things they have found out in relation to some of the sciences which are laid under contribution by farming? Everything they do runs into numbers, and we do more arithmetic than the course requires. There isn't any branch of study--not even poetry and art and music--that isn't touched by life. If there is we haven't time for it in the common schools. We work out from life to everything in the course of study." "Do you mean to assert," queried Jennie, "that while you have been doing all this work which was never contemplated by those who have made up the course of study, that you haven't neglected anything?" "I mean," said Jim, "that I'm willing to stand or fall on an examination of these children in the very text-books we are accused of neglecting." Jennie looked steadily at Jim for a full minute, and at the clock. It was nearly time for adjournment. "How many pupils of the Woodruff school are here?" she asked. "All rise, please!" A mass of the audience, in the midst of which sat Jennie's father, rose at the request. "Why," said Jennie, "I should say we had a quorum, anyhow! How many will come back to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, and bring your school-books? Please lift hands." Nearly every hand went up. "And, Mr. Irwin," she went on, "will you have the school records, so we may be able to ascertain the proper standing of these pupils?" "I will," said Jim. "Then," said Jennie, "we'll adjourn until nine o'clock. I hope to see every one here. We'll have school here to-morrow. And, Mr. Irwin, please remember that you state that you'll stand or fall on the mastery by these pupils of the text-books they are supposed to have neglected." "Not the mastery of the text," said Jim. "But their ability to do the work the text is supposed to fit them for." "Well," said Jennie, "I don't know but that's fair." "But," said Mrs. Haakon Peterson, "we don't want our children brought up to be yust farmers. Suppose we move to town--where does the culture come in?" * * * * * The Chicago papers had a news item which covered the result of the examinations; but the great sensation of the Woodruff District lay in the Sunday feature carried by one of them. It had a picture of Jim Irwin, and one of Jennie Woodruff--the latter authentic, and the former gleaned from the morgue, and apparently the portrait of a lumber-jack. There was also a very free treatment by the cartoonist of Mr. Simms carrying a rifle with the intention of shooting up the school board in case the decision went against the schoolmaster. * * * * * "When it became known," said the news story, "that the schoolmaster had bet his job on the proficiency of his school in studies supposed and alleged to have been studiously neglected, the excitement rose to fever heat. Local sports bet freely on the result, the odds being eight to five on General Proficiency against the field. The field was Jim Irwin and his school. And the way those rural kids rose in their might and ate up the text-books was simply scandalous. There was a good deal of nervousness on the part of some of the small starters, and some bursts of tears at excusable failures. But when the fight was over, and the dead and wounded cared for, the school board and the county superintendent were forced to admit that they wished the average school could do as well under a similar test. "The local Mr. Dooley is Cornelius Bonner, a member of the 'board.' When asked for a statement of his views after the county superintendent had decided that her old sweetheart was to be allowed the priceless boon of earning forty dollars a month during the remainder of his contract, Mr. Bonner said, 'Aside from being licked, we're all right. But we'll get this guy yet, don't fall down and fergit that!' "'The examinations tind to show,' said Mr. Bonner, when asked for his opinion on the result, 'that in or-r-rder to larn anything you shud shtudy somethin' ilse. But we'll git this guy yit!'" * * * * * "Jim," said Colonel Woodruff, as they rode home together, "the next heat is the school election. We've got to control that board next year--and we've got to do it by electing one out of three." "Is that a possibility?" asked Jim. "Aren't we sure to be defeated at last? Shouldn't I quit at the end of my contract? All I ever hoped for was to be allowed to fulfill that. And is it worth the fight?" "It's not only possible," replied the colonel, "but probable. As for being worth while--why, this thing is too big to drop. I'm just beginning to understand what you're driving at. And I like being a wild-eyed reformer more and more." CHAPTER XIV THE COLONEL TAKES THE FIELD Every Iowa county has its Farmers' Institute. Usually it is held in the county seat, and is a gathering of farmers for the ostensible purpose of listening to improving discussions and addresses both instructive and entertaining. Really, in most cases, the farmers' institutes have been occasions for the cultivation of relations between a few of the exceptional farmers and their city friends and with one another. Seldom is anything done which leads to any better selling methods for the farmers, any organization looking to cooperative effort, or anything else that an agricultural economist from Ireland, Germany or Denmark would suggest as the sort of action which the American farmer must take if he is to make the most of his life and labor. The Woodruff District was interested in the institute however, because of the fact that a rural-school exhibit was one of its features that year, and that Colonel Woodruff had secured an urgent invitation to the school to take part in it. "We've got something new out in our district school," said he to the president of the institute. "So I hear," said the president--"mostly a fight, isn't it?" "Something more," said the colonel. "If you'll persuade our school to make an exhibit of real rural work in a real rural school, I'll promise you something worth seeing and discussing." Such exhibits are now so common that it is not worth while for us to describe it; but then, the sight of a class of children testing and weighing milk, examining grains for viability and foul seeds, planning crop rotations, judging grains and live stock was so new in that county as to be the real sensation of the institute. Two persons were a good deal embarrassed by the success of the exhibit. One was the county superintendent, who was constantly in receipt of undeserved compliments upon her wisdom in fostering really "practical work in the schools." The other was Jim Irwin, who was becoming famous, and who felt he had done nothing to deserve fame. Professor Withers, an extension lecturer from Ames, took Jim to dinner at the best hotel in the town, for the purpose of talking over with him the needs of the rural schools. Jim was in agony. The colored waiter fussed about trying to keep Jim in the beaten track of hotel manners, restored to him the napkin which Jim failed to use, and juggled back into place the silverware which Jim misappropriated to alien and unusual uses. But, when the meal had progressed to the stage of conversation, the waiter noticed that gradually the uncouth farmer became master of the situation, and the well-groomed college professor the interested listener. "You've got to come down to our farmers' week next year, and tell us about these things," said he to Jim. "Can't you?" Jim's brain reeled. He go to a gathering of real educators and tell his crude notions! How could he get the money for his expenses? But he had that gameness which goes with supreme confidence in the thing dealt with. "I'll come," said he. "Thank you," said the Ames man, "There's a small honorarium attached, you know." Jim was staggered. What was an honorarium? He tried to remember what an honorarium is, and could get no further than the thought that it is in some way connected with the Latin root of "honor." Was he obliged to pay an honorarium for the chance to speak before the college gathering? Well, he'd save money and pay it. The professor must be able to understand that it couldn't be expected that a country school-teacher would be able to pay much. "I--I'll try to take care of the honorarium," said he. "I'll come." The professor laughed. It was the first joke the gangling innovator had perpetrated. "It won't bother you to take care of it," said he, "but if you're not too extravagant it will pay you your expenses and give you a few dollars over." Jim breathed more freely. An honorarium was paid to the person receiving the honor, then. What a relief! "All right," he exclaimed. "I'll be glad to come!" "Let's consider that settled," said the professor. "And now I must be going back to the opera-house. My talk on soil sickness comes next. I tell you, the winter wheat crop has been--" But Jim was not able to think much of the winter wheat problem as they went back to the auditorium. He was worth putting on the program at a state meeting! He was worth the appreciation of a college professor, trained to think on the very matters Jim had been so long mulling over in isolation and blindness! He was actually worth paying for his thoughts. Calista Simms thought she saw something shining and saint-like about the homely face of her teacher as he came to her at her post in the room in which the school exhibit was held. Calista was in charge of the little children whose work was to be demonstrated that day, and was in a state of exaltation to which her starved being had hitherto been a stranger. Perhaps there was something similar in her condition of fervent happiness to that of Jim. She, too, was doing something outside the sordid life of the Simms cabin. She yearned over the children in her care, and would have been glad to die for them--and besides was not Newton Bronson in charge of the corn exhibit, and a member of the corn-judging team? To the eyes of the town girls who passed about among the exhibits, she was poorly dressed; but if they could have seen the clothes she had worn on that evening when Jim Irwin first called at their cabin and failed to give a whoop from the big road, they could perhaps have understood the sense of wellbeing and happiness in Calista's soul at the feeling of her whole clean underclothes, her neat, if cheap, dress, and the "boughten" cloak she wore--and any of them, even without knowledge of this, might have understood Calista's joy at the knowledge that Newton Bronson's eyes were on her from his station by the big pillar, no matter how many town girls filed by. For therein they would have been in a realm of the passions quite universal in its appeal to the feminine soul. "Hello, Calista!" said Jim. "How are you enjoying it?" "Oh!" said Calista, and drew a long, long breath. "Ah'm enjoying myse'f right much, Mr. Jim." "Any of the home folks coming in to see?" "Yes, seh," answered Calista. "All the school board have stopped by this morning." Jim looked about him. He wished he could see and shake hands with his enemies, Bronson, Peterson and Bonner: and if he could tell them of his success with Professor Withers of the State Agricultural College, perhaps they would feel differently toward him. There they were now, over in a corner, with their heads together. Perhaps they were agreeing among themselves that he was right in his school methods, and they wrong. He went toward them, his face still beaming with that radiance which had shone so plainly to the eyes of Calista Simms, but they saw in it only a grin of exultation over his defeat of them at the hearing before Jennie Woodruff. When Sim had drawn so close as almost to call for the extended hand, he felt the repulsion of their attitudes and sheered off on some pretended errand to a dark corner across the room. They resumed their talk. "I'm a Dimocrat," said Con Bonner, "and you fellers is Republicans, and we've fought each other about who we was to hire for teacher; but when it comes to electing my successor, I think we shouldn't divide on party lines." "The fight about the teacher," said Haakon Peterson, "is a t'ing of the past. All our candidates got odder yobs now." "Yes," said Ezra Bronson. "Prue Foster wouldn't take our school now if she could get it" "And as I was sayin'," went on Bonner, "I want to get this guy, Jim Irwin. An' bein' the cause of his gittin' the school, I'd like to be on the board to kick him off; but if you fellers would like to have some one else, I won't run, and if the right feller is named, I'll line up what friends I got for him." "You got no friend can git as many wotes as you can," said Peterson. "I tank you better run." "What say, Ez?" asked Bonner. "Suits me all right," said Bronson. "I guess we three have had our fight out and understand each other." "All right," returned Bonner, "I'll take the office again. Let's not start too soon, but say we begin about a week from Sunday to line up our friends, to go to the school election and vote kind of unanimous-like?" "Suits me," said Bronson. "Wery well," said Peterson. "I don't like the way Colonel Woodruff acts," said Bonner. "He rounded up that gang of kids that shot us all to pieces at that hearing, didn't he?" "I tank not," replied Peterson. "I tank he was yust interested in how Yennie managed it." "Looked mighty like he was managin' the demonstration," said Bonner. "What d'ye think, Ez?" "Too small a matter for the colonel to monkey with," said Bronson. "I reckon he was just interested in Jennie's dilemmer. It ain't reasonable that Colonel Woodruff after the p'litical career he's had would mix up in school district politics." "Well," said Bonner, "he seems to take a lot of interest in this exhibition here. I think we'd better watch the colonel. That decision of Jennie's might have been because she's stuck on Jim Irwin, or because she takes a lot of notice of what her father says." "Or she might have thought the decision was right," said Bronson. "Some people do, you know." "Right!" scoffed Bonner. "In a pig's wrist! I tell you that decision was crooked." "Vell," said Haakon Peterson, "talk of crookedness wit' Yennie Woodruff don't get wery fur wit' me." "Oh, I don't mean anything bad, Haakon," replied Bonner, "but it wasn't an all-right decision. I think she's stuck on the guy." The caucus broke up after making sure that the three members of the school board would be as one man in maintaining a hostile front to Jim Irwin and his tenure of office. It looked rather like a foregone conclusion, in a little district wherein there were scarcely twenty-five votes. The three members of the board with their immediate friends and dependents could muster two or three ballots each--and who was there to oppose them? Who wanted to be school director? It was a post of no profit, little honor and much vexation. And yet, there are always men to be found who covet such places. Curiously there are always those who covet them for no ascertainable reason, for often they are men who have no theory of education to further, and no fondness for affairs of the intellect. In the Woodruff District, however, the incumbents saw no candidate in view who could be expected to stand up against the rather redoubtable Con Bonner. Jim's hold upon his work seemed fairly secure for the term of his contract, since Jennie had decided that he was competent; and after that he himself had no plans. He could not expect to be retained by the men who had so bitterly attacked him. Perhaps the publicity of his Ames address would get him another place with a sufficient stipend so that he could support his mother without the aid of the little garden, the cows and the fowls--and perhaps he would ask Colonel Woodruff to take him back as a farm-hand. These thoughts thronged his mind as he stood apart and alone after his rebuff by the caucusing members of the school board. "I don't see," said a voice over against the cooking exhibit, "what there is in this to set people talking? Buttonholes! Cookies! Humph!" It was Mrs. Bonner who had clearly come to scoff. With her was Mrs. Bronson, whose attitude was that of a person torn between conflicting influences. Her husband had indicated to the crafty Bonner and the subtle Peterson that while he was still loyal to the school board, and hence perforce opposed to Jim Irwin, and resentful to the decision of the county superintendent, his adhesion to the institutions of the Woodruff District as handed down by the fathers was not quite of the thick-and-thin type. For he had suggested that Jennie might have been sincere in rendering her decision, and that some people agreed with her: so Mrs. Bronson, while consorting with the censorious Mrs. Bonner evinced restiveness when the school and its work was condemned. Was not her Newton in charge of a part of this show! Had he not taken great interest in the project? Was he not an open and defiant champion of Jim Irwin, and a constant and enthusiastic attendant upon, not only his classes, but a variety of evening and Saturday affairs at which the children studied arithmetic, grammar, geography, writing and spelling, by working on cows, pigs, chickens, grains, grasses, soils and weeds? And had not Newton become a better boy--a wonderfully better boy? Mrs. Bronson's heart was filled with resentment that she also could not be enrolled among Jim Irwin's supporters. And when Mrs. Bonner sneered at the buttonholes and cookies, Mrs. Bronson, knowing how the little fingers had puzzled themselves over the one, and young faces had become floury and red over the other, flared up a little. "And I don't see," said she, "anything to laugh at when the young girls do the best they can to make themselves capable housekeepers. I'd like to help them." She turned to Mrs. Bonner as if to add "If this be treason, make the most of it!" but that lady was far too good a diplomat to be cornered in the same enclosure with a rupture of relations. "And quite right, too," said she, "in the proper place, and at the proper time. The little things ought to be helped by every real woman--of course!" "Of course," repeated Mrs. Bronson. "At home, now, and by their mothers," added Mrs. Bonner. "Well," said Mrs. Bronson, "take them Simms girls, now. They have to have help outside their home if they are ever going to be like other folks." "Yes," agreed Mrs. Bonner, "and a lot more help than a farm-hand can give 'em in school. Pretty poor trash, they, and I shouldn't wonder if there was a lot we don't know about why they come north." "As for that," replied Mrs. Bronson, "I don't know as it's any of my business so long as they behave themselves." Again Mrs. Bonner felt the situation getting out of hand, and again she returned to the task of keeping Mrs. Bronson in alignment with the forces of accepted Woodruff District conditions. "Ain't it some of our business?" she queried. "I wonder now! By the way Newtie keeps his eye on that Simms girl, I shouldn't wonder if it might turn out your business." "Pshaw!" scoffed Mrs. Bronson. "Puppy love!" "You can't tell how far it'll go," persisted Mrs. Bonner. "I tell you these schools are getting to be nothing more than sparkin' bees, from the county superintendent down." "Well, maybe," said Mrs. Bronson, "but I don't see sparkin' in everything boys and girls do as quick as some." "I wonder," said Mrs. Bonner, "if Colonel Woodruff would be as friendly to Jim Irwin if he knew that everybody says Jennie decided he was to keep his certif'kit because she wants him to get along in the world, so he can marry her?" "I don't know as she is so very friendly to him," replied Mrs. Bronson; "and Jim and Jennie are both of age, you know." "Yes, but how about our schools bein' ruined by a love affair?" interrogated Mrs. Bonner, as they moved away. "Ain't that your business and mine?" Instead of desiring further knowledge of what they were discussing, Jim felt a dreadful disgust at the whole thing. Disgust at being the subject of gossip, at the horrible falsity of the picture he had been able to paint to the people of his objects and his ambitions, and especially at the desecration of Jennie by such misconstruction of her attitude toward him officially and personally. Jennie was vexed at him, and wanted him to resign from his position. He firmly believed that she was surprised at finding herself convinced that he was entitled to a decision in the matter of his competency as a teacher. She was against him, he believed, and as for her being in love with him--to hear these women discuss it was intolerable. He felt his face redden as at the hearing of some horrible indecency. He felt himself stripped naked, and he was hotly ashamed that Jennie should be associated with him in the exposure. And while he was raging inwardly, paying the penalty of his new-found place in the public eye--a publicity to which he was not yet hardened--he heard other voices. Professor Withers, County Superintendent Jennie and Colonel Woodruff were making an inspection of the rural-school exhibit. "I hear he has been having some trouble with his school board," the professor was saying. "Yes," said Jennie, "he has." "Wasn't there an effort made to remove him from his position?" asked the professor. "Proceedings before me to revoke his certificate," replied Jennie. "On what grounds?" "Incompetency," answered Jennie. "I found that his pupils were really doing very well in the regular course of study--which he seems to be neglecting." "I'm glad you supported him," said the professor. "I'm glad to find you helping him." "Really," protested Jennie, "I don't think myself--" "What do you think of his notions?" asked the colonel. "Very advanced," replied Professor Withers. "Where did he imbibe them all?" "He's a Brown Mouse," said the colonel. "I beg your pardon," said the puzzled professor. "I didn't quite understand. A--a--what?" "One of papa's breeding jokes," said Jennie. "He means a phenomenon in heredity--perhaps a genius, you know." "Ah, I see," replied the professor, "a Mendelian segregation, you mean?" "Certainly," said the colonel. "The sort of mind that imbibes things from itself." "Well, he's rather wonderful," declared the professor. "I had him to lunch to-day. He surprised me. I have invited him to make an address at Ames next winter during farmers' week." "He?" Jennie's tone showed her astonishment. Jim the underling. Jim the off ox. Jim the thorn in the county superintendent's side. Jim the country teacher! It was stupefying. "Oh, you musn't judge him by his looks," said the professor. "I really do hope he'll take some advice on the matter of clothes--put on a cravat and a different shirt and collar when he comes to Ames--but I have no doubt he will." "He hasn't any other," said the colonel. "Well, it won't signify, if he has the truth to tell us," said the professor. "_Has_ he?" asked Jennie. "Miss Woodruff," replied the professor earnestly, "he has something that looks toward truth, and something that we need. Just how far he will go, just what he will amount to, it is impossible to say. But something must be done for the rural schools--something along the lines he is trying to follow. He is a struggling soul, and he is worth helping. You won't make any mistake if you make the most of Mr. Irwin." Jim slipped out of a side door and fled. As in the case of the conversation between Mrs. Bronson and Mrs. Bonner, he was unable to discern the favorable auspices in the showing of adverse things. He had not sensed Mrs. Bronson's half-concealed friendliness for him, though it was disagreeably plain to Mrs. Bonner. And now he neglected the colonel's evident support of him, and Professor Withers' praise, in Jennie's manifest surprise that old Jim had been accorded the recognition of a place on a college program, and the professor's criticism of his dress and general appearance. It was unjust! What chance had he been given to discover what it was fashionable to wear, even if he had had the money to buy such clothes as other young men possessed? He would never go near Ames! He would stay in the Woodruff District where the people knew him, and some of them liked him. He would finish his school year, and go back to work on the farm. He would abandon the struggle. He started home, on foot as he had come, A mile or so out he was overtaken by the colonel, driving briskly along with room in his buggy for Jim. "Climb in, Jim!" said he. "Dan and Dolly didn't like to see you walk." "They're looking fine," said Jim. There is a good deal to say whenever two horse lovers get together. Hoofs and coats and frogs and eyes and teeth and the queer sympathies between horse and man may sometimes quite take the place of the weather for an hour or so. But when Jim had alighted at his own door, the colonel spoke of what had been in his mind all the time. "I saw Bonner and Haakon and Ez doing some caucusing to-day," said he. "They expect to elect Bonner to the board again." "Oh, I suppose so," replied Jim. "Well, what shall we do about it?" asked the colonel. "If the people want him--" began Jim. "The people," said the colonel, "must have a choice offered to 'em, or how can you or any man tell what they want? How can they tell themselves?" Jim was silent. Here was a matter on which he really had no ideas except the broad and general one that truth is mighty and shall prevail--but that the speed of its forward march is problematical. "I think," said the colonel, "that it's up to us to see that the people have a chance to decide. It's really Bonner against Jim Irwin." "That's rather startling," said Jim, "but I suppose it's true. And much chance Jim Irwin has!" "I calculate," rejoined the colonel, "that what you need is a champion." "To do what?" "To take that office away from Bonner." "Who can do that?" "Well, I'm free to say I don't know that any one can, but I'm willing to try. I think that in about a week I shall pass the word around that I'd like to serve my country on the school board." Jim's face lighted up--and then darkened. "Even then they'd be two to one, Colonel." "Maybe," replied the colonel, "and maybe not. That would have to be figured on. A cracked log splits easy." "Anyhow," Jim went on, "what's the use? I shan't be disturbed this year--and after that--what's the use?" "Why, Jim," said the colonel, "you aren't getting short of breath are you? Do I see frost on your boots? I thought you good for the mile, and you aren't turning out a quarter horse, are you? I don't know what all it is you want to do, but I don't, believe you can do it in nine months, can you?" "Not in nine years!" replied Jim. "Well, then, let's plan for ten years," said the colonel. "I ain't going to become a reformer at my time of life as a temporary job. Will you stick if we can swing the thing for you?" "I will," said Jim, in the manner of a person taking the vows in some solemn initiation. "All right," said the colonel. "We'll keep quiet and see how many votes we can muster up at the election. How many oan you speak for?" Jim gave himself for a few minutes to thought. It was a new thing to him, this matter of mustering votes--and a thing which he had always looked upon as rather reprehensible. The citizen should go forth with no coercion, no persuasion, no suggestion, and vote his sentiments. "How many can you round up?" persisted the colonel. "I think," said Jim, "that I can speak for myself and Old Man Simms!" The colonel laughed. "Fine politician!" he repeated. "Fine politician! Well, Jim, we may get beaten in this, but if we are, let's not have them going away picking their noses and saying they've had no fight. You round up yourself and Old Man Simms and I'll see what I can do--I'll see what I can do!" CHAPTER XV A MINOR CASTS HALF A VOTE March came in like neither a lion nor a lamb, but was scarcely a week old before the wild ducks had begun to score the sky above Bronson's Slew looking for open water and badly-harvested corn-fields. Wild geese, too, honked from on high as if in wonder that these great prairies on which their forefathers had been wont fearlessly to alight had been changed into a disgusting expanse of farms. If geese are favored with the long lives in which fable bids us believe, some of these venerable honkers must have seen every vernal and autumnal phase of the transformation from boundless prairie to boundless corn-land. I sometimes seem to hear in the bewildering trumpetings of wild geese a cry of surprise and protest at the ruin of their former paradise. Colonel Woodruff's hired man, Pete, had no such foolish notions, however. He stopped Newton Bronson and Raymond Simms as they tramped across the colonel's pasture, gun in hand, trying to make themselves believe that the shooting was good. "This ain't no country to hunt in," said he. "Did either of you fellows ever have any real duck-shooting?" "The mountings," said Raymond, "air poor places for ducks." "Not big enough water," suggested Pete. "Some wood-ducks, I suppose?" "Along the creeks and rivers, yes seh," said Raymond, "and sometimes a flock of wild geese would get lost, and some bewildered, and a man would shoot one or two--from the tops of the ridges--but nothing to depend on." "I've never been nowhere," said Newton, "except once to Minnesota--and--and that wasn't in the shooting season." A year ago Newton would have boasted of having "bummed" his way to Faribault. His hesitant speech was a proof of the embarrassment his new respectability sometimes inflicted upon him. "I used to shoot ducks for the market at Spirit Lake," said Pete. "I know Fred Gilbert just as well as I know you. If I'd 'a' kep' on shooting I could have made my millions as champion wing shot as easy as he has. He didn't have nothing on me when we was both shooting for a livin'. But that's all over, now. You've got to go so fur now to get decent shooting where the farmers won't drive you off, that it costs nine dollars to send a postcard home." "I think we'll have fine shooting on the slew in a few days," said Newton. "Humph!" scoffed Pete. "I give you my word, if I hadn't promised the colonel I'd stay with him another year, I'd take a side-door Pullman for the Sand Hills of Nebraska or the Devil's Lake country to-morrow--if I had a gun." "If it wasn't for a passel of things that keep me hyeh," said Raymond, "I'd like to go too." "The colonel," said Pete, "needs me. He needs me in the election to-morrow. What's the matter of your ol' man, Newt? What for does he vote for that Bonner, and throw down an old neighbor?" "I can't do anything with him!" exclaimed Newton irritably. "He's all tangled up with Peterson and Bonner." "Well," said Pete, "if he'd just stay at home, it would help some. If he votes for Bonner, it'll be just about a stand-off." "He never misses a vote!" said Newton despairingly. "Can't you cripple him someway?" asked Pete jocularly. "Darned funny when a boy o' your age can't control his father's vote! So long!" "I wish I _could_ vote!" grumbled Newton. "I wish I _could_! We know a lot more about the school, and Jim Irwin bein' a good teacher than dad does--and we can't vote. Why can't folks vote when they are interested in an election, and know about the issues. It's tyranny that you and I can't vote." "I reckon," said Raymond, the conservative, "that the old-time people that fixed it thataway knowed best." "Rats!" sneered Newton, the iconoclast. "Why, Calista knows more about the election of school director than dad knows." "That don't seem reasonable," protested Raymond. "She's prejudyced, I reckon, in favor of Mr. Jim Irwin." "Well, dad's prejudiced against him,--er, no, he hain't either. He likes Jim. He's just prejudiced against giving up his old notions. No, he hain't neither--I guess he's only prejudiced against seeming to give up some old notions he seemed to have once! And the kids in school would be prejudiced right, anyhow!" "Paw says he'll be on hand prompt," said Raymond. "But he had to be p'swaded right much. Paw's proud--and he cain't read." "Sometimes I think the more people read the less sense they've got," said Newton. "I wish I could tie dad up! I wish I could get snakebit, and make him go for the doctor!" The boys crossed the ridge to the wooded valley in which nestled the Simms cabin. They found Mrs. Simms greatly exercised in her mind because young McGeehee had been found playing with some blue vitriol used by Raymond in his school work on the treatment of seed potatoes for scab. "His hands was all blue with it," said she. "Do you reckon, Mr. Newton, that it'll pizen him?" "Did he swallow any of it?" asked Newton. "Nah!" said McGeehee scornfully. Newton reassured Mrs. Simms, and went away pensive. He was in rebellion against the strange ways grown men have of discharging their duties as citizens--a rather remarkable thing, and perhaps a proof that Jim Irwin's methods had already accomplished much in preparing Newton and Raymond for citizenship. He had shown them the fact that voting really has some relation to life. At present, however, the new wine in the old bottles was causing Newton to forget his filial duty, and his respect for his father. He wished he could lock him up in the barn so he couldn't go to the school election. He wished he could become ill--or poisoned with blue vitriol or something--so his father would be obliged to go for a doctor. He wished----well, why couldn't he get sick. Mrs. Simms had been about to send for the doctor for Buddy when he had explained away the apparent necessity. People got dreadfully scared about poison---- Newton mended his pace, and looked happier. He looked very much as he had done on the day he adjusted the needle-pointed muzzle to his dog's nose. He looked, in fact, more like a person filled with deviltry, than one yearning for the right to vote. "I'll fix him!" said he to himself. "What time's the election, Ez?" asked Mrs. Bronson at breakfast. "I'm goin' at four o'clock," said Ezra. "And I don't want to hear any more from any one"--looking at Newton--"about the election. It's none of the business of the women an' boys." Newton took this reproof in an unexpectedly submissive spirit. In fact, he exhibited his very best side to the family that morning, like one going on a long journey, or about to be married off, or engaged in some deep dark plot. "I s'pose you're off trampin' the slews at the sight of a flock of ducks four miles off as usual?" stated Mr. Bronson challengingly. "I thought," said Newton, "that I'd get a lot of raisin bait ready for the pocket-gophers in the lower meadow. They'll be throwing up their mounds by the first of April." "Not them," said Mr. Bronson, somewhat mollified, "not before May. Where'd you get the raisin idee?" "We learned it in school," answered Newton. "Jim had me study a bulletin on the control and eradication of pocket-gophers. You use raisins with strychnine in 'em--and it tells how." "Some fool notion, I s'pose," said Mr. Bronson, rising. "But go ahead if you're careful about handlin' the strychnine." Newton spent the time from twelve-thirty to half after two in watching the clock; and twenty minutes to three found him seated in the woodshed with a pen-knife in his hand, a small vial of strychnine crystals on a stand before him, a saucer of raisins at his right hand, and one exactly like it, partially filled with gopher bait--by which is meant raisins under the skin of each of which a minute crystal of strychnine had been inserted on the point of the knife. Newton was apparently happy and was whistling _The Glow-Worm_. It was a lovely scene if one can forget the gopher's point of view. At three-thirty, Newton went into the house and lay down on the horsehair sofa, saying to his mother that he felt kind o' funny and thought he'd lie down a while. At three-forty he heard his father's voice in the kitchen and knew that his sire was preparing to start for the scene of battle between Colonel Woodruff and Con Bonner, on the result of which hinged the future of Jim Irwin and the Woodruff school. A groan issued from Newton's lips--a gruesome groan as of the painful death of a person very sensitive to physical suffering. But his father's voice from the kitchen door betrayed no agitation. He was scolding the horses as they stood tied to the hitching-post, in tones that showed no knowledge of his son's distressed moans. "What's the matter?" It was Newton's little sister who asked the question, her facial expression evincing appreciation of Newton's efforts in the line of groans, somewhat touched with awe. Even though regarded as a pure matter of make-believe, such sounds were terrible. "Oh, sister, sister!" howled Newton, "run and tell 'em that brother's dying!" Fanny disappeared in a manner which expressed her balanced feelings--she felt that her brother was making believe, but she believed for all that, that something awful was the matter. So she went rather slowly to the kitchen door, and casually remarked that Newton was dying on the sofa in the sitting-room. "You little fraud!" said her father. "Why, Fanny!" said her mother--and ran into the sitting-room--whence in a moment, with a cry that was almost a scream, she summoned her husband, who responded at the top of his speed. Newton was groaning and in convulsions. Horrible grimaces contorted his face, his jaws were set, his arms and legs drawn up, and his muscles tense. "What's the matter?" His father's voice was stern as well as full of anxiety. "What's the matter, boy?" "Oh!" cried Newton. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" "Newtie, Newtie!" cried his mother, "where are you in pain? Tell mother, Newtie!" "Oh," groaned Newtie, relaxing, "I feel awful!" "What you been eating?" interrogated his father. "Nothing," replied Newton. "I saw you eatin' dinner," said his father. Again Newton was convulsed by strong spasms, and again his groans filled the hearts of his parents with terror. "That's all I've eaten," said he, when his spasms had passed, "except a few raisins. I was putting strychnine in 'em----" "Oh, heavens!" cried his mother. "He's poisoned! Drive for the doctor, Ezra! Drive!" Mr. Bronson forgot all about the election--forgot everything save antidotes and speed. He leaped toward the door. As he passed out, he shouted "Give him an emetic!" He tore the hitching straps from the posts, jumped into the buggy and headed for the road. Skilfully avoiding an overturn as he rounded into the highway, he gave the spirited horses their heads, and fled toward town, carefully computing the speed the horses could make and still be able to return. Mile after mile he covered, passing teams, keeping ahead of automobiles and advertising panic. Just at the town limits, he met the doctor in Sheriff Dilly's automobile, the sheriff himself at the steering wheel. Mr. Bronson signaled them to stop, ignoring the fact that they were making similar signs to him. "We're just starting for your place," said the doctor. "Your wife got me on the phone." "Thank God!" replied Bronson. "Don't fool any time away on me. Drive!" "Get in here, Ez," said the sheriff. "Doc knows how to drive, and I'll come on with your team. They need a slow drive to cool 'em off." "Why didn't you phone me?" asked the doctor. "Never thought of it," replied Bronson. "I hain't had the phone only a few years. Drive faster!" "I want to get there, or I would," answered the doctor. "Don't worry. From what your wife told me over the phone I don't believe the boy's eaten any more strychnine than I have--and probably not so much." "He was alive, then?" "Alive and making an argument against taking the emetic," replied the doctor. "But I guess she got it down him." "I'd hate to lose that boy, Doc!" "I don't believe there's any danger. It doesn't sound like a genuine poisoning case to me." Thus reassured, Mr. Bronson was calm, even if somewhat tragic in calmness, when he entered the death chamber with the doctor. Newton was sitting up, his eyes wet, and his face pale. His mother had won the argument, and Newton had lost his dinner. Haakon Peterson occupied an armchair. "What's all this?" asked the doctor. "How you feeling, Newt? Any pain?" "I'm all right," said Newton. "Don't give me any more o' that nasty stuff!" "No," said the doctor, "but if you don't tell me just what you've been eating, and doing, and pulling off on us, I'll use this"--and the doctor exhibited a huge stomach pump. "What'll you do with that?" asked Newton faintly. "I'll put this down into your hold, and unload you, that's what I'll do." "Is the election over, Mr. Peterson?" asked Newton. "Yes," answered Mr. Peterson, "and the votes counted." "Who's elected?" asked Newton. "Colonel Woodruff," answered Mr. Peterson. "The vote was twelve to eleven." "Well, dad," said Newton, "I s'pose you'll be sore, but the only way I could see to get in half a vote for Colonel Woodruff was to get poisoned and send you after the doctor. If you'd gone, it would 'a' been a tie, anyhow, and probably you'd 'a' persuaded somebody to change to Bonner. That's what's the matter with me. I killed your vote. Now, you can do whatever you like to me--but I'm sorry I scared mother." Ezra Bronson seized Newton by the throat, but his fingers failed to close. "Don't pinch, dad," said Newton. "I've been using that neck an' it's tired." Mr. Bronson dropped his hands to his sides, glared at his son for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. "Why, you darned infernal little fool," said he. "I've a notion to take a hamestrap to you! If I'd been there the vote would have been eleven to thirteen!" "There was plenty wotes there for the colonel, if he needed 'em," said Haakon, whose politician's mind was already fully adjusted to the changed conditions. "Ay tank the Woodruff District will have a junanimous school board from dis time on once more. Colonel Woodruff is yust the man we have needed." "I'm with you there," said Bronson. "And as for you, young man, if one or both of them horses is hurt by the run I give them, I'll lick you within an inch of your life---- Here comes Dilly driving 'em in now---- I guess they're all right. I wouldn't want to drive a good team to death for any young hoodlum like him---- All right, how much do I owe you. Doc?" CHAPTER XVI THE GLORIOUS FOURTH A good deal of water ran under the Woodruff District bridges in the weeks between the school election and the Fourth of July picnic at Eight-Mile Grove. They were very important weeks to Jim Irwin, though outwardly uneventful. Great events are often mere imperceptible developments of the spirit. Spring, for instance, brought a sort of spiritual crisis to Jim; for he had to face the accusing glance of the fields as they were plowed and sown while he lived indoors. As he labored at the tasks of the Woodruff school he was conscious of a feeling not very easily distinguished from a sense of guilt. It seemed that there must be something almost wicked in his failure to be afield with his team in the early spring mornings when the woolly anemones appeared in their fur coats, the heralds of the later comers--violets, sweet-williams, puccoons, and the scarlet prairie lilies. A moral crisis accompanies the passing of a man from the struggle with the soil to any occupation, the productiveness of which is not quite so clear. It requires a keenly sensitive nature to feel conscious of it, but Jim Irwin possessed such a temperament; and from the beginning of the daily race with the seasons, which makes the life of a northern farmer an eight months' Marathon in which to fall behind for a week is to lose much of the year's reward, the gawky schoolmaster slept uneasily, and heard the earliest cock-crow as a soldier hears a call to arms to which he has made up his mind he will not respond. I think there is a real moral principle involved. I believe that this deep instinct for labor in and about the soil is a valid one, and that the gathering together of people in cities has been at the cost of an obscure but actual moral shock. I doubt if the people of the cities can ever be at rest in a future full of moral searchings of conscience until every man has traced definitely the connection of the work he is doing with the maintenance of his country's population. Sometimes those vocations whose connection can not be so traced will be recognized as wicked ones, and people engaged in them will feel as did Jim--until he worked out the facts in the relation of school-teaching to the feeding, clothing and sheltering of the world. Most school-teaching he believed--correctly or incorrectly--has very little to do with the primary task of the human race; but as far as his teaching was concerned, even he believed in it. If by teaching school he could not make a greater contribution to the productiveness of the Woodruff District than by working in the fields, he would go back to the fields. Whether he could make his teaching thus productive or not was the very fact in issue between him and the local body politic. These are some of the waters that ran under the bridges before the Fourth of July picnic at Eight-Mile Grove. Few surface indications there were of any change in the little community in this annual gathering of friends and neighbors. Wilbur Smythe made the annual address, and was in rather finer fettle than usual as he paid his fervid tribute to the starry flag, and to this very place as the most favored spot in the best country of the greatest state in the most powerful, intellectual, freest and most progressive nation in the best possible of worlds. Wilbur was going strong. Jim Irwin read the Declaration rather well, Jennie Woodruff thought, as she sat on the platform between Deacon Avery, the oldest settler in the district, and Mrs. Columbus Brown, the sole local representative of the Daughters of the American Revolution. Colonel Woodruff presided in his Grand Army of the Republic uniform. The fresh northwest breeze made free with the oaks, elms, hickories and box-elders of Eight-Mile Grove, and the waters of Pickerel Creek glimmered a hundred yards away, beyond the flitting figures of the boys who preferred to shoot off their own fire-crackers and torpedoes and nigger-chasers, rather than to listen to those of Wilbur Smythe. Still farther off could be heard the voice of a lone lemonade vender as he advertised ice-cold lemonade, made in the shade, with a brand-new spade, by an old maid, as a guaranty that it was the blamedest, coldest lemonade ever sold. And under the shadiest trees a few incorrigible Marthas were spreading the snowy tablecloths on which would soon be placed the bountiful repasts stored in ponderous wicker baskets and hampers. It was a lovely day, in a lovely spot--a good example of the miniature forests which grew naturally from time immemorial in favored locations on the Iowa prairies--half a square mile of woodland, all about which the green corn-rows stood aslant in the cool breeze, "waist-high and laid by." They were passing down the rough board steps from the platform after the exercises had terminated in a rousing rendition of _America_, when Jennie Woodruff, having slipped by everybody else to reach him, tapped Jim Irwin on the arm. He looked back at her over his shoulder with his slow gentle smile. "Isn't your mother here, Jim?" she asked. "I've been looking all over the crowd and can't see her." "She isn't here," answered Jim. "I was in hopes that when she broke loose and went to your Christmas dinner she would stay loose--but she went home and settled back into her rut." "Too bad," said Jennie. "She'd have had a nice time if she had come." "Yes," said Jim, "I believe she would." "I want help," said Jennie. "Our hamper is terribly heavy. Please!" It was rather obvious to Mrs. Bonner that Jennie was throwing herself at Jim's head; but that was an article of the Bonner family creed since the decision which closed the hearing at the court-house. It must be admitted that the young county superintendent found tasks which kept the schoolmaster very close to her side. He carried the hamper, helped Jennie to spread the cloth on the grass, went with her to the well for water and cracked ice wherewith to cool it. In fact, he quite cut Wilbur Smythe out when that gentleman made ponderous efforts to obtain a share of the favor implied in these permissions. "Sit down, Jim," said Mrs. Woodruff, "you've earned a bite of what we've got. It's good enough, what there is of it, and there's enough of it, such as it is!" "I'm sorry," said Jim, "but I've a prior engagement." "Why, Jim!" protested Jennie. "I've been counting on you. Don't desert me!" "I'm awfully sorry," said Jim, "but I promised. I'll see you later." One might have thought, judging by the colonel's quizzical smile, that he was pleased at Jennie's loss of her former swain. "We'll have to invite Jim longer ahead of time," said he. "He's getting to be in demand." He seemed to be in demand--a fact that Jennie confirmed by observation as she chatted with Deacon Avery, Mrs. Columbus Brown and her husband, and the Orator of the Day, at the table set apart for the guests and notables. Jim received a dozen invitations as he passed the groups seated on the grass--one of them from Mrs. Cornelius Bonner, who saw no particular point in advertising disgruntlement. The children ran to him and clung to his hands; young girls gave him sisterly smiles and such trifles as chicken drumsticks, pieces of cake and like tidbits. His passage to the numerous groups at a square table under a big burr-oak was quite an ovation--an ovation of the significance of which he was himself quite unaware. The people were just friendly, that was all--to his mind. But Jennie--the daughter of a politician and a promising one herself--Jennie sensed the fact that Jim Irwin had won something from the people of the Woodruff District in the way of deference. Still he was the gangling, Lincolnian, ill-dressed, poverty-stricken Jim Irwin of old, but Jennie had no longer the feeling that one's standing was somewhat compromised by association with him. He had begun to put on something more significant than clothes, something which he had possessed all the time, but which became valid only as it was publicly apprehended. There was a slight air of command in his down-sitting and up-rising at the picnic. He was clearly the central figure of his group, in which she recognized the Bronsons, those queer children from Tennessee, the Simmses, the Talcotts, the Hansens, the Hamms and Colonel Woodruff's hired man, Pete, whose other name is not recorded. Jim sat down between Bettina Hansen, a flaxen-haired young Brunhilde of seventeen, and Calista Simms--Jennie saw him do it, while listening to Wilbur Smythe's account of the exacting nature of the big law practise he was building up,--and would have been glad to exchange places with Calista or Bettina. The repast drew to a close; and over by the burr-oak the crowd had grown to a circle surrounding Jim Irwin. "He seems to be making an address," said Wilbur Smythe. "Well, Wilbur," replied the colonel, "you had the first shot at us. Suppose we move over and see what's under discussion." As they approached the group, they heard Jim Irwin answering something which Ezra Bronson had said. "You think so, Ezra," said he, "and it seems reasonable that big creameries like those at Omaha, Sioux City, Des Moines and the other centralizer points can make butter cheaper than we would do here--but we've the figures that show that they aren't economical." "They can't make good butter, for one thing," said Newton Bronson cockily. "Why can't they?" asked Olaf Hansen, the father of Bettina. "Well," said Newton, "they have to have so much cream that they've got to ship it so far that it gets rotten on the way, and they have to renovate it with lime and other ingredients before they can churn it." "Well," said Raymond Simms, "I reckon they sell their butter fo' all it's wuth; an' they cain't get within from foah to seven cents a pound as much fo' it as the farmers' creameries in Wisconsin and Minnesota get fo' theirs." "That's a fact, Olaf," said Jim. "How do you kids know so darned much about it?" queried Pete. "Huh!" sniffed Bettina. "We've been reading about it, and writing letters about it, and figuring percentages on it in school all winter. We've done arithmetic and geography and grammar and I don't know what else on it." "Well, I'm agin' any schoolin'," said Pete, "that makes kids smarter in farmin' than their parents and their parents' hired men. Gi' me another swig o' that lemonade, Jim!" "You see," said Jim to his audience, meanwhile pouring the lemonade, "the centralizer creamery is uneconomic in several ways. It has to pay excessive transportation charges. It has to pay excessive commissions to its cream buyers. It has to accept cream without proper inspection, and mixes the good with the bad. It makes such long shipments that the cream spoils in transit and lowers the quality of the butter. It can't make the best use of the buttermilk. All these losses and leaks the farmers have to stand. I can prove--and so can the six or eight pupils in the Woodruff school who have been working on the cream question this winter--that we could make at least six cents a pound on our butter if we had a cooperative creamery and all sent our cream to it." "Well," said Ezra Bronson, "let's start one." "I'll go in," said Olaf Hansen. "Me, too," said Con Bonner. There was a general chorus of assent. Jim had convinced his audience. "He's got the jury," said Wilbur Smythe to Colonel Woodruff. "Yes," said the colonel, "and right here is where he runs into danger. Can he handle the crowd when it's with him?" "Well," said Jim, "I think we ought to organize one, but I've another proposition first. Let's get together and pool our cream. By that, I mean that we'll all sell to the same creamery, and get the best we can out of the centralizers by the cooperative method. We can save two cents a pound in that way, and we'll learn to cooperate. When we have found just how well we can hang together, we'll be able to take up the cooperative creamery, with less danger of falling apart and failing." "Who'll handle the pool?" inquired Mr. Hansen. "We'll handle it in the school," answered Jim. "School's about done," objected Mr. Bronson. "Won't the cream pool pretty near pay the expenses of running the school all summer?" asked Bonner. "We ought to run the school plant all the time," said Jim. "It's the only way to get full value out of the investment. And we've corn-club work, pig-club work, poultry work and canning-club work which make it very desirable to keep in session with only a week's vacation. If you'll add the cream pool, it will make the school the hardest working crowd in the district and doing actual farm work, too. I like Mr. Bonner's suggestion." "Well," said Haakon Peterson, who had joined the group, "Ay tank we better have a meeting of the board and discuss it." "Well, darn it," said Columbus Brown, "I want in on this cream pool--and I live outside the district!" "We'll let you in, Clumb," said the colonel. "Sure!" said Pete. "We hain't no more sense than to let any one in, Clumb. Come in, the water's fine. We ain't proud!" "Well," said Clumb, "if this feller is goin' to do school work of this kind, I want in the district, too." "We'll come to that one of these days," said Jim. "The district is too small." Wilbur Smythe's car stopped at the distant gate and honked for him--a signal which broke up the party. Haakon Peterson passed the word to the colonel and Mr. Bronson for a board meeting the next evening. The picnic broke up in a dispersion of staid married couples to their homes, and young folks in top buggies to dances and displays of fireworks in the surrounding villages. Jim walked across the fields to his home--neither old nor young, having neither sweetheart with whom to dance nor farm to demand labor in its inexorable chores. He turned after crawling through a wire fence and looked longingly at Jennie as she was suavely assisted into the car by the frock-coated lawyer. "You saw what he did?" said the colonel interrogatively, as he and his daughter sat on the Woodruff veranda that evening. "Who taught him the supreme wisdom of holding back his troops when they grew too wild for attack?" "He may lose them," said Jennie. "Not so," said the colonel. "Individuals of the Brown Mouse type always succeed when they find their environment. And I believe Jim has found his." "Well," said Jennie, "I wish his environment would find him some clothes. It's a shame the way he has to go looking. He'd be nice-appearing if he was dressed anyway." "Would he?" queried the colonel. "I wonder, now! Well, Jennie, as his oldest friend having any knowledge of clothes, I think it's up to you to act as a committee of one on Jim's apparel." CHAPTER XVII A TROUBLE SHOOTER A sudden July storm had drenched the fields and filled the swales with water. The cultivators left the corn-fields until the next day's sun and a night of seepage might once more fit the black soil for tillage. The little boys rolled up their trousers and tramped home from school with the rich mud squeezing up between their toes, thrilling with the electricity of clean-washed nature, and the little girls rather wished they could go barefooted, too, as, indeed, some of the more sensible did. A lithe young man with climbers on his legs walked up a telephone pole by the roadside to make some repairs to the wires, which had been whipped into a "cross" by the wind of the storm and the lashing of the limbs of the roadside trees. He had tied his horse to a post up the road, and was running out the trouble on the line, which was plentifully in evidence just then. Wind and lightning had played hob with the system, and the line repairer was cheerfully profane, in the manner of his sort, glad by reason of the fire of summer in his veins, and incensed at the forces of nature which had brought him out through the mud to the Woodruff District to do these piffling jobs that any of the subscribers ought to have known how to do themselves, and none of which took more than a few minutes of his time when he reached the seat of the difficulty. Jim Irwin, his school out for the day, came along the muddy road with two of his pupils, a bare-legged little boy and a tall girl with flaxen hair--Bettina Hansen and her small brother Hans, who refused to answer to any name other than Hans Nilsen. His father's name was Nils Hansen, and Hans, a born conservative, being the son of Nils, regarded himself as rightfully a Nilsen, and disliked the "Hans Hansen" on the school register. Thus do European customs sometimes survive among us. Hans strode through the pool of water which the shower had spread completely over the low turnpike a few rods from the pole on which the trouble shooter was at work, and the electrician ceased his labors and rested himself on a cross-arm while he waited to see what the flaxen-haired girl would do when she came to it. Jim and Bettina stopped at the water's edge. "Oh!" cried she, "I can't get through!" The trouble shooter felt the impulse to offer his aid, but thought it best on the whole, to leave the matter in the hands of the lank schoolmaster. "I'll carry you across," said Jim. "I'm too heavy," answered Bettina. "Nonsense!" said Jim. "She's awful heavy," piped Hans. "Better take off your shoes, anyhow!" Jim thought of the welfare of his only good trousers, and saw that Hans' suggestion was good; but a mental picture of himself with shoes in hand and bare legs restrained him. He took Bettina in his arms and went slowly across, walking rather farther with his blushing burden than was strictly necessary. Bettina was undoubtedly heavy; but she was also wonderfully pleasant to feel in arms which had never borne such a burden before; and her arms about his neck as he slopped through the pond were curiously thrilling. Her cheek brushed his as he set her upon her feet and felt, rather than thought, that if there had only been a good reason for it, Bettina would have willingly been carried much farther. "How strong you are!" she panted. "I'm awful heavy, ain't I?" "Not very," said Jim, with scholastic accuracy. "You're just right. I--I mean, you're simply well-nourished and wholesomely plump!" Bettina blushed still more rosily. "You've ruined your clothes," said she. "Now you'll have to come home with me and let me--see who's there!" Jim looked up at the trouble shooter, and went over to the foot of the pole. The man walked down, striking his spurs deep into the wood for safety. "Hello!" said he. "School out?" "For the day," said Jim. "Any important work on the telephone line now?" "Just trouble-shooting," was the answer. "I have to spend three hours hunting these troubles, to one in fixing 'em up." "Do they take much technical skill?" asked Jim. "Mostly shakin' out crosses, and puttin' in new carbons in the arresters," replied the trouble man. "Any one ought to do any of 'em with five minutes' instruction. But these farmers--they'd rather have me drive ten miles to take a hair-pin from across the binding-posts than to do it themselves. That's the way they are!" "Will you be out here to-morrow?" queried the teacher. "Sure!" "I'd like to have you show my class in manual training something about the telephone," said Jim. "The reason we can't fix our own troubles, if they are as simple as you say, is because we don't know how simple they are." "I'll tell you what I'll do, Professor," said the trouble man. "I'll bring a phone with me and give 'em a lecture. I don't see how I can employ the company's time any better than in beating a little telephone sense into the heads of the community. Set the time, and I'll be there with bells." Bettina and her teacher walked on up the shady lane, feeling that they had a secret. They were very nearly on a parity as to the innocence of soul with which they held this secret, except that Bettina was much more single-minded toward it than Jim. To her he had been gradually attaining the status of a hero whose clasp of her in that iron-armed way was mysteriously blissful--and beyond that her mind had not gone. To Jim, Bettina represented in a very sweet way the disturbing influences which had recently risen to the threshold of consciousness in his being, and which were concretely but not very hopefully embodied in Jennie Woodruff. Thus interested in each other, they turned the corner which took them out of sight of the lineman, and stopped at the shady avenue leading up to Nils Hansen's farmstead. Little Hans Nilsen had disappeared by the simple method of cutting across lots. Bettina's girlish instinct called for something more than the casual good-by which would have sufficed yesterday. She lingered, standing close by Jim Irwin. "Won't you come in and let me clean the mud off you," she asked, "and give you some dry socks?" "Oh, no!" replied Jim. "It's almost as far to your house as it is home. Thank you, no." "There's a splash of mud on your face," said Bettina. "Let me--" And with her little handkerchief she began wiping off the mud. Jim stooped to permit the attention, but not much, for Bettina was of the mold of women of whom warriors are born--their faces approached, and Jim recognized a crisis in the fact that Bettina's mouth was presented for a kiss. Jim met the occasion like the gentleman he was. He did not leave her stung by rejection; neither did he obey the impulse to respond to the invitation according to his man's instinct; he took the rosy face between his palms and kissed her forehead--and left her in possession of her self-respect. After that Bettina Hansen felt, somehow, that the world could not possibly contain another man like Jim Irwin--a conviction which she still cherishes when that respectful caress has been swept into the cloudy distance of a woman's memories. Pete, Colonel Woodruff's hired man, was watering the horses at the trough when the trouble shooter reached the Woodruff telephone. County Superintendent Jennie had run for her father's home in her little motor-car in the face of the shower, and was now on the bench where once she had said "Humph!" to Jim Irwin--and thereby started in motion the factors in this story. "Anything wrong with your phone?" asked the trouble man of Pete. "Nah," replied Pete. "It was on the blink till you done something down the road." "Crossed up," said the lineman. "These trees along here are something fierce." "I'd cut 'em all if they was mine," said Pete, "but the colonel set 'em out, along about sixty-six, and I reckon they'll have to go on a-growin'." "Who's your school-teacher?" asked the telephone man. The county superintendent pricked up her ears--being quite properly interested in matters educational. "Feller name of Irwin," said Pete. "Not much of a looker," said the trouble shooter. "Nater of the sile," said Pete. "He an' I both worked in it together till it roughened up our complexions." "Farmer, eh?" said the lineman interrogatively. "Well, he's the first farmer I ever saw in my life that recognized there's education in the telephone business. I'm goin' to teach a class in telephony at the schoolhouse to-morrow." "Don't get swelled up," said Pete. "He has everybody tell them young ones about everything--blacksmith, cabinet-maker, pie-founder, cookie-cooper, dressmaker--even down to telephones. He'll have them scholars figurin' on telephones, and writin' compositions on 'em, and learnin' 'lectricity from 'em an' things like that" "He must be some feller," said the lineman. "And who's his star pupil?" "Didn't know he had one," said Pete. "Why?" "Girl," said the trouble-shooter. "Goes to school from the farm where the Western Union brace is used at the road." "Nils Hansen's girl?" asked Pete. "Toppy little filly," said the lineman, "with silver mane--looks like she'd pull a good load and step some." "M'h'm," grunted Pete. "Bettina Hansen. Looks well enough. What about her?" Again the county superintendent, seated on the bench, pricked up her ears that she might learn, mayhap, something of educational interest. "I never wanted to be a school-teacher as bad," continued the shooter of trouble, "as I did when this farmer got to the low place in the road with the fair Bettina this afternoon when they was comin' home from school. The water was all over the road----" "Then I win a smoke from the roadmaster," said Pete. "I bet him it would overflow." "Well, if I was in the professor's place, I'd be glad to pay the bet," said the worldly lineman. "And I'll say this for him, he rose equal to the emergency and caved the emergency's head in. He carried her across the pond, and her a-clingin' to his neck in a way to make your mouth water. She wasn't a bit mad about it, either." "I'd rather have a good cigar any ol' time," said Pete. "Nothin' but a yaller-haired kid--an' a Dane at that. I had a dame once up at Spirit Lake----" "Well, I must be drivin' on," said the lineman. "Got to get up a lecture for Professor Irwin to-morrow--and maybe I'll be able to meet that yaller-haired kid. So long!" The county superintendent recognized at once the educational importance of the matter, when one of her country teachers adopted the policy of calling in everybody available who could teach the pupils anything special, and converting the school into a local Chautauqua served by local lecturers. She made a run of ten miles to hear the trouble shooter's lecture. She saw the boys and some of the girls give an explanation of the telephone and the use of it. She heard the teacher give as a language exercise the next day an essay on the ethics and proprieties of eavesdropping on party lines; and she saw the beginning of an arrangement under which the boys of the Woodruff school took the contract to look after easily-remedied line troubles in the neighborhood on the basis which paid for a telephone for the school, and swelled slightly the fund which Jim was accumulating for general purposes. Incidentally, she saw how really educational was the work of the day, and that to which it led. She had no curiosity to which she would have confessed, about the relations between Jim Irwin and his "star pupil," that young Brunhilde--Bettina Hansen; but her official duty required her to observe the attitude of pupils to teachers--Bettina among them. Clearly, Jim was looked upon by the girls, large and small, as a possession of theirs. They competed for the task of keeping his desk in order, and of dusting and tidying up the schoolroom. There was something of exaltation of sentiment in this. Bettina's eyes followed him about the room in a devotional sort of way; but so, too, did those of the ten-year-olds. He was loved, that was clear, by Bettina, Calista Simms and all the rest--an excellent thing in a school. All the same, Jennie met Jim rather oftener after the curious conversation between those rather low fellows, Pete and the trouble shooter. As autumn approached, and the time came for Jim to begin to think of his trip to Ames, Colonel Woodruff's hint that she should assume charge of the problem of Jim's clothes for the occasion, came more and more often to her mind. Would Jim be able to buy suitable clothes? Would he understand that he ought not to appear in the costume which was tolerable in the Woodruff District only because the people there were accustomed to seeing him dressed like a tramp? Could she approach the subject with any degree of safety? Really these were delicate questions; and considering the fact that Jennie had quite dismissed her old sweetheart from the list of eligibles--had never actually admitted him to it, in fact--they assumed great importance to her mind. Once, only a little more than a year ago, she had scoffed at Jim's mention of the fact that he might think of marrying; and now she could not think of saying to him kindly, "Jim, you really must have some better clothes to wear when you go to Ames!" It would have been far easier last summer. Somehow, Jim had been acquiring dignity and unapproachability. She must sidle up to the subject. She did. She took him into her runabout one day as he was striding toward town in that plowed-ground manner of his, and gave him a spin over to the fair grounds and two or three times around the half-mile track. "I'm going to Ames to hear your speech," said she. "I'm glad of that," said Jim. "More of the farmers are going from this neighborhood than ever before. I'll feel at home, if they all sit together where I can talk at them." "Who's going?" asked Jennie. "The Bronsons, Con Bonner and Nils Hansen and Bettina," replied Jim. "That's all from our district--and Columbus Brown and probably others from near-by localities." "I shall have to have some clothes," said Jennie. Jim failed to respond to this, as clearly out of his field. They were passing the county fair buildings, and he began expatiating on the kind of county fair he would have--a great county exposition with the schools as its central thought--a clearing house for the rural activities of all the country schools. "And pa's going to have a suit before we go, too," said Jennie. "Here are some samples I got of Atkins, the tailor. Which would be the most becoming do you think?" Jim looked the samples over carefully, but had little to say as to their adaptation to Colonel Woodruff's sartorial needs. Jennie laid great stress on the excellent quality of one or two samples, and carefully specified the prices of them. Jim exhibited no more than a languid and polite interest, and gave not the slightest symptom of ever having considered even remotely the contingency of having a tailor-made suit. Jennie sidled closer to the subject. "I should think it would be awfully hard for you to get fitted in the stores," said she, "you are so very tall." "It would be," said Jim, "if I had ever considered the matter of looks very much. I guess I'm not constructed on any plan the clothing manufacturers have regarded as even remotely possible. How about this county fair idea? Couldn't we do this next fall? You organize the teachers----" Jennie advanced the spark, cut out the muffler and drowned the rest of Jim's remarks in wind and dust. "I give it up, dad," said she to her father that evening. "What?" queried the colonel. "Jim Irwin's clothes," she replied. "I think he'll go to Ames in a disgraceful plight, but I can't get any closer to the subject than I have done." "Oh, then you haven't heard the news," said the colonel. "Jim's going to have his first made-to-measure suit for Ames. It's all fixed." "Who's making it?" asked Jennie. "Gustaf Paulsen, the Dane that's just opened a shop in town." "A Dane?" queried Jennie. "Isn't he related to some of the neighbors?" "A brother to Mrs. Hansen," answered the colonel. "Bettina's uncle!" "Ratherly," said the colonel jocularly, "seeing as how Bettina's Mrs. Hansen's daughter." Clothes are rather important, but the difference between a suit made by Atkins the tailor, and one built by Gustaf Paulsen, the new Danish craftsman, could not be supposed to be crucially important, even when designed for a very dear friend. And Jim was scarcely that--of course not! Why, then, did the county superintendent hastily run to her room, and cry? Why did she say to herself that the Hansens were very good people, and well-to-do, and it would be a fine thing for Jim and his mother,--and then cry some more? Colonel failed to notice Jennie's unceremonious retirement from circulation that evening, and had he known all about what took place, he would have been as mystified as you or I. CHAPTER XVIII JIM GOES TO AMES The boat tipped over, and Jim Irwin was left struggling in the water. It was in the rapids just above the cataract--and poor Jim could not swim a stroke. Helpless, terrified, gasping, he floated to destruction, and Jennie Woodruff was not able to lift a hand to help him. To see any human being swept to such an end is dreadful, but for a county superintendent to witness the drowning of one of her best--though sometimes it must be confessed most insubordinate--teachers, under such circumstances, is unspeakable; and when that teacher is a young man who was once that county superintendent's sweetheart, and falls in, clothed in a new made-to-order suit in which he looks almost handsome despite his manifest discomfort in his new cravat and starched collar, the experience is something almost impossible to endure. That is why Jennie gripped her seat until she must have scratched the varnish. That is why she felt she must go to him--and do something. She could not endure it a moment longer, she felt; and there he floated away, his poor pale face dipping below the waves, his sad, long, homely countenance sadder than ever, his lovely--yes, she must confess it now, his eyes were lovely!--his lovely blue eyes, so honest and true, wide with terror; and she unable to give him so much as a cry of encouragement! And then Jim began to swim. He cast aside the roll of manuscript which he had held in his hand when the waters began to rise about him, and struck out for the shore with strong strokes--wild and agitated at first, but gradually becoming controlled and coordinated, and Jennie drew a long breath as he finally came to shore, breasting the waves like Triton, and master of the element in which he moved. There was a burst of applause, and people went forward to congratulate the greenhorn who had really made good. Jennie felt like throwing her arms about his neck and weeping out her joy at his escape, and his restoration to her. Her eyes told him something of this; for there was a look in them which reminded him of fifteen years ago. Bettina Hansen was proud of him, and Con Bonner shook his hand and said that he agreed with him. Neither Bettina nor Con had noticed the capsizing of the boat or saw the form of Jim as it went drifting toward the cataract. But Jim knew how near he had been to disaster, and knew that Jennie knew. For she had seen him turn pale when he came on the platform to make his address at the farmers' meeting at Ames, had seen him begin the speech he had committed to memory, had observed how unable he was to remember it, had noted his confusion as he tried to find his manuscript, and then his place of beginning in it--and when his confusion had seemingly quite overcome him, had seen him begin talking to his audience just as he had talked to the political meeting that time when he had so deeply offended her, and had observed how he won first their respect, then their attention, then apparently their convictions. To Jennie's agitated mind Jim had barely escaped being drowned in the ocean of his own unreadiness and confusion under trying conditions. And she was right. Jim had never felt more the upstart uneducated farm-hand than when he was introduced to that audience by Professor Withers, nor more completely disgraced than when he concluded his remarks. Even the applause was to him a kindly effort on the part of the audience to comfort him in his failure. His only solace was the look in Jennie's eyes. "Young man," said an old farmer who wore thick glasses and looked like a Dutch burgomaster, "I want to have a little talk with you." "This is Mr. Hofmyer of Pottawatomie County," said the dean of the college. "I'm glad to meet you," said Jim. "I can talk to you now." "No," said Jennie. "I know Mr. Hofmyer will excuse you until after dinner. We have a little party for Mr. Irwin, and we shall be late if we don't hurry." "Where can I see you after supper?" asked Mr. Hofmyer. Easy it was to satisfy Mr. Hofmyer; and Jim was carried off to a dinner given by County Superintendent Jennie to Jim, the dean, Professor Withers, and one or two others--and a wonderfully select and distinguished company it seemed to Jim. Jennie seized a moment's opportunity to say, "You did beautifully, Jim; everybody says so." "I failed!" said. Jim. "You know I failed. I couldn't remember my speech. I can't stay here feasting. I want to get out in the snow." "You made the best address of the meeting; and you did it because you forgot your speech," insisted Jennie. "Does anybody else think so?" "Why, Jim! You must learn to believe in what you have done. Even Con Bonner says it was the best. He says he didn't think you had it in ye!" This advice from her to "believe in what you have done,"--wasn't there something new in Jennie's attitude here? Wasn't his belief in what he was doing precisely the thing which had made him such a nuisance to the county superintendent? However, Jim couldn't stop to answer the question which popped up in his mind. "What does Professor Withers say?" he asked. "He's delighted--silly!" "Silly!" How wonderful it was to be called "silly"--in that tone. "I shouldn't have forgotten the speech if it hadn't been for this darned boiled shirt and collar, and for wearing a cravat," urged Jim in extenuation. "You ought to 've worn them around the house for a week before coming," said Jennie. "Why didn't you ask my advice?" "I will, next time, Jennie," said Jim. "I didn't suppose I needed a bitting-rig--but I guess I did!" Jennie ran away then to ask Nils Hansen and Bettina to join their dinner party. She had a sudden access of friendliness for the Hansens. Nils refused because he was going out to see the college herds fed; but at Jennie's urgent request, reinforced by pats and hugs, Bettina consented. Jennie was very happy, and proved herself a beaming hostess. The dean devoted himself to Bettina--and Jim found out afterward that this inquiring gentleman was getting at the mental processes of a specimen pupil in one of the new kind of rural schools, in which he was only half inclined to believe. He thanked Jim for his speech, and said it was "most suggestive and thought-provoking," and as the party broke up slipped into Jim's hand a check for the honorarium. It was not until then that Jim felt quite sure that he was actually to be paid for his speech; and he felt a good deal like returning the check to the conscience fund of the State of Iowa, if it by any chance possessed such a fund. But the breach made in his financial entrenchments by the expenses of the trip and the respectable and well-fitting suit of clothes overcame his feeling of getting something for nothing. If he hadn't given the state anything, he had at least expended something--a good deal in fact--on the state's account. CHAPTER XIX JIM'S WORLD WIDENS Mr. Hofmyer was waiting to give Jim the final convincing proof that he had produced an effect with his speech. "Do you teach the kind of school you lay out in your talk?" he asked. "I try to," said Jim, "and I believe I do." "Well," said Mr. Hofmyer, "that's the kind of education I b'lieve in. I kep' school back in Pennsylvany fifty years ago, and I made the scholars measure things, and weigh things, and apply their studies as fur as I could." "All good teachers have always done that," said Jim. "Froebel, Pestalozzi, Colonel Parker--they all had the idea which is at the bottom of my work; 'learn to do by doing,' and connecting up the school with life." "M'h'm," grunted Mr. Hofmyer, "I hain't been able to see how Latin connects up with a high-school kid's life--unless he can find a Latin settlement som'eres and git a job clerkin' in a store." "But it used to relate to life," said Jim, "the life of the people who made Greek and Latin a part of everybody else's education as well as their own. Latin and Greek were the only languages in which anything worth much was written, you know. But now"--Jim spread out his arms as if to take in the whole world--"science, the marvelous literature of our tongue in the last three centuries! And to make a child learn Latin with all that, a thousand times richer than all the literature of Latin, lying unused before him!" "Know any Latin?" asked Mr. Hofmyer. Jim blushed, as one caught in condemning what he knows nothing about. "I--I have studied the grammar, and read _Cæsar_," he faltered, "but that isn't much. I had no teacher, and I had to work pretty hard, and it didn't go very well." "I've had all the Latin they gave in the colleges of my time," said Mr. Hofmyer, "if I do talk dialect; and I'll agree with you so far as to say that it would have been a crime for me to neglect the chemistry, bacteriology, physics, engineering and other sciences that pertain to farmin'--if there'd been any such sciences when I was gettin' my schoolin'." "And yet," said Jim, "some people want us to guide ourselves by the courses of study made before these sciences existed." "I don't, by hokey!" said Mr. Hofmyer. "I'll be dag-goned if you ain't right. I wouldn't 'a' said so before I heard that speech--but I say so now." Jim's face lighted up at this, the first convincing evidence that he had scored. "I b'lieve, too," went on Mr. Hofmyer, "that your idee would please our folks. I've been the stand-patter in our parts--mostly on English and--say German. What d'ye say to comin' down and teachin' our school? We've got a two-room affair, and I was made a committee of one to find a teacher." "I--I don't see how--" Jim stammered, all taken aback by this new breeze of recognition. "We can't pay much," said Mr. Hofmyer. "You have charge of the dis-_cip_-line in the whole school, and teach in Number Two room. Seventy-five dollars a month. Does it appeal to ye?" Appeal to him! Why, eighteen months ago it would have been worth crawling across the state after, and now to have it offered to him--it was stupendous. And yet, how about the Simmses, Colonel Woodruff, the Hansens and Newton Bronson, now just getting a firm start on the upward path to usefulness and real happiness? How could he leave the little, crude, puny structure on which he had been working--on which he had been merely practising--for a year, and remove to the new field? Jim was in exactly the same situation in which every able young minister of the gospel finds himself sooner or later. The Lord was calling to a broader field--but how could he be sure it was the Lord? "I'm afraid I can't," said Jim Irwin, "but----" "If you're only 'fraid you can't," said Mr. Hofmyer, "think it over. I've got your post-office address on this program, and we'll write you a formal offer. We may spring them figures a little. Think it over." "You mustn't think," said Jim, "that we've _done_ all the things I mentioned in my talk, or that I haven't made any mistakes or failures." "Your county superintendent didn't mention any failures," said Mr. Hofmyer. "Did you talk with her about my work?" inquired Jim, suddenly very curious. "M'h'm." "Then I don't see why you want me," Jim went on. "Why?" asked Mr. Hofmyer. "I had not supposed," said Jim, "that she had a very high opinion of my work." "I didn't ask her about that," said Mr. Hofmyer, "though I guess she thinks well of it. I asked her what you are tryin' to do, and what sort of a fellow you are. I was favorably impressed; but she didn't mention any failures." "We haven't succeeded in adopting a successful system of selling our cream," said Jim. "I believe we can do it, but we haven't." "Wal," said Mr. Hofmyer, "I d'know as I'd call that a failure. The fact that you're tryin' of it shows you've got the right idees. We'll write ye, and mebbe pay your way down to look us over. We're a pretty good crowd, the neighbors think." CHAPTER XX THINK OF IT Ames was an inspiration. Jim Irwin received from the great agricultural college more real education in this one trip than many students get from a four years' course in its halls; for he had spent ten years in getting ready for the experience. The great farm of hundreds of acres, all under the management of experts, the beautiful campus, the commodious classrooms and laboratories, and especially the barns, the greenhouses, gardens, herds and flocks filled him with a sort of apostolic joy. "Every school," said he to Professor Withers, "ought to be doing a good deal of the work you have to do here." "I'll admit," said the professor, "that much of our work in agriculture is pretty elementary." "It's intermediate school work," said Jim. "It's a wrong to force boys and girls to leave their homes and live in a college to get so much of what they should have before they're ten years old." "There's something in what you say," said the professor, "but some experiment station men seem to think that agriculture in the common schools will take from the young men and women the felt need, and therefore the desire to come to the college." "If you can't give them anything better than high-school work," said Jim, "that will be so; but if the science and art of agriculture is what I think it is, it would make them hungry for the advanced work that really can't be done at home. To make the children wait until they're twenty is to deny them more than half what the college ought to give them--and make them pay for what they don't get." "I think you're right," said the professor. "Give us the kind of schools I ask for," cried Jim, "and I'll fill a college like this in every congressional district in Iowa, or I'll force you to tear this down and build larger." The professor laughed at his enthusiasm. More nearly happy, and rather shorter of money than he had recently been, Jim journeyed home among the companions from his own neighborhood, in a frenzy of plans for the future. Mr. Hofmyer had dropped from his mind, until Con Bonner, his old enemy, drew him aside in the vestibule of the train and spoke to him in the mysterious manner peculiar to politicians. "What kind of a proposition did that man Hofmeister make you?" he inquired. "He asked me about you, and I told him you're a crackerjack." "I'm much obliged," replied Jim. "No use in back-cappin' a fellow that's tryin' to make somethin' of himself," said Bonner. "That ain't good politics, nor good sense. Anything to him?" "He offered me a salary of seventy-five dollars a month to take charge of his school," said Jim. "Well," said Con, "we'll be sorry to lose yeh, but you can't turn down anything like that." "I don't know," said Jim. "I haven't decided." Bonner scrutinized his face sharply, as if to find out what sort of game he was playing. "Well," said he, at last, "I hope you can stay with us, o' course. I'm licked, and I never squeal. If the rist of the district can stand your kind of thricks, I can. And say, Jim"--here he grew still more mysterious--"if you do stay, some of us would like to have you be enough of a Dimmycrat to go into the next con'vintion f'r county superintendent." "Why," replied Jim, "I never thought of such a thing!" "Well, think of it," said Con. "The county's close, and wid a pop'lar young educator--an' a farmer, too, it might be done. Think of it." It must be confessed that Jim was almost dazed at the number of "propositions" of which he was now required to "think"--and that Bonner's did not at first impress him as having anything back of it but blarney. He was to find out later, however, that the wily Con had made up his mind that the ambition of Jim to serve the rural schools in a larger sphere might be used for the purpose of bringing to earth what he regarded as the soaring political ambitions of the Woodruff family. To defeat the colonel in the defeat of his daughter when running for her traditionally-granted second term; to get Jim Irwin out of the Woodruff District by kicking him up-stairs into a county office; to split the forces which had defeated Mr. Bonner in his own school district; and to do these things with the very instrument used by the colonel on that sad but glorious day of the last school election--these, to Mr. Bonner, would be diabolically fine things to do--things worthy of those Tammany politicians who from afar off had won his admiration. Jim had scarcely taken his seat in the car, facing Jennie Woodruff and Bettina Hansen in the Pullman, when Columbus Brown, pathmaster of the road district and only across the way from residence in the school district, came down the aisle and called Jim to the smoking-room. "Did an old fellow named Hoffman from Pottawatomie County ask you to leave us and take his school?" he asked. "Mr. Hofmyer," said Jim, "--yes, he did." "Well," said Columbus, "I don't want to ask you to stand in your own light, but I hope you won't let him toll you off there among strangers. We're proud of you, Jim, and we don't want to lose you." Proud of him! Sweet music to the underling's ears! Jim blushed and stammered. "The fact is," said Columbus, "I know that Woodruff District job hain't big enough for you any more; but we can make it bigger. If you'll stay, I believe we can pull off a deal to consolidate some of them districts, and make you boss of the whole shooting match." "I appreciate this, Clumb," said Jim, "but I don't believe you can do it." "Well, think of it," said Columbus. "And don't do anything till you talk with me and a few of the rest of the boys." "Think of it" again! A fine home-coming it was for Jim, with the colonel waiting at the station with a double sleigh, and the chance to ride into the snowy country in the same seat with Jennie--a chance which was blighted by the colonel's placing of Jennie, Bettina and Nils Hansen in the broad rear seat, and Jim in front with himself. A fine ride, just the same, over fine roads, and past fine farmsteads snuggled into their rectangular wrappages of trees set out in the old pioneer days. The colonel would not allow him to get out and walk when he could really have reached home more quickly by doing so; no, he set the Hansens down at their door, took Jennie home, and then drove the lightened sleigh merrily to the humble cabin of the rather excited young schoolmaster. "Did you make any deal with those people down in the western part of the state?" asked the colonel. "Jennie wrote me that you've got an offer." "No," said Jim, and he told the colonel about the proposal of Mr. Hofmyer. "Well," said the colonel, "in my capacity of wild-eyed reformer, I've made up my mind that the first four miles in the trip is to make the rural teacher's job a bigger job. It's got to be a man's size, woman's size job, or we can't get real men and real women to stay in the work." "I think that's a statesmanlike formulation of it," said Jim. "Well," said the colonel, "don't turn down the Pottawatomie County job until we have a chance to see what we can do. I'll get some kind of a meeting together, and what I want you to do is to use this offer as a club over this helpless school district. What we need is to be held up. Do the Jesse James act, Jim!" "I can't, Colonel!" "Yes, you can, too. Will you try it?" "I want to treat everybody fairly," said Jim, "including Mr. Hofmyer. I don't know what to do, hardly." "Well, I'll get the meeting together," said the colonel, "and in the meantime, think of what I've said." Another thing to think of! Jim rushed into the house and surprised his mother, who had expected him to arrive after a slow walk from town through the snow. Jim caught her in his arms, from which she was released a moment later, quite flustered and blushing. "Why, James," said she, "you seem excited. What's happened?" "Nothing, mother," he replied, "except that I believe there's just a possibility of my being a success in the world!" "My boy, my boy!" said she, laying her hand on his arm, "if you were to die to-night, you'd die the greatest success any boy ever was--if your mother is any judge." Jim kissed her, and went up to his attic to change his clothes. Inside the waistcoat was a worn envelope, which he carefully opened, and took from it a letter much creased from many foldings. It was the old letter from Jennie, written when the comical mistake had been made of making him the teacher of the Woodruff school. It still contained her rather fussy cautions about being "too original," and the sage statement that "the wheel runs easiest in the beaten track." It was written before the vexation and trouble he had caused her; but he did not read the advice, nor think of the coolness which had come between them--he read only the sentence in which Jennie had told of her father's interest in Jim's success, ending with the underscored words, "_I'm for you, too._" "I wonder," said Jim, as he went out to do the evening's tasks, "I wonder if she _is_ for me!" CHAPTER XXI A SCHOOL DISTRICT HELD UP Young McGeehee Simms was loitering along the snowy way to the schoolhouse bearing a brightly scoured tin pail two-thirds full of water. He had been allowed to act as Water Superintendent of the Woodruff School as a reward of merit--said merit being an essay on which he received credit in both language and geography on "Harvesting Wheat in the Tennessee Mountains." This had been of vast interest to the school in view of the fact that the Simmses were the only pupils in the school who had ever seen in use that supposedly-obsolete harvesting implement, the cradle. Buddy's essay had been passed over to the class in United States history as the evidence of an eye-witness concerning farming conditions in our grandfathers' times. The surnameless Pete, Colonel Woodruff's hired man, halted Buddy at the door. "Mr. Simms, I believe?" he said. "I reckon you must be lookin' for my brother, Raymond, suh," said Buddy. "I am a-lookin'," said Pete impressively, "for Mr. McGeehee Simms." "That's me," said Buddy; "but I hain't been doin' nothin' wrong, suh!" "I have a message here," said Pete, "for Professor James E. Irwin. He's what-ho within, there, ain't he?" "He's inside, I reckon," said Buddy. "Then will you be so kind and condescendin' as to stoop so low as to jump so high as to give him this letter?" asked Pete. Buddy took the letter and was considering of his reply to this remarkable speech, when Pete, gravely saluting, passed on, rather congratulating himself on having staged a very good burlesque of the dignified manners of those queer mountaineers, the Simmses. "Please come to the meeting to-night," ran the colonel's note to Jim; "and when you come, come prepared to hold the district up. If we can't meet the Pottawatomie County standard of wages, we ought to lose you. Everybody in the district will be there. Come late, so you won't hear yourself talked about--I should recommend nine-thirty and war-paint." It was a crisis, no doubt of that; and the responsibility of the situation rather sickened Jim of the task of teaching. How could he impose conditions on the whole school district? How could the colonel expect such a thing of him? And how could any one look for anything but scorn for the upstart field-hand from these men who had for so many years made him the butt of their good-natured but none the less contemptuous ridicule? Who was he, anyway, to lay down rules for these substantial and successful men--he who had been for all the years of his life at their command, subservient to their demands for labor--their underling? Only one thing kept him from dodging the whole issue and remaining at home--the colonel's matter-of-fact assumption that Jim had become master of the situation. How could he flee, when this old soldier was fighting so valiantly for him in the trenches? So Jim went to the meeting. The season was nearing spring, and it was a mild thawy night. The windows of the schoolhouse were filled with heads, evidencing the presence of a crowd of almost unprecedented size, and the sashes had been thrown up for ventilation and coolness. As Jim climbed the back fence of the school-yard, he heard a burst of applause, from which he judged that some speaker had just finished his remarks. There was silence when he came alongside the window at the right of the chairman's desk, a silence broken by the voice of Old Man Simms, saying "Mistah Chairman!" "The chair," said the voice of Ezra Bronson, "recognizes Mr. Simms." Jim halted in indecision. He was not expected while the debate was in progress, and therefore regarded himself at this time as somewhat _de trop_. There is no rule of manners or morals, however, forbidding eavesdropping during the proceedings of a public meeting--and anyhow, he felt rather shiveringly curious about these deliberations. Therefore he listened to the first and last public speech of Old Man Simms. "Ah ain't no speaker," said Old Man Simms, "but Ah cain't set here and be quiet an' go home an' face my ole woman an' my boys an' gyuhls withouten sayin' a word fo' the best friend any family evah had, Mr. Jim Irwin." (Applause.) "Ah owe it to him that Ah've got the right to speak in this meetin' at all. Gentlemen, we-all owe everything to Mr. Jim Irwin! Maybe Ah'll be thought forrard to speak hyah, bein' as Ah ain't no learnin' an' some may think Ah don't pay no taxes; but it will be overlooked, I reckon, seein' as how we've took the Blanchard farm, a hundred an' sixty acres, for five yeahs, an' move in a week from Sat'day. We pay taxes in our rent, Ah reckon, an' howsomever that may be, Ah've come to feel that you-all won't think hard of me if Ah speak what we-uns feel so strong about Mr. Jim Irwin?" Old Man Simms finished this exordium with the rising inflection, which denoted a direct question as to his status in the meeting. "Go on!" "You've got as good a right as any one!" "You're all right, old man!" Such exclamations as these came to Jim's ears with scarcely less gratefulness than to those of Old Man Simms--who stammered and went on. "Ah thank you-all kindly. Gentlemen an' ladies, when Mr. Jim Irwin found us, we was scandalous pore, an' we was wuss'n pore--we was low-down." (Cries of "No--No!") "Yes, we was, becuz what's respectable in the mountings is one thing, whar all the folks is pore, but when a man gets in a new place, he's got to lift himse'f up to what folks does where he's come to, or he'll fall to the bottom of what there is in that there community--an' maybe he'll make a place fer himse'f lower'n anybody else. In the mountings we was good people, becuz we done the best we could an' the best any one done; but hyah, we was low-down people becuz we hated the people that had mo' learnin', mo' land, mo' money, an' mo' friends than what we had. My little gyuhls wasn't respectable in their clothes. My childern was igernant, an' triflin', but I was the most triflin' of all. Ah'll leave it to Colonel Woodruff if I was good fer a plug of terbacker, or a bakin' of flour at any sto' in the county. Was I, Colonel? Wasn't I perfectly wuthless an' triflin'?" There was a ripple of laughter, in the midst of which the colonel's voice was heard saying, "I guess you were, Mr. Simms, I guess you were, but----" "Thankee," said Old Man Simms, as if the colonel had given a really valuable testimonial to his character. "I sho' was! Thankee kindly! An'now, what am I good fer? Cain't I get anything I want at the stores? Cain't I git a little money at the bank, if I got to have it?" "You're just as good as any man in the district," said the colonel. "You don't ask for more than you can pay, and you can get all you ask." "Thankee," said Mr. Simms gravely. "What Ah tell you-all is right, ladies and gentlemen. An' what has made the change in we-uns, ladies and gentlemen? It's the wuk of Mr. Jim Irwin with my boy Raymond, the best boy any man evah hed, and my gyuhl, Calista, an' Buddy, an' Jinnie, an' with me an' my ole woman. He showed us how to get a toe-holt into this new kentry. He teached the children what orto be did by a rentin' farmer in Ioway. He done lifted us up, an' made people of us. He done showed us that you-all is good people, an' not what we thought you was. Outen what he learned in school, my boy Raymond an' me made as good crops as we could last summer, an' done right much wuk outside. We got the name of bein' good farmers an' good wukkers, an' when Mr. Blanchard moved to town, he said he was glad to give us his fine farm for five years. Now, see what Mr. Jim Irwin has done for a pack o' outlaws and outcasts. Instid o' hidin' out from the Hobdays that was lay-wayin' us in the mountings, we'll be livin' in a house with two chimleys an' a swimmin' tub made outen crock'ryware. We'll be in debt a whole lot--an' we owe it to Mr. Jim Irwin that we got the credit to git in debt with, an' the courage to go on and git out agin!" (Applause.) "Ah could affo'd to pay Mr. Jim Irwin's salary mysr'f, if Ah could. An' there's enough men hyah to-night that say they've been money-he'ped by his teachin' the school to make up mo' than his wages. Let's not let Mr. Jim Irwin go, neighbors! Let's not let him go!" Jim's heart sank. Surely the case was desperate which could call forth such a forlorn-hope charge as that of Old Man Simms--a performance on Mr. Simms' part which warmed Jim's soul. "There isn't a man in that meeting," said he to himself, as he walked to the schoolhouse door, "possessed of the greatness of spirit of Old Man Simms. If he's a fair sample of the people of the mountains, they are of the stuff of which great nations are made--if they only are given a chance!" Colonel Woodruff was on his feet as Jim made his way through the crowd about the door. "Mr. Irwin is here, ladies and gentlemen," said he, "and I move that we hear from him as to what we can do to meet the offer of our friends in Pottawatomie County, who have heard of his good work, and want him to work for them; but before I yield the floor, I want to say that this meeting has been worth while just to have been the occasion of our all becoming better acquainted with our friend and neighbor, Mr. Simms. Whatever may have been the lack of understanding, on our part, of his qualities, they were all cleared up by that speech of his--the best I have ever heard in this neighborhood." More applause, in the midst of which Old Man Simms slunk away down in his seat to escape observation. Then the chairman said that if there was no objection they would hear from their well-known citizen, whose growing fame was more remarkable for the fact that it had been gained as a country schoolmaster--he need not add that he referred to Mr. James E. Irwin. More and louder applause. "Friends and neighbors," said Jim, "you ask me to say to you what I want you to do. I want you to do what you want to do--nothing more nor less. Last year I was glad to be tolerated here; and the only change in the situation lies in the fact that I have another place offered me--unless there has been a change in your feelings toward me and my work. I hope there has been; for I know my work is good now, whereas I only believed it then." "Sure it is!" shouted Con Bonner from a front seat, thus signalizing that astute wire-puller's definite choice of a place in the bandwagon. "Tell us what you want, Jim!" "What do I want?" asked Jim. "More than anything else, I want such meetings as this--often--and a place to hold them. If I stay in the Woodruff District, I want this meeting to effect a permanent organization to work with me. I can't teach this district anything. Nobody can teach any one anything. All any teacher can do is to direct people's activities in teaching themselves. You are gathered here to decide what you'll do about the small matter of keeping me at work as your hired man. You can't make any legal decision here, but whatever this meeting decides will be law, just the same, because a majority of the people of the district are here. Such a meeting as this can decide almost anything. If I'm to be your hired man, I want a boss in the shape of a civic organization which will take in every man and woman in the district. Here's the place and now's the time to make that organization--an organization the object of which shall be to put the whole district at school, and to boss me in my work for the whole district." "Dat sounds good," cried Haakon Peterson. "Ve'll do dat!" "Then I want you to work out a building scheme for the school," Jim went on. "We want a place where the girls can learn to cook, keep house, take care of babies, sew and learn to be wives and mothers. We want a place in which Mrs. Hansen can come to show them how to cure meat--she's the best hand at that in the county--where Mrs. Bonner can teach them to make bread and pastry--she ought to be given a doctor's degree for that--where Mrs. Woodruff can teach them the cooking of turkeys, Mrs. Peterson the way to give the family a balanced ration, and Mrs. Simms induct them into the mysteries of weaving rag rugs and making jellies and preserves--you can all learn these things from her. There's somebody right in this neighborhood able to teach anything the young people want to learn. "And I want a physician here once in a while to examine the children as to their health, and a dentist to look after their teeth and teach them how to care for them. Also an oculist to examine their eyes. And when Bettina Hansen comes home from the hospital a trained nurse, I want her to have a job as visiting nurse right here in the Woodruff District. "I want a counting-room for the keeping of the farm accounts and the record of our observation in farming. I want cooperation in letting us have these accounts. "I want some manual training equipment for wood-working and metal working, and a blacksmith and wagon shop, in which the boys may learn to shoe horses, repair tools, design buildings, and practise the best agricultural engineering. So I want a blacksmith and handyman with tools regularly on the job--and he'll more than pay his way. I want some land for actual farming. I want to do work in poultry according to the most modern breeding discoveries, and I want your cooperation in that, and a poultry plant somewhere in the district. "I want a laboratory in which we can work on seeds, pests, soils, feeds and the like. For the education of your children must come out of these things. "I want these things because they are necessary if we are to get the culture out of life we should get--and nobody gets culture out of any sort of school--they get it out of life, or they don't get it at all. "So I want you to build as freely for your school as for your cattle and horses and hogs. "The school I ask for will make each of you more money than the taxes it will require would make if invested in your farm equipment. If you are not convinced of this, don't bother with me any longer. But the money the school will make for you--this new kind of rural school--will be as nothing to the social life which will grow up--a social life which will make necessary an assembly-room, which will be the social center, because it will be the educational center, and the business center of the countryside. "I want all these things, and more. But I don't expect them all at once. I know that this district is too small to do all of them, and therefore, I am going to tell you of another want which will tempt you to think that I am crazy. I want a bigger district--one that will give us the financial strength to carry out the program I have sketched. This may be a presumptuous thing for me to propose; but the whole situation here to-night is presumptuous on my part, I fear. If you think so, let me go; but if you don't, please keep this meeting together in a permanent organization of grown-up members of the Woodruff school, and by pulling together, you can do these things--all of them--and many more--and you'll make the Woodruff District a good place to live in and die in--and I shall be proud to live and die in it at your service, as the neighborhood's hired man!" As Jim sat down there was a hush in the crowded room, as if the people were dazed at his assurance. There was no applause, until Jennie Woodruff, now seen by Jim for the first time over next the blackboard, clapped her gloved hands together and started it; then it swept out through the windows in a storm. The dust rose from stamping feet until the kerosene lamps were dimmed by it. And as the noise subsided, Jim saw standing out in front the stooped form of B. B. Hamm, one of the most prosperous men in the district. "Mr. Chairman--Ezra Bronson," he roared, "this feller's crazy, an' from the sound of things, you're all as crazy as he is. If this fool scheme of his goes through, my farm's for sale! I'll quit before I'm sold out for taxes!" "Just a minute, B. B.!" interposed Colonel Woodruff. "This ain't as dangerous as you think. You don't want us to do all this in fifteen minutes, do you, Jim?" "Oh, as to that," replied Jim, "I just wanted you to have in your minds what I have in my mind--and unless we can agree to work toward these things there's no use in my staying. But time--that's another matter. Believe with me, and I'll work with you." "Get out of here!" said the colonel to Jim in an undertone, "and leave the rest to your friends." Jim walked out of the room and took the way toward his home. A horse tied to the hitching-pole had his blanket under foot, and Jim replaced it on his back, patting him kindly and talking horse language to him. Then he went up and down the line of teams, readjusting blankets, tying loosened knots, and assuring himself that his neighbors' horses were securely tied and comfortable. He knew horses better than he knew people, he thought. If he could manage people as he could manage horses--but that would be wrong. The horse did his work as a servant, submissive to the wills of others; the community could never develop anything worth while in its common life, until it worked the system out for itself. Horse management was despotism; man-government must be like the government of a society of wild horses, the result of the common work of the members of the herd. Two figures emerged from the schoolhouse door, and as he turned toward his home after his pastoral calls on the horses, they overtook him. They were the figures of Newton Bronson and the county superintendent of schools. "We were coming after you," said Jennie. "Dad wants you back there again," said Newton. "What for?" inquired Jim. "You silly boy," said Jennie, "you talked about the good of the schools all of the time, and never said a word about your own salary! What do you want? They want to know?" "Oh!" exclaimed Jim in the manner of one who suddenly remembers that he has forgotten his umbrella or his pocket-knife. "I forgot all about it. I haven't thought about that at all, Jennie!" "Jim," said she, "you need a guardian!" "I know it, Jennie," said he, "and I know who I want. I want----" "Please come back," said Jennie, "and tell papa how much you're going to hold the district up for." "You run back," said Jim to Newton, "and tell your father that whatever is right in the way of salary will be satisfactory to me. I leave that to the people." Newton darted off, leaving the schoolmaster standing in the road with the county superintendent. "I can't go back there!" said Jim. "I'm proud of you, Jim," said Jennie. "This community has found its master. They can't do all you ask now, nor very soon; but finally they'll do just as you want them to do. And, Jim, I want to say that I've been the biggest little fool in the county!" CHAPTER XXII AN EMBASSY FROM DIXIE Superintendent Jennie sat at her desk in no very satisfactory frame of mind. In the first place court was to convene on the following Monday, and both grand jury and petit juries would be in session, so that her one-room office was not to be hers for a few days. Her desk was even now ready to be moved into the hall by the janitor. To Wilbur Smythe, who did her the honor of calling occasionally as the exigencies of his law practise took him past the office of the pretty country girl on whose shapely shoulders rested the burden of the welfare of the schools, she remarked that if they didn't soon build the new court-house so as to give her such accommodations as her office really needed, "they might take their old office--so there!" "Fair woman," said Wilbur, as he creased his Prince Albert in a parting bow, "should adorn the home!" "Bosh!" sneered Jennie, rather pleased, all the same, "suppose she isn't fair, and hasn't any home!" This question of adorning a home was no nearer settlement with Jennie than it had ever been, though increasingly a matter of speculation. There were two or three men--rather good catches, too--who, if they were encouraged--but what was there to any of them? Take Wilbur Smythe, now; he would by sheer force of persistent assurance and fair abilities eventually get a good practise for a country lawyer--three or four thousand a year--serve in the legislature or the state senate, and finally become a bank director with a goodly standing as a safe business man; but what was there to him? This is what Jennie asked her paper-weight as she placed it on a pile of unfinished examination papers. And the paper-weight echoed, "Not a thing out of the ordinary!" And then, said Jennie, "Well, you little simpleton, who and what are _you_ so out of the ordinary that you should sneer at Wilbur Smythe and Beckman Fifield and such men?" And echo answered, "What?"--and then the mail-carrier came in. Down near the bottom of the pile she found this letter, signed by a southern state superintendent of schools, but dated at Kirksville, Missouri: "I am a member of a party of southern educators--state superintendents in the main," the letter ran, "_en tour_ of the country to see what we can find of an instructive nature in rural school work. I assure you that we are being richly repaid for the time and expense. There are things going on in the schools here in northeastern Missouri, for instance, which merit much study. We have met Professor Withers, of Ames, who suggests that we visit your schools, and especially the rural school taught by a young man named Irwin, and I wonder if you will be free on next Monday morning, if we come to your office, to direct us to the place? If you could accompany us on the trip, and perhaps show us some of your other excellent schools, we should be honored and pleased. The South is recreating her rural schools, and we are coming to believe that we shall be better workmen if we create a new kind rather than an improvement of the old kind." There was more of this courteous and deferential letter, all giving Jennie a sense of being saluted by a fine gentleman in satin and ruffles, and with a plume on his hat. And then came the shock--a party of state officials were coming into the county to study Jim Irwin's school! They would never come to study Wilbur Smythe's law practise--never in the world--or her work as county superintendent--never!--and Jim was getting seventy-five dollars a month, and had a mother to support. Moreover, he was getting more than he had asked when the colonel had told him to "hold the district up!" But there could be no doubt that there was something _to_ Jim--the man was out of the ordinary. And wasn't that just what she had been looking for in her mind? Jennie wired to her southerner for the number of his party, and secured automobiles for the trip. She sent a note to Jim Irwin telling of the prospective visitation. She would show all concerned that she could do some things, anyhow, and she would send these people on with a good impression of her county. She was glad of the automobiles the next Monday morning, when at nine-thirty the train discharged upon her a dozen very alert, very up-to-date, very inquisitive southerners, male and female, most of whom seemed to have left their "r's" in the gulf region. It was eleven when the party parked their machines before the schoolhouse door. "There are visitors here before us," said Jennie. "Seems rather like an educational shrine," said Doctor Brathwayt, of Mississippi. "How does he accommodate so many visitors in that small edifice?" "I am not aware," said Jennie, "that he has been in the habit of receiving so very many from outside the district. Well, shall we go in?" Once inside, Jennie felt a queer return of her old aversion to Jim's methods--the aversion which had caused her to criticize him so sharply on the occasion of her first visit. The reason for the return of the feeling lay in the fact that the work going on was of the same sort, but of a more intense character. It was so utterly unlike a school as Jennie understood the word, that she glanced back at the group of educators with a little blush. The school was in a sort of uproar. Not that uproar of boredom and mischief of which most of us have familiar memories, but a sort of eager uproar, in which every child was intensely interested in the same thing; and did little rustling things because of this interest; something like the hum at a football game or a dog-fight. On one side of the desk stood Jim Irwin, and facing him was a smooth stranger of the old-fashioned lightning-rod-agent type--the shallower and laxer sort of salesman of the kind whose sole business is to get signatures on the dotted line, and let some one else do the rest. In short, he was a "closer." Standing back of him in evident distress was Mr. Cornelius Bonner, and grouped about were Columbus Brown, B. B. Hamm, Ezra Bronson, A. B. Talcott and two or three others from outside the Woodruff District. With envelopes in their hands and the light of battle in their eyes stood Newton Bronson, Raymond Simms, Bettina Hansen, Mary Smith and Angie Talcott, the boys filled with delight, the girls rather frightened at being engaged in something like a debate with the salesman. As the latest-coming visitors moved forward, they heard the schoolmaster finishing his passage at arms with the salesman. "You should not feel exasperated at us, Mr. Carmichael," said he in tones of the most complete respect, "for what our figures show. You are unfortunate in the business proposition you offer this community. That is all. Even these children have the facts to prove that the creamery outfit you offer is not worth within two thousand dollars of what you ask for it, and that it is very doubtful if it is the sort of outfit we should need." "I'll bet you a thousand dollars--" began Carmichael hotly, when Jim waved him down. "Not with me," said Jim. "Your friend, Mr. Bonner, there, knows what chance there is for you to bet even a thousand cents with me. Besides, we know our facts, in this school. We've been working on them for a long time." "Bet your life we have!" interpolated Newton Bronson. "Before we finish," said Jim, "I want to thank you gentlemen for bringing in Mr. Carmichael. We have been reading up on the literature of the creamery promoter, and it is a very fine thing to have one in the flesh with whom to--to--demonstrate, if Mr. Carmichael will allow me to say so." Carmichael looked at Bonner, made an expressive motion with his head toward the door, and turned as if to leave. "Well," said he, "I can do plenty of business with _men_. If you _men_ want to make the deal I offer you, and I can show you from the statistics I've got at the hotel that it's a special deal just to get started in this part of the state, and carries a thousand dollars of cut in price to you. Let's leave these children and this he school-ma'am and get something done." "I can't allow you to depart," said Jim more gently than before, "without thanking you for the very excellent talk you gave us on the advantage of the cooperative creamery over the centralizer. We in this school believe in the cooperative creamery, and if we can get rid of you, Mr. Carmichael, without buying your equipment, I think your work here may be productive of good." "He's off three or four points on the average overrun in the Wisconsin co-ops," said Newton. "And we thought," said Mary Smith, "that we'd need more cows than he said to keep up a creamery of our own." "Oh," replied Jim, "but we mustn't expect Mr. Carmichael to know the subject as well as we do, children. He makes a practise of talking mostly to people who know nothing about it--and he talks very well. All in favor of thanking Mr. Carmichael please say 'Aye.'" There was a rousing chorus of "Aye!" in which Mr. Carmichael, followed closely by Mr. Bonner, made his exit. B. B. Hamm went forward and shook Jim's hand slowly and contemplatively, as if trying to remember just what he should say. "James E. Irwin," said he, "you've saved us from being skinned by the smoothest grafter that I ever seen." "Not I," said Jim; "the kind of school I stand for, Mr. Hamm, will save you more than that--and give you the broadest culture any school ever gave. A culture based on life. We've been studying life, in this school--the life we all live here in this district." "He had a smooth partner, too," said Columbus Brown. Jim looked at Bonner's little boy in one of the front seats and shook his head at Columbus warningly. "If I hadn't herded 'em in here to ask you a few questions about cooperative creameries," said Mr. Talcott, "we'd have been stuck--they pretty near had our names. And then the whole neighborhood would have been sucked in for about fifty dollars a name." "I'd have gone in for two hundred," said B. B. Hamm. "May I call a little meeting here for a minute, Jim?" asked Ezra Bronson. "Why, where's he gone?" "They's some other visitors come in," said a little girl, pulling her apron in embarrassment at the teacher's absence. Jim had, after what seemed to Jennie an interminable while, seen the county superintendent and her distinguished party, and was now engaged in welcoming them and endeavoring to find them seats,--quite an impossible thing at that particular moment, by the way. "Don't mind us, Mr. Irwin," said Doctor Brathwayt. "This is the best thing we've seen on our journeyings. Please go on with the proceedin's. That gentleman seems to have in mind the perfectin' of some so't of organization. I'm intensely interested." "I'd like to call a little meetin' here," said Ezra to the teacher. "Seein' we've busted up your program so far, may we take a little while longer?" "Certainly," said Jim. "The school will please come to order." The pupils took their seats, straightened their books and papers, and were at attention. Doctor Brathwayt nodded approvingly as if at the answer to some question in his mind. "Children," said Mr. Irwin, "you may or may not be interested in what these gentlemen are about to do--but I hope you are. Those who wish may be members of Mr. Bronson's meeting. Those who do not prefer to do so may take up their regular work." "Gentlemen," said Mr. Bronson to the remains of Mr. Carmichael's creamery party, "we've been cutting bait in this neighborhood about long enough. I'm in favor of fishing, now. It would have been the biggest disgrace ever put on this district to have been swindled by that sharper, when the man that could have set us right on the subject was right here working for us, and we never let him have a chance. And yet that's what we pretty near did. How many here favor building a cooperative creamery if we can get the farmers in with cows enough to make it profitable, and the equipment at the right price?" Each man held up a hand. "Here's one of our best farmers not voting," said Mr. Bronson, indicating Raymond Simms. "How about you, Raymond?" "Ah reckon paw'll come in," said Raymond blushingly. "He will if you say so," said Mr. Bronson. Raymond's hand went up amid a ripple of applause from the pupils, who seemed glad to have a voter in their ranks. "Unanimous!" said Mr. Bronson. "It is a vote! Now I'd like to hear a motion to perfect a permanent organization to build a creamery." "I think we ought to have a secretary first," said Mr. Talcott, "and I nominate Mr. James E. Irwin for the post." "Quite correct," said Mr. Bronson, "thankee, A. B. I was about to forgit the secretary. Any other nominations? No 'bjections, Mr. Irwin will be declared unanimously elected. Mr. Irwin's elected. Mr. Irwin, will you please assume the duties?" Jim sat down at the desk and began making notes. "I think we ought to call this the Anti-Carmichael Protective Association," said Columbus Brown, but Mr. Bronson interrupted him, rather frowningly. "All in good time, Clumb," said he, "but this is serious work." So admonished, the meeting appointed committees, fixed upon a time for a future meeting, threw a collection of half-dollars on the desk to start a petty cash fund, made the usual joke about putting the secretary under bond, adjourned and dispersed. "It's a go this time!" said Newton to Jim. "I think so," said Jim, "with those men interested. Well, our study of creameries has given a great deal of language work, a good deal of arithmetic, some geography, and finally saved the people from a swindle. Rather good work, Raymond!" "My mother has a delayed luncheon ready for the party," said Jennie to Jim. "Please come with us--please!" But Jim demurred. Getting off at this time of day was really out of the question if he was to be ready to show the real work of the school in the afternoon session. "This has been rather extraordinary," said Jim, "but I am very glad you were here. It shows the utility of the right sort of work in letter-writing, language, geography and arithmetic--in learning things about farming." "It certainly does," said Doctor Brathwayt. "I wouldn't have missed it under any consideration; but I'm certainly sorry for that creamery shark and his accomplice--to be routed by the Fifth Reader grade in farming!" The luncheon was rather a wonderful affair--and its success was unqualified after everybody discovered that the majority of those in attendance felt much more at home when calling it dinner. Colonel Woodruff had fought against the regiment of the father of Professor Gray, of Georgia, in at least one engagement, and tentative plans were laid for the meeting of the two old veterans "some winter in the future." "What d'ye think of our school?" asked the colonel. "Well," said Professor Gray, "it's not fair to judge, Colonel, on what must have been rather an extraordinary moment in the school's history. I take it that you don't put on a representation of 'The Knave Unmasked' every morning." "It was more like a caucus than I've ever seen it, daddy," said Jennie, "and less like a school." "Don't you think," said Doctor Brathwayt, "that it was less like a school because it was more like life? It _was_ life. If I am not mistaken, history for this community was making in that schoolroom as we entered." "You're perfectly right, Doctor," said the colonel. "Columbus Brown and about a dozen others living outside the district are calling Wilbur Smythe in counsel to perfect plans for an election to consolidate a few of these little independent districts, for the express purpose of giving Jim Irwin a plant that he can do something with. Jim's got too big for the district, and so we're going to enlarge the district, and the schoolhouse, and the teaching force, and the means of educational grace generally. That's as sure as can be--after what took place this morning." "He's rather a wonderful person, to be found in such a position," said Professor Gray, "or would be in any region I have visited." "He's a native product," said the colonel, "but a wonder all the same. He's a Brown Mouse, you know." "A--a--?" Doctor Brathwayt was plainly astonished. And so the colonel was allowed to tell again the story of the Darbishire brown mice, and why he called Jim Irwin one. Doctor Brathwayt said it was an interesting Mendelian explanation of the appearance of such a character as Jim. "And if you are right, Colonel, you'll lose him one of these days. You can't expect to retain a Cæsar, a Napoleon, or a Lincoln in a rural school, can you?" "I don't know about that," said the colonel. "The great opportunity for such a Brown Mouse may be in this very school, right now. He'd have as big an army right here as Socrates ever had. The Brown Mouse is the only judge of his own proper place." "I think," said Mrs. Brathwayt, as they motored back to the school, "that your country schoolmaster is rather terrible. The way he crushed that Mr. Carmichael was positively merciless. Did he know how cruel he was?" "I think not," said Jennie. "It was the truth that crushed Mr. Carmichael." "But that vote of thanks," said Mrs. Brathwayt. "Surely that was the bitterest irony." "I wonder if it was," said Jennie. "No, I am sure it wasn't. He wanted to leave the children thinking as well as possible of their victim, and especially of Mr. Bonner; and there was really something in Mr. Carmichael's talk which could be praised. I have known Jim Irwin since we were both children, and I feel sure that if he had had any idea that his treatment of this man had been unnecessarily cruel, it would have given him a lot of pain." "My dear," said Mrs. Brathwayt, "I think you are to be congratulated for having known for a long time a genius." "Thank you," said Jennie. And Mrs. Brathwayt gave her a glance which brought to her cheek another blush; but of a different sort from the one provoked by the uproar in the Woodruff school. There could be no doubt now that Jim was thoroughly wonderful--nor that she, the county superintendent, was quite as thoroughly a little fool. She to be put in authority over him! It was too absurd for laughter. Fortunately, she hadn't hindered him much--but who was to be thanked for that? Was it owing to any wisdom of hers? Well, she had decided in his favor, in those first proceedings to revoke his certificate. Perhaps that was as good a thing to remember as was to be found in the record. CHAPTER XXIII AND SO THEY LIVED---- And so it turned out quite as if it were in the old ballad, that "all in the merry month of May," and also "all in the merry green wood," there were great doings about the bold little promontory where once stood the cabin on the old wood-lot where the Simms family had dwelt. The brook ran about the promontory, and laid at its feet on three sides a carpet of blue-grass, amid clumps of trees and wild bushes. Not far afield on either hand came the black corn-land, but up and down the bluffy sides of the brook for some distance on both sides of the King-dragged highway, ran the old wood-lot, now regaining much of the unkempt appearance which characterized it when Jim Irwin had drawn upon himself the gentle rebuke of Old Man Simms for not giving a whoop from the big road before coming into the yard. But Old Man Simms was gone, with all the Simmses, now thoroughly established on the Blanchard farm, and quite happy in their new success. The cabin was gone, and in its place stood a pretty little bungalow, about which blossomed the lilacs and peonies and roses and other old-fashioned flowers, planted there long ago by some pioneer woman, nourished back to thriftiness by old Mrs. Simms, and carefully preserved during the struggles with the builders of the bungalow by Mrs. Irwin. For this was Mrs. Irwin's new home. It was, in point of fact, the teacher's house or schoolmanse for the new consolidated Woodruff District, and the old Simms wood-lot was the glebe-land of the schoolmanse. Jim turned over and over in his mind these new applications of old, historic, significant words, dear to every reader of history--"glebe-land," "schoolmanse"--and it seemed to him that they signified the return of many old things lost in Merrie England, lost in New England, lost all over the English-speaking world, when the old publicly-paid clergyman ceased to be so far the servant of all the people that they refused to be taxed for his support. Was not the new kind of rural teacher to be a publicly-paid leader of thought, of culture, of progress, and was he not to have his manse, his glebe-land, and his "living"? And all because, like the old clergymen, he was doing a work in which everybody was interested and for which they were willing to be taxed. Perhaps it was not so high a status as the old; but who was to say that? Certainly not Jim Irwin, the possessor of the new kind of "living," with its "glebe-land" and its "schoolmanse." He would have rated the new quite as high as the old. From the brow of the promontory, a light concrete bridge took the pretty little gorge in the leap of a single arch, and landed the eye at the bottom of the front yard of the schoolhouse. Thus the new institution of life was in full view of the schoolmanse veranda, and yet shut off from it by the dry moat of the brook and its tiny meadow of blue-grass. Across the road was the creamery, with its businesslike unloading platform, and its addition in process of construction for the reception of the machinery for the cooperative laundry. Not far from the creamery, and also across the road, stood the blacksmith and wheelwright shop. Still farther down the stream were the barn, poultry house, pens, hutches and yards of the little farm--small, economically made, and unpretentious, as were all the buildings save the schoolhouse itself, which was builded for the future. And even the schoolhouse, when one thinks of the uses to which it was to be put--kitchen, nursery, kindergarten, banquet-hall, theater, moving-picture hall, classrooms, manual training rooms, laboratory and counting-room and what-not, was wonderfully small--Colonel Woodruff said far too small--though it was necessarily so large as to be rather astonishing to the unexpectant passer-by. The unexpectant passer-by this May day, however, would have been especially struck by the number of motor-cars, buggies and surreys parked in the yard back of the creamery, along the roadside, and by the driveway running to the schoolhouse. People in numbers had arrived by five o'clock in the afternoon, and were still coming. They strolled about the place, examining the buildings and grounds, and talking with the blacksmith and the butter-maker, gradually drawing into the schoolhouse like a swarm of bees into a hive selected by the queen. None of them, however, went across the concrete bridge to the schoolmanse, save Mrs. Simms, who crossed, consulted with Mrs. Irwin about the shrubbery and flowers, and went back to Buddie and Jinnie, who were good children but natchally couldn't be trusted with so many other young ones withouten some watchin'. "They're coming! They're coming!" This was the cry borne to the people in and about the schoolhouse by that Hans Hansen who would be called Hans Nilsen. Hans had been to the top of the little hill and had a look toward town. Like a crew manning the rigging, or a crowd having its picture taken, the assemblage crystallized into forms determined by the chances of getting a glimpse of the bungalow across the ravine--on posts, fences, trees and hillocks. Still nobody went across the bridge, and when McGeehee Simms and Johnny Bonner strayed to the bridge-head, Mrs. Simms called them back by a minatory, "Buddy, what did I _tell_ you? You come hyah!" A motor-car came over the hillock, ran down the road to the driveway to the schoolmanse and drew up at the door. Out of it stepped Mrs. Woodruff and the colonel, their daughter, the county superintendent of schools, and Mr. Jim Irwin. Jennie was dressed in a very well-tailored traveling costume, and Jim in a moderately well-tailored business suit. Mrs. Irwin kissed her son and Jennie, and led the way into the house. Jennie and Jim followed--and when they went in, the crowd over across the ravine burst forth into a tremendous cheer, followed by a three-times-three and a tiger. The unexpectant passer-by would have been rather surprised at this, but we who are acquainted with the parties must all begin to have our suspicions. The fact that when they reached the threshold Jim picked Jennie up in his arms and carried her in, will enable any good detective to put one and one together and make a pair--which comes pretty near telling the whole story. By this time it was nearly seven, and Calista Simms came across the charmed bridge as a despatch-bearer, saying that if Mr. Jim and Miss Jennie didn't mind, dinner would be suhved right soon. It was cooked about right, and the folks was gettin' right hungry--an' such a crowd! There were fifteen in the babies' room, and for a while they thought the youngest Hamm young one had swallowed a marble. She would tell 'em they would be right over; good-by. There was another cheer as the three elderly and the two young people emerged from the schoolmanse and took their way over the bridge to the school side of the velvet-bottomed moat; but it did not terminate in three-times-three and a tiger. It was, in fact shut off like the vibration of a bell dipped in water by the sudden rush of the shouters into the big assembly-room, now filled with tables for the banquet--and here the domestic economy classes, with their mothers, sisters, female cousins and aunts, met them, as waiters, hat-snatchers, hostesses, floor-managers and cooks, scoring the greatest triumph of history in the Woodruff District. For everything went off like clockwork, especially the victuals--and such victuals! There was quantity in meats, breads, vegetables--and there was also savor. There was plenty, and there was style. Ask Mrs. Haakon Peterson, who yearned for culture, and had been afraid her children wouldn't get it if Yim Irwin taught them nothing but farming. She will tell you that the dinner--which so many thought of all the time as supper--was yust as well served as it if had been in the Chamberlain Hotel in Des Moines, where she had stayed when she went with Haakon to the state convention. Why shouldn't it have been even better served? It was planned, cooked, served and eaten by people of intelligence and brains, in their own house, as a community affair, and in a community where, if any one should ask you, you are authorized to state that there's as much wealth to the acre as in any strictly farming spot between the two oceans, and where you are perfectly safe--financially--in dropping from a balloon in the dark of the moon, and paying a hundred and fifty dollars an acre for any farm you happen to land on. Why shouldn't things have been well done, when every one worked, not for money, but for the love of the doing, and the love of learning to do in the best way? Some of these things came out in the speeches following the repast--and some other things, too. It was probably not quite fair for B. B. Hamm to incorporate in his wishes for the welfare and prosperity and so forth of Jim and Jennie that stale one about the troubles of life, but he wanted to see Jennie blush--which as a matter of fact he did; but she failed to grow quite so fiery red as did Jim. But B. B. was a good fellow, and a Trojan in his work for the cause, and the schoolmaster and superintendent of schools forgave him. A remark may be a little broad, and still clean, and B. B. made a clean speech mainly devoted to the increased value of that farm he at one memorable time was going to sell before Jim's fool notions could be carried out. Colonel Woodruff made most of the above points which I have niched from him. He had begun as a reformer late in life, he said, but he would leave it to them if he hadn't worked at the trade steadily after enlistment. He had become a follower of Jim Irwin, because Jim's reform was like dragging the road in front of your own farm--it was reform right at home, and not at the county seat, or Des Moines, or Washington. He had followed Jim Irwin as he had followed Lincoln, and Grant, and Blaine, and McKinley--because Jim Irwin stood for more upward growth for the average American citizen than the colonel could see any prospect of getting from any other choice. And he was proud to live in a country like this, saved and promoted by the great men he had followed, and in a neighborhood served and promoted, if not quite saved, by Jim Irwin. And he was not so sure about its not being saved. Every man and nation had to be saved anew every so often, and the colonel believed that Jim Irwin's new kind of rural school is just as necessary to the salvation of this country as Lincoln's new kind of recognition of human rights was half a century ago. "I am about to close my speech," said the colonel, "and the small service I have been able to give to this nation. I went through the war, neighbors--and am proud of it; but I've done more good in the peaceful service of the last three years than I did in four of fighting and campaigning. That's the way I feel about what we've done in Consolidated District Number One." (Vociferous and long-continued applause.) "Oh, Colonel!" The voice of Angie Talcott rose from away back near the kitchen. "Can Jennie keep on bein' county superintendent, now she's married?" A great guffaw of laughter reduced poor Angie to tears; and Jennie had to go over and comfort her. It was all right for her to ask that, and they ought not to laugh at Angie, so there! Now, you're all right, and let's talk about the new schoolhouse, and so forth. Jennie brought the smiles back to Angle's face, just in time to hear Jim tell the people amid louder cheers that he had been asked to go into the rural-school extension work in two states, and had been offered a fine salary in either place, but that he wasn't even considering these offers. And about that time, the children began to get sleepy and cross and naughty, and the women set in motion the agencies which moved the crowd homeward. * * * * * Before a bright wood fire--which they really didn't need, but how else was Jim's mother to show off the little fireplace?--sat Jim and Jennie. They had been together for a week now--this being their home-coming--and had only begun to get really happy. "Isn't it fine to have the fireplace?" said Jennie. "Yes, but we can't really afford to burn a fire in it--in Iowa," said Jim. "Fuel's too everlastingly scarce. If we use it much, the fagots and deadwood on our 'glebe-land' won't last long." "If you should take that Oklahoma position," said Jennie, "we could afford to have open wood fires all the time." "It's warmer in Oklahoma," said Jim, "and wood's more plentiful. Yes"--contemplatively--"we could, dear." "It would be nice, wouldn't it?" said Jennie. "All right," said Jim briskly, "get me my writing materials, and we'll accept. It's still open." Jennie sat looking into the fire oblivious of the suggestion. She was smiling. Jim moved uneasily, and rose. "Well," he said, "I believe I can better guess where mother would put those writing materials than you could, after all. I'll hunt them up." As he passed, Jennie took him by the hand and pulled him down on the arm of her chair. "Jim," she said, "don't be mean to me! You know you wouldn't do such a wicked, wicked thing at this time as to leave the people here." "All right," said Jim, "whatever you say is the law." When Jennie spoke again things had taken place which caused her voice to emanate from Jim's shirt-front. "Did you hear," said she, "what Angie Talcott asked?" "M'h'm," said Jim. "Well," said Jennie, "now that I'm married can I go on being county superintendent?" There was a long silence. "Would you like to?" asked Jim. "Kind of," said Jennie; "if I knew enough about things to do anything worth while; but I'm afraid that by rising to my full height I shall always just fail to be able to see over anything." "You've done more for the schools of the county," said Jim, "in the last year than any other county superintendent has ever done." "And we shall need the money so like--so like the dickens," said Jennie. "Oh, not so badly," laughed Jim, "except for the first year. I'll have this little farm paying as much as some quarter-sections when we get squared about. Why, we can make a living on this school farm, Jennie,--or I'm not fit to be the head of the school." There was another silence, during which Jennie took down her hair, and wound it around Jim's neck. "It will settle itself soon one of these days anyhow," said he at last. "There's enough to do for both of us right here." "But they won't pay me," she protested. "They don't pay the ministers' wives," said Jim, "and yet, the ministers with the right sort of wives are always the best paid. I guess you'll be in the bill, Jennie." Jim walked to the open window and looked out over the still landscape. The untidy grounds appealed to him--there would be lessons in their improvement for both the children and the older people. It was all good. Down in the little meadow grew the dreaming trees, their round crowns rising as from a sea not quite to the level of the bungalow, their thrifty leaves glistening in the moonlight. Across the pretty bridge lay the silent little campus with its twentieth-century temple facing its chief priest. It was all good, without and within. He went across the hall to bid his mother good night. She clung to him convulsively, and they had their own five minutes which arranged matters for these two silent natures on the new basis forever. Jennie was in white before the mantel when he returned, smiling at the inscription thereon. "Why didn't you put it in Latin?" she inquired. "It would have had so much more distinction." "I wanted it to have meaning instead," said Jim. "And besides, nobody who was at hand was quite sure how to turn the Latin phrase. Are you?" Jennie leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and studied it. "I believe I could," said she, "without any pony. But after all, I like it better as it is. I like everything, Jim--everything!" "LET US CEASE THINKING SO MUCH OF AGRICULTURAL EDUCATION, AND DEVOTE OURSELVES TO EDUCATIONAL AGRICULTURE. SO WILL THE NATION BE MADE STRONG." THE END 
39957	----	Prairie Gold [Illustration: Rotating the Crops--Corn Isn't Iowa's Only Product] Prairie Gold By Iowa Authors and Artists _Jacket and Frontispiece by_ J. N. Darling _Decorations by_ Harriet Macy and Louise Orwig The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago Copyright, 1917 By The Reilly & Britton Co. To those whose tender, cooling fingers bind up the bleeding wounds of men who go forth to war: To those who comfort and sustain the widows and the orphans: To all those swiftly flying carriers of warmth and love and cheer who constitute the workers in that greatest of all humanitarian organizations: The American Red Cross Preface This volume, from the land of the singing corn, is offered to the public by the Iowa Press and Authors' Club as the first bit of co-operative work done by Iowa writers. The anticipated needs of the brave men who have given themselves as a human sacrifice to the establishment of a world-wide democracy, make a strong heart appeal, and the members have come together in spirit to do their bit toward the relief of suffering. Many members of the club could not be reached during the short time the book was in the making; others doing work every day on schedule time had no opportunity to prepare manuscript for this publication, while still others preferred helping in ways other than with their pens. The whole is a work of love and representative of the comradeship, the spirit of human sympathy, and the pride of state, existent in the hearts of Iowa authors, artists, playwrights, poets, editors and journalists. _Officers of the club for 1917-18:_ Hamlin Garland, Honorary President. Alice C. Weitz, President. J. Edward Kirbye, First Vice President. Nellie Gregg Tomlinson, Second Vice President. Esse V. Hathaway, Secretary. Reuben F. Place, Treasurer. _Editorial Board:_ Johnson Brigham. Lewis Worthington Smith. Helen Cowles LeCron. Index American Wake, An 217 _Rose A. Crow_ At Kamakura: 1917 44 _Arthur Davison Ficke_ Ballad of the Corn, A 234 _S. H. M. Byers_ Box From Home, A 138 _Helen Cowles LeCron_ Bread 37 _Ellis Parker Butler_ But Once a Year 51 _R. O'Grady_ Call of the Race, The 260 _Elizabeth Cooper_ Captured Dream, The 84 _Octave Thanet_ Children's Blessing, The 236 _Virginia Roderick_ Dog 116 _Edwin L. Sabin_ Field, A 285 _Minnie Stichter_ First Laugh, The 131 _Reuben F. Place_ Freighter's Dream, The 133 _Ida M. Huntington_ God's Back Yard 223 _Jessie Welborn Smith_ Graven Image, The 19 _Hamlin Garland_ Happiest Man in I-O-Way, The 83 _Rupert Hughes_ Iowa as a Literary Field 316 _Johnson Brigham_ Kings of Saranazett, The 177 _Lewis Worthington Smith_ Kitchener's Mob 241 _James Norman Hall_ Load of Hay, A 314 _James B. Weaver_ Masterpieces 36 _Ethel Hueston_ My Baby's Horse 259 _Emilie Blackmore Stapp_ "Old Bill" 67 _Henry C. Wallace_ Old Cane Mill, The 195 _Nellie Gregg Tomlinson_ One Wreath of Rue 278 _Cynthia Westover Alden_ Our Bird Friends 302 _Margaret Coulson Walker_ Peace and Then--? 292 _Detlev Fredrik Tillisch_ Poet of the Future, The 169 _Tacitus Hussey_ Professor, The 248 _Calista Halsey Patchin_ Putting the Stars with the Bars 173 _Verne Marshall_ Queer Little Thing, The 199 _Eleanor Hoyt Brainerd_ Recruit's Story, The 77 _Frank Luther Mott_ Reminder, The 63 _Allan Updegraff_ Rochester, Minn. 221 _Marie G. Stapp_ Semper Fidelis 300 _Addie B. Billington_ September 166 _Esse V. Hathaway_ Some Magic and a Moral 101 _Virginia H. Reichard_ Sonny's Wish 114 _Bertha M. Shambaugh_ Spirit of Spring, The 140 _Laura L. Hinkley_ That Iowa Town 45 _Oney Fred Sweet_ Tinkling Cymbals 126 _Helen Sherman Griffith_ Truth 97 _Carrie Moss Hawley_ Unredeemed, The 121 _Emerson Hough_ Wild Crab Apple, The 231 _Julia Ellen Rogers_ Wind in the Corn, The 17 _Alice C. Weitz_ Woodrow Wilson and Wells, War's Great Authors 280 _Honoré Willsie_ Work 100 _Irving N. Brant_ Work Is a Blessing 161 _Lafayette Young_ Your Lad, and My Lad 290 _Randall Parrish_ List of Authors Alden, Cynthia Westover 278 Billington, Addie B. 300 Brainerd, Eleanor Hoyt 199 Brant, Irving N. 100 Brigham, Johnson 316 Butler, Ellis Parker 37 Byers, S. H. M. 234 Cooper, Elizabeth 260 Crow, Rose A. 217 Ficke, Arthur Davison 44 Garland, Hamlin 19 Griffith, Helen Sherman 126 Hall, James Norman 241 Hathaway, Esse V. 166 Hawley, Carrie Moss 97 Hinkley, Laura L. 140 Hough, Emerson 121 Hueston, Ethel 36 Hughes, Rupert 83 Huntington, Ida M. 133 Hussey, Tacitus 169 LeCron, Helen Cowles 138 Marshall, Verne 173 Mott, Frank Luther 77 O'Grady, R. 51 Parrish, Randall 290 Patchin, Calista Halsey 248 Place, Reuben F. 131 Reichard, Virginia H. 101 Roderick, Virginia 236 Rogers, Julia Ellen 231 Sabin, Edwin L. 116 Shambaugh, Bertha M. H. 114 Smith, Jessie Wellborn 223 Smith, Lewis Worthington 177 Stapp, Emilie Blackmore 259 Stapp, Marie G. 221 Stichter, Minnie 285 Sweet, Oney Fred 45 Thanet, Octave 84 Tillisch, Detlev Fredrik 292 Tomlinson, Nellie Gregg 195 Updegraff, Allan 63 Walker, Margaret Coulson 302 Wallace, Henry C. 67 Weaver, James B. 314 Weitz, Alice C. 17 Willsie, Honoré 280 Young, Lafayette 161 List of Illustrations Rotating the Crops _Frontispiece_ _J. N. Darling_ "Ding" _Page_ 97 _Frank Wing_ Host and Houseguest _Page_ 169 _Orson Lowell_ The Wind in the Corn _Page_ 259 _C. L. Bartholomew_ The Creed of Iowa-- I believe in Iowa, land of limitless prairies, with rolling hills and fertile valleys, with winding and widening streams, with bounteous crops and fruit-laden trees, yielding to man their wealth and health. I believe in Iowa, land of golden grains, whose harvests fill the granaries of the nation, making it opulent with the power of earth's fruitfulness. I believe in Iowa, rich in her men and women of power and might. I believe in her authors and educators, her statesmen and ministers, whose intellectual and moral contribution is one of the mainstays of the republic--true in the hour of danger and steadfast in the hour of triumph. I believe in Iowa, magnet and meeting place of all nations, fused into a noble unity, Americans all, blended into a free people. I believe in her stalwart sons, her winsome women, in her colleges and churches, in her institutions of philanthropy and mercy, in her press, the voice and instructor of her common mind and will, in her leadership and destiny, in the magnificence of her opportunity and in the fine responsiveness of her citizens to the call of every higher obligation. I believe in our commonwealth, yet young, and in the process of making, palpitant with energy and faring forth with high hope and swift step; and I covenant with the God of my fathers to give myself in service, mind and money, hand and heart, to explore and develop her physical, intellectual and moral resources, to sing her praises truthfully, to keep her politics pure, her ideals high, and to make better and better her schools and churches, her lands and homes, and to make her in fact what she is by divine right, the queen of all the commonwealths. --_J. Edward Kirbye._ The Wind in the Corn _By Alice C. Weitz_ There stands recorded in the Book of Time a fascinating legend of the Sun, whose golden throne allured but for the day; and when the day was ended in great glee he hurried forth beyond the broad horizon toward a secret trysting place. All his impassioned love, it is said, he poured upon the idol of his heart, the boundless plains. Long years were they alone, the Rolling Prairie and the Golden Sun, until at last they found themselves spied upon by curious Man, who, captivated by the beauty of the two, remained and blessed the tryst thereby. Here Sun and Soil and Man wrought out a work of art; and here Dame Nature smiled as was her wont, and brought rich gifts and blessings manifold. In sweet content Man's children toiled and wrought until upon the bosom of the sunlit plains there nestled close great fields and prosperous abodes. And since that time a ceaseless music steals throughout the land in wooing cadences, now crying out in weird and wandering tones, now softly soothing in sweet rhythmic chant. 'Tis the music of the wind within the corn--Iowa's Prairie Gold. It sang itself into the lonely heart of the pioneer with its promise of golden harvest; it became the cradle song of restless souls that even in their youth longed but to free themselves in verse and song; and down through all the prosperous years it steals like a sweet sustaining accompaniment to the countless activities which have builded a great commonwealth. He who has stood upon the hilltops in his youthful days and listened to the soft, alluring rustle of the wind-swayed leaves retains the music ever in his soul. It draws upon the heart-strings of the absent one, and like the constant singing of the sea insistent calls upon him to return. Today in spirit come we all to Time's sweet trysting place with story song and jest, to add sweet comfort to the braver ones whose paths lie wide before them, and whose return lies not within our willing. God grant that even in their pains their troubled souls may yet to music be attuned, may know again the solace of that sweetly floating song, the rustle of the wind within the corn. The Graven Image _By Hamlin Garland_ Roger Barnes, son of an elder in the little Iowa Society of Friends and himself "a man of weight," found his faith sorely tried by the death of his young wife, and as the weeks passed without a perceptible lightening of his face, the Meeting came at last to consider his deep grief unseemly and rebellious. He remained deaf to all words of comfort and occupied his Sabbath seat in moody silence, his heart closed to the Spirit, his thought bitter toward life and forgetful of God's grace. The admonition of the elders at last roused him to defense. "Why should I not ache?" he demanded. "I have been smitten of the rod." And when old Nicholas Asche again reproved him before the assembly, he arose, went out, refusing to return, and several of his friends were greatly troubled, for it was known that for a long time he had been increasingly impatient of the "Discipline" and on terms of undue intimacy with Orrin Bailey, one of "the world's people." As the spring came on his passionate grief calmed, but a new consideration came, one which troubled him more and more, until at last he opened his heart to his friend. "Thee knew my wife, friend Bailey. Thee knew her loveliness? Well, now she is gone, and does thee know I am utterly disconsolate, for I have no portrait of her. No image, no shadow of her, exists and I fear I shall lose the memory of her sweet face. Already it is growing dim in my mind. What can I do?" This was in the days when even daguerreotypes were rare, and Bailey, who had never seen a painted portrait and could not conceive of an artist skillful enough to depict an object he had never known, was not able to advise, and the grieving man's fear remained unassuaged till, some months later, on a trip to Decorah, he came by accident past the gate of a newly established stone-cutter's yard, and there, for the first time in his life, he saw human figures cut enduringly in marble. Cunning cherubs and angels with calm faces and graceful, half-furled wings surrounded granite soldiers standing stiff and straight. Roger was amazed. The sculptor's magic was an astonishment to him. He had never seen the like, and as he looked upon these figures there came into his sad eyes the light of a startling purpose. "I will have this workman cut for me an image of my dear Rachel," he resolved and, following this impulse, approached the stone-cutter. "Friend," he said abruptly, "I would have thee chisel for me the form of my dead wife." Although an aspiring and self-confident artist, Conrad Heffnew was, nevertheless, a little shaken as he drew from his visitor the conditions of this commission. "The lack of even a small drawing or portrait of the subject is discouraging," he said. "If she had a sister, now," he added slowly, "someone about her build, to wear her clothes, I might be able to do the figure." "She has a sister, Ruth," Roger eagerly answered. "She is slimmer than Rachel was, but her cast of features is much the same. I am sure she will help thee, for she loved Rachel. I will bring her down to see thee." "Very well," replied Conrad. "If she will sit for me I will see what I can do for you." Resting upon this arrangement Roger drove away to his prairie home lighter of heart than he had been for many weeks. "Truly an artist is of use in the world after all--one to be honored," he thought. To Ruth he told the story and expressed his wish, but enjoined secrecy. "Thee knows how some of our elders would pother about this," he added. "Let us conspire together, therefore, so that thee may make the trip to the city without exciting undue comment." Ruth was quite willing to adventure, for the town far down on the shining river was a lure to her; but the road was long and after a great deal of thought Roger decided to ask the young stone-cutter to come first to Hesper, which he could do without arousing suspicion. "We will contrive to see him afterward in his shop if necessary," he ended decisively, for he could not bring himself to lead Ruth into the society of the world's people to serve as a model, an act which might be mistaken as a wrong-doing. The sculptor, anticipating a goodly fee (as well as an increase in orders for grave-stones), readily enough consented to visit Hesper, but only to study his problem. He immediately insisted on Ruth's coming to his studio. "I can't do all the work here--I want to make this my best piece," he remarked in explanation. "It is hard to remember the details of face and form. It may require several sittings." Thereafter, as often as he dared, Roger called at his father-in-law's house for Ruth and drove her down to the sculptor's shop, and although there were many smiling comments on these trips, no one knew their real purpose. Slowly the figure grew from a harsh marble block into an ever more appealing female figure, and Roger loved to stand beside the artist while he chipped the stone, for Conrad was in very truth a sculptor, a stalwart fist at the chisel, not a weak modeller in clay. He often hummed a tune as he swung his mall; and so, to the lively beat of worldly melodies, the fair form of the Quaker maid emerged from its flinty covering. One day in early autumn, conditions favoring, Ruth went to town with Roger for the fifth time and ventured timidly into the stone-cutter's yard to gaze with awe upon the nearly-finished snow-white image, and to the artist's skill gave breathless words of praise. "Truly thee is a magician," she said. "Thee has made a beautiful bonnet out of marble and likewise slippers," she added, looking down to where one small foot in its square-toed shoe peeped from the plain skirt. "Thee does right to make it lovely, for my sister was most comely," she ended with a touch of pride. "My model was also comely," replied Conrad with a glance which made her flush with pleasure. During all these months Roger had maintained such careful logic in his comings and goings that only Bailey and one or two of his most intimate friends had even a suspicion of what was happening, though many predicted that he and Ruth would wed; for it was known that she had taken his little son to her father's house and was caring for him. Nevertheless Roger well knew that a struggle was preparing for him, and that some of the elders would be shocked by the audacity of his plan, but no fear of man or church could avail against the force of his resolution. On this final visit, even as they both stood beside him, Conrad threw down his mallet saying: "I can do no more. It is finished," and turning to Ruth, "What do you think of it?" he demanded. She, gazing upon the finished statue and seeing only her sister in it, said: "I think it beautiful." And Roger, deeply wrapt in worship of the sculptured face, said: "Thee has done wonders. The sweet smile of my beloved is fixed in marble forever, and my heart is filled with gratitude to thee." All his training was against the graven art, but he gave his hand to the sculptor. "Friend Conrad, I thank thee; thee has made me very happy. Truly thee has caused this cold marble to assume the very image of my Rachel." As Roger turned again to gaze upon the statue Conrad touched Ruth upon the arm and drew her aside, leaving the bereaved man alone with his memories. It was all so wonderful, so moving to Roger that he remained before it a long time, absorbed, marveling, exultant. Safe against the years he seemed now, and yet, as he gazed, his pleasure grew into a pain, so vividly did the chiseled stone bring back the grace he had known. Close upon the exultant thought: "Now she can never fade from my memory," came the reflection that his little son would never know how like to his mother this image was. "He will know only the cold marble--his mother will not even be a memory." One sixth day morning in the eighth month word was brought to Nicholas Asche, leader of the Meeting, that Roger Barnes was about to erect a graven image among the low headstones of the burial grounds, and in amazement and indignation the old man hastened that way. He found his two sons and several others of the congregation already gathered, gazing with surprise and a touch of awe upon the statue which Conrad and young Bailey had already securely based beneath a graceful young oak in the very centre of his family plot. Gleaming, life-size, it rose above the modest records of the other graves. As the stern old elder rode up, the throng of onlookers meekly gave way for him. He halted only when he had come so near the offending monument that he could touch it. For a full minute he regarded it with eyes whose anger lit the shadow of his broad-brim, glaring with ever-increasing resentment as he came fully to realize what it meant to have a tall statue thus set up to dwarf the lowly records of its neighbors. It seemed at once impious and rebellious. Harshly he broke forth: "What has come to thee, Roger Barnes, that thee has broken all the rules of the Discipline relative to burial? Thee well knows our laws. No one could convey a greater insult to the elders, to the dead beneath these other stones, than thee has done by this act. Lay that impious object low or I will fetch thee before the Meeting." "I will not," replied the young man. "I was even thinking of exalting it still more by putting beneath it another foot of granite block." "Thee knows full well that by regulation no gravestone can be more than three hands high," Nicholas stormed. "I know that well, but this is not a gravestone," Roger retorted. "It is a work of art. It is at once a portrait and a thing of beauty." "That is but paltering. Thee knows well it is at once a forbidden thing and a monument beyond the regulation in height, and therefore doubly offensive to the Meeting. We will not tolerate such folly. I say to thee again, take the unholy thing down. Will thee urge disrespect to the whole Society? Thee knows it is in opposition to all our teaching. What devil's spirit has seized upon thee?" "Thee may storm," stoutly answered Roger, "but I am not to be frightened. This plot of ground is mine. This figure is also mine. It is a blessed comfort, a sign of love and not a thing of evil--and I will not take it away from here for thee nor for all the elders." Nicholas, perceiving that Roger was not to be coerced at the moment, ceased argument, but his wrath did not cool. "Thee shall come before the Meeting forthwith." The following day a summons was issued calling a council, and a messenger came to Roger calling him before his elders in judgment. Thereupon a sharp division was set up among the neighbors and the discussion spread among the Friends. The question of "Free Will in Burial Stones" was hotly debated wherever two or three of the members met, so that the mind of each was firmly made up by the time the Meeting came together to try the question publicly. "I see no wrong in it," said some. "It is disgraceful," others heatedly charged. Roger's act was denounced by his own family as treason to the Meeting, as well as heretical to the faith, and his father, old Nathan Barnes, rising with solemn and mournful dignity, admitted this. "I know not what I have done that a son of mine should bring such shame and sorrow to my old age. It is the influence of the world's people whose licentious teachings corrupt even the most steadfast of our youth. We came here--to this lonely place--to get away from the world's people. They thicken about us now, these worldlings; hence I favor another journey into a far wilderness where we can live at peace, shut away from the contamination of these greedy and blasphemous idolators." All realized that he spoke in anger as well as in sorrow, and the more candid and cool-headed of the Friends deplored his words, for they had long since determined that the world's forces must be met and endured; but Jacob Farnum was quick to declare himself. "The welfare of our Society demands the punishment of Roger Barnes. I move that a committee be appointed to proceed to the burial ground and throw down and break in pieces this graven image." Here something unexpectedly hot and fierce filled Roger's heart to the exclusion of his peaceful teaching and his lifelong awe of his elders. Rising to his feet he violently exclaimed: "By what right will thee so act? Is it more wicked to have a marble portrait than an ambrotype? It is true that I learned the secrets of sculpture from one of the world's people; it is true that an outsider has cut the stone, but I believe his trade to be worthy and his work justifiable. I believe in such portraits." He addressed himself to Nicholas Asche: "Had thee permitted Rachel to have had a daguerreotype, it would not have been necessary for me to treat with this carver of stone, who is, notwithstanding, a man of probity. I will not have him traduced by anyone present," he ended with a threat in his eyes; "he is my friend." Thereupon Nicholas Asche curtly answered: "There also thee is gravely at fault. Thee has brought my daughter Ruth under the baleful influence of this worldling; and she is even now filled with admiration for him. She too needs be admonished of the elders for too much thinking upon light affairs. Thee is a traitor to thy sister-in-law, Roger Barnes, as thee is a traitor to the Meeting. To permit thee to go thy present ways would be to open our gates to vanity and envy and all imaginable folly. If thee does not at once remove this graven image from our burial grounds, we will ourselves proceed against it and break it and throw it into the highway." Then again young Roger rose in his seat and with his strong hands doubled into weapons cried out: "Thee will do well to take this matter guardedly and my words to heart, for I tell thee that whosoever goes near to lay rude hands on that fair form will himself be thrown down. I will break him like a staff across my knee." He stood thus for a moment like a proud young athlete, meeting the eye of his opponent, then, as no one spoke, turned and strode out, resolute to be first on the ground, ready to defend with his whole strength the marble embodiment of his vanished wife. And yet, even as he walked away from the church, hot and blinded with anger, he began to ache with an indefinable, increasing sorrow. He had expected opposition, but not such fury as this. He had noted the downcast eyes of his friends. It seemed as if something very precious had gone out of his life--as though the whole world had suddenly become inimical. "They were ashamed of me," he said and his heart sank, for notwithstanding his resentment he loved the Meeting and its ways. For the most part the faces of the congregation were dear to him and the pain that sprang from a knowledge that he had cut himself off from those he respected soon softened his indignation. Nevertheless he hurried on to the burying ground. It was a glorious September day and all through the fields the crickets were softly singing as if in celebration of the gathered ample harvest. They spoke from the green grass above the graves with the same insistent cheer as from the sere stubble, but Roger heard them not, for his ears still rang with the elder's stern voice and his eyes were darkened by the lowering brows of his father's moody face. Only when the statue rose before him white and still and fair in the misty sunlight did his mood lighten. "How beautiful it is," he exclaimed. "How can they desire to destroy it?" Nevertheless he was smitten with a kind of dismay as he looked around upon the low, drab headstones and perceived with what singular significance the marble rose above them. "In truth I have dared much in doing this thing." It was as if he had been led by some inner spirit braver than himself. And then--even as he raised a first glance to the statue--a pang of keen surprise shot through his heart. The face was changed. Something new had come into it. It was not his Rachel! With hand pressed upon his chilling heart he studied it with new understanding. He had known that it somewhat resembled Ruth, for Ruth indeed resembled Rachel--but that it was verily in every line and shadow a portrait of the living and not of the dead he now realized for the first time. "The sculptor has deceived me!" he cried. "He loves Ruth and with the craft of a lover has wrought out his design deliberately and with cunning. He has carved the cold stone to the form of his own desire. How blind I have been." In complete comprehension he addressed the statue: "Thee is but a symbol of this artist's love for another after all. Nicholas Asche was right. This sculptor under cover of my love--in pretending to work out my ideal--has betrayed me and bewitched Ruth." Ruth, his constant sunny companion, the keeper, the almost second mother of his child, had been snared by the fowler! He no longer doubted it. He recalled the gladness with which she always accompanied him to the sculptor's studio and her silence and preoccupation on the homeward drive. She loved the artist. She was about to be taken away. Something fierce and wild clutched at his throat and with a groan he fell upon the ground beneath the figure: "Oh, Ruth, Ruth! Am I to lose thee too?" At this moment he forgot all else but the sweet girl who had become so necessary to his life. Truly, to lose all hope of her was to be doubly bereaved. "I am now most surely solitary," he mourned. "What will become of me hereafter? Who will care for my little son?" While still he lay there, dark with despair and lax with weakness, Ruth and the sculptor came up the walk to the gate and saw his prostrate form. Ruth checked the sculptor's advance. "Let me go up to him alone," she said, and approached where Roger lay. She did not know the true cause of his grief, but she pitied him: "Do not grieve, Roger; they will not dare to touch the figure." He looked up at her with a glance which was at once old and strange, but uttered no word of reply, only steadfastly regarded her; then his head dropped upon his arm and his body shook only with sobbing. She spoke again: "Thee must not despair. There are quite as many for thee as there are against thee. All the young people are on thy side. No one will dare to harm the statue." As they stood thus Conrad approached and said: "What does it matter? Come out from among these narrow folk. Ruth is to come out and be my wife. Why do you stay to be worried by the elders who----" He spoke no further, for Roger waved his hand in dismissal of them and cried out in most lamentable voice: "Leave me. Leave me," and again hid his face in his hands. In troubled wonder the young people moved away slowly, Ruth with tear-filled eyes, Conrad very grave. Together they took their stand at the gate to guard against the approach of others less sympathetic. "His grief is profound," said Ruth, "but the statue will comfort him." Roger, overwhelmed now by another emotion--a sense of shame, of deep contrition--was face to face with a clear conception of his disloyalty to the dead. Aye, the statue was Ruth. Its youth, its tender, timid smile, its arch brow, all were hers, and as he remembered how Conrad had taken the small unresisting hand in his, he knew himself to be baser than Nicholas Asche had dared imagine. "I loved thee," he confessed; "not as I loved Rachel--but in a most human way. My life has closed round thee. I have unconsciously thought of thee as the guardian of my child. Thy shining figure I have placed in the glow of my fire." This was true. Ruth had not displaced the love he still bore for his sweet wife--but she had made it an echo of passion, a dim song, a tender and haunting memory of his youth. The sun sank and dusk came on while still he lay at the statue's feet in remorseful agony of soul, and those who came near enough to speak with him respected his wish and left him undisturbed. Softly the darkness rose and a warm and mellow night covered the mourner, clothing the marble maid with mystery. The crickets singing innumerably all about him came at last to express in some subtle way the futility of his own purpose, the smallness of his own affairs, and as he listened he lost the sharpness of his grief. His despair lightened. He ceased to accuse; his desire of battle died. "How could Conrad know that I had grown disloyal? And how was Ruth to perceive my change of heart? The treachery is mine, all mine, dear angel, but I will atone. I will atone. Forgive me. Come to me and forgive me! Comfort me." Within his heart the spirit of resentment gave way to one of humbleness, of submission. The contest for a place among these gray old monuments no longer seemed worthy--or rather he felt himself no longer worthy to wage it. His disloyalty to his dead disqualified him as a base act disqualified the knights of old. "My cause is lost because my heart was false!" he said. So during the long hours of the night he kept remorseful vigil. The moon set, the darkness deepened, cool, odorous, musical with lulling songs of insects; and still he lingered, imploring solace, seeking relief from self-reproach. At last, just before dawn, the spirit of his dead Rachel stepped from the shadow. She approached him and bending above him softly said: "Dear heart, it is true I am not within the graven image. You have no need of it. Go home. There I am, always near thee and the child. I am not for others; I am thine. Return. Make thy peace with the elders. Thee must not live solitary and sad. Our son waits for thee, and when thee sits beside his bed, I will be there." He woke chilled and wet with the midnight damp, but in his heart a new-found sense of peace had come. His interest in the statue was at an end. He now knew that it was neither the monument he had desired nor the image of his love. "How gross I have been," he said, addressing himself to the unseen presence, "to think that the beauty of my dead could be embodied in stone! Ruth shall go her ways to happiness with my blessing." In this mood he rose and went to his home, deeply resolved to put aside his idolatry of Ruth even as he had put behind him the gleaming, beautiful figure beneath the shadow of the oak. Masterpieces _By Ethel Hueston_ Give me my pen, For I would write fine thoughts, pure thoughts, To touch men's hearts with tenderness, To fire with zeal for service grim, To cheer with mirth when skies are dull; Give me my pen, For I would write a masterpiece. Yet stay a while, For I must put away these toys, And wash this chubby, grimy face, And kiss this little hurting bruise, And hum a bedtime lullaby-- Take back the pen: This is a woman's masterpiece. Bread _By Ellis Parker Butler_ They came to Iowa in a prairie schooner with a rounded canvas top and where the canvas was brought together at the rear of the wagon it left a little window above the tailboard. On the floor of the wagon was a heap of hay and an old quilt out of which the matted cotton protruded, and on this Martha and Eben used to sit, looking out of the window. Martha was a little over two years old and Eben was four. They crossed the Mississippi at Muscatine on the ferry. It was about noon and old Hodges, the crew of the ferry, who was as crooked as the branches of an English oak because the huge branch of an English oak had fallen on him when he was young, took his dinner from his tin pail. He looked up and saw the two eager little faces. "Want a bite to eat?" he asked, and he peeled apart two thick slices of bread, thickly buttered, and handed them up to the two youngsters. This, a slice of Mrs. Hodges' good wheat bread, was Martha's welcome to Iowa. The butter was as fragrant as a flower and the bread was moist and succulent, delicious to the touch and the taste. Martha ate it all, even to the last crumb of crust, and, although she did not know it, the gift, the acceptance and the eating was a sacrament--the welcome of bountiful Iowa. As the prairie schooner rolled its slow way inward into the state there were more slices of bread. The father stopped the weary horses at many houses, shacks and dugouts; and always there was a woman to come to the wagon with a slice of bread for Martha, and one for Eben, for that was the Iowa way. Sometimes the bread was buttered, sometimes it was spread with jelly, sometimes it was bread alone. It was all good bread. There were days at a time, after they reached the new home, when there was nothing to eat but bread, but there was always that. The neighbors did not wait to be asked to lend; they brought flour unasked and Martha's mother kneaded it and set it to rise and baked it. Then the harvests began to come in uninterrupted succession of wealth, and the dugout became a house, and barns arose, and a school was built, and Martha and Eben went along the dusty, unfenced road, barefooted, happy, well fed, or in winter leaped through the snowdrifts. In their well-filled lunch pail there was always plenty and always bread. In time Martha taught school, now in one district and now in another; and everywhere, wherever she boarded, there was good wheat bread and plenty of it. She remembered the boarding places by their bread. Some had bread as good as her mother's; some had bread not as good. During her first vacation her mother taught her to make bread. Her very first baking was a success. John Cartwright, coming to the kitchen door just as she was drawing the black bread-pan from the oven on that hot July day, saw her eyes sparkle with triumph as she saw the rich brown loaves. "Isn't it beautiful? It is my first bread, John," she said, as she stood, flushed and triumphant. "It smells like mother's," he said, "but she don't seem to get her'n so nice and brown." "I guess Martha is a natural bread-maker," said her mother proudly. "Some is and some ain't." Always good bread and plenty of it! That was Iowa. And it was of Martha's bread they partook around the kitchen table the next year--Eben and John, Martha and her father and mother--just before the two young men drove to the county seat to enlist. "I guess we won't get bread like this in the army," John said, and he was right. "When I'm chawing this sow-belly and hard tack," Eben wrote, "I wish I had some of that bread of yours, Marth. I guess this war won't last long and the minute it is over you'll see me skedaddling home for some of your bread. Tell ma I'm well and----" They brought his body home because he was not killed outright but lived almost two weeks in the hospital at St. Louis after he was wounded. Martha scraped the dough from her fingers to go to the door when her father drove up with the precious, lifeless form. That day her bread was not as good as usual. Martha and John were married the month he came back from the war, and the bread that was eaten at the wedding dinner was Martha's own baking. The bread that was eaten by those who came to prepare her mother for the grave and by those who came, a year later, to lay away her father, was Martha's. Once, twice, three times, four times Martha did a double baking, to "last over," so that there might be bread in the house while the babies were being born. Every week, except those four weeks, she baked bread. In succession the small boys and girls of her own began coming to the kitchen door pleading, "Ma, may I have a piece of bread an' butter?" Always they might. There was always plenty of bread; it was Iowa. In time Martha became something of a fanatic about flour. One kind was the best flour in the world; she would have no other. Once, when John brought back another brand, she sent him back to town with it. Her bread was so well known that the flour dealer in town was wont to say, "This is the kind Mis' Cartwright uses; I guess I can't say no more'n that." Eight times in twenty years she won the blue ribbon at the county fair for her loaves; the twelve other times John swore the judges were prejudiced. "It ain't the flour; that I do know!" Martha would answer. Presently there were children of her children coming on Sunday to spend the day with the "old folks," and there was always enough bread for all. Sometime in the afternoon the big loaf would be taken out of the discarded tin boiler that served as a bread-box and the children would have a "piece"--huge slices of bread, limber in the hand, spread with brown sugar, or jelly, or honey, or dripping with jam. Then, one Sunday, young John's wife brought a loaf of her own bread to show Martha. They battled pleasantly for two hours over the merits of two brands of flour, comparing the bread, but Martha would no more have given up her own brand than she would have deserted the Methodist Church to become a Mahometan! Then came a time when John had difficulty in holding his pipe in his mouth because his "pipe tooth" was gone. He no longer ate the crusts of Martha's bread except when he dipped them in his coffee. There was a strong, young girl to do the housework but Martha still made the bread, just such beautiful, richly browned, fragrant bread as she had made in her younger days. There had never been a week without the good bread, for this was Iowa. One day, as she was kneading the dough, she stopped suddenly and put her hand to her side, under her heart. She had to wait several minutes before she could go on with the kneading. Then she shaped the bread into loaves and put it in the pan and put the pan in the oven. She went out on the porch, where John was sitting, and talked about the weather, and then of a grandson, Horace, who was the first to enlist for the great war that was wracking the world. She mentioned the poor Belgians. "And us so comfortable here, and all!" she said. "When I think of them not having bread enough to eat----" "I warrant they never did have bread like yours to eat, ma," said John. She rocked slowly, happy and proud that her man thought that, and then she went in to take the fresh loaves from the oven. They were crisp and golden brown as always, great, plump, nourishing loaves of good wheat bread. She carried the pan to the table. "Bertha," she said, "I'll let you put the bread away. I guess I'll go up and lie down awhile; I don't feel right well." She stopped at the foot of the stairs to tell John she was going up; that she did not feel very well. "If I don't come down to supper," she said, "you can have Bertha cut a loaf of the fresh bread, but you'd better not eat too much of it, John; it don't always agree with you. There's plenty of the other loaf left." She did not come down again, not Martha herself. She did not mourn because she could not come down again. She had lived her life and it had been a good life, happy, well-nourished, satisfying as her own bread had been. And so, when they came back from leaving Martha beside the brother who had died so many years before, the last loaf of her last baking was cut and eaten around the kitchen table--the youngsters biting eagerly into the thick slices, the elders tasting with thoughts not on the bread at all, and old John crumbling the bread in his fingers and thinking of long past years. At Kamakura: 1917 _By Arthur Davison Ficke_ The world shakes with the terrible tramp of war And the foe's menace swirls through every sea. But here the Buddha still broods ceaselessly In hush more real than our strange tumults are. Here where the fighting hosts of long ago Once clashed and fell, here where the armored hordes Razed the great city with their flashing swords, Now only waves flash, only breezes blow. That Iowa Town _By Oney Fred Sweet_ According to the popular songs, we are apt to get the impression that the only section of the country where there is moonlight and a waiting sweetheart and a home worth longing for is down in Dixie. Judging from the movies, a plot to appeal must have a mountain or a desert setting of the West. Fictionists, so many of them, seem to think they must locate their heroines on Fifth Avenue and their heroes at sea. But could I write songs or direct cinema dramas or pen novels I'd get my inspiration from that Iowa town. Did you ever drive in from an Iowa farm to a Fourth of July celebration? A few years back the land wasn't worth quite so much an acre; the sloughs hadn't been tiled yet and the country hadn't discovered what a limited section of real good corn land there was after all. But she was Iowa then! Remember how the hot sun dawned early to shimmer across the knee-high fields and blaze against the side of the big red barn, how the shadows of the willow windbreak shortened and the fan on top of the tall windmill faintly creaked? The hired man had decorated his buggy-whip with a tiny ribbon of red, white and blue. Buggy-whip--sound queer now? Well, there were only three automobiles in the county then and they were the feature of the morning parade. Remember how the two blocks of Main Street were draped with bunting and flags, and the courthouse lawn was dotted with white dresses? Well, anyhow you remember the girls with parasols who represented the states, and the float bearing the Goddess of Liberty. And then the storm came in the middle of the afternoon. The lightning and the thunder, and the bunting with the red, white and blue somewhat streaked together but still fluttering. And just before sunset, you remember, it brightened up again, and out past the low-roofed depot and the tall grain elevator you could see the streak of blue and the play of the departing sun against the spent clouds. Nowhere else, above no other town, could clouds pile just like that. You remember that morning, once a year, when the lilacs had just turned purple out by the front gate, and the dew was still wet on the green grass, the faint strains of band-music drifting out above the maples of the town, and flags hanging out on the porches--Decoration Day! How we used to hunt through the freshly awakened woods north of town for the rarest wildflowers! Tender petaled bloodroots there were in plenty, and cowslips down by the spring, and honeysuckles on the creek bank those late May days, but the lady's slippers and the jack in the pulpits--one had to know the hidden recesses where they grew. Withered they became before the hot sun sank, sending rays from the west that made the tombstones gleam like gold. Somehow, on those days, the sky seemed a bluer blue when the words of the speaker at the "Monument of the Unknown Dead" were carried off by the faint breeze that muffled, too, the song of the quartet and the music of the band. But close in your ears were the chirps of the insects in the bluegrass and the robins that hopped about in the branches of the evergreens. We had our quota of civil war veterans in that Iowa town. We had our company that went down to Chickamauga in '98. And now--well, you know what to expect from the youth of that sort of a community. Prosperity can't rob a place like that of its pioneer virtues. That Iowa town is an American town and it simply wouldn't fit into the German system at all. There's nothing old world about it. The present generation may have it easier than their fathers did; they may ride in automobiles instead of lumber wagons; they may wear pinch back coats and long beak caps instead of overalls and straw hats, but they've inherited something beside material wealth. We who owned none of its surrounding acres when they were cheap and find them now so out of reach, are yet rich, fabulously rich in inheritance. The last I heard from that Iowa town its youth was donning khaki for the purpose of helping to keep the Kaiser on the other side of the sea. But it was of the town we used to know that I was speaking. Changed? We must realize that. It was the sort that improves rather than grows. But we remember the place as it was before the blacksmith shop was turned into a garage and before the harness shop was given an electric lighted front and transformed into a movie. I guess the new generation has long since passed up the old opera house above the drug store for the rejuvenated harness shop and the actors that come by express in canned celluloid. But at county fair time, you remember, the Cora Warner Comedy Company used to come for a week's engagement, Cora Warner, noticeably wrinkled as she walked through the park from the hotel, donning a blonde wig that enabled her to play soubrette parts of the old school. And then there were the Beach and Bowers minstrels with their band that swung breezily up Main Street to form a circle on the bank corner and lift the whole center of the town out of the commonplace by the blare of trombones and the tenderness of clarinets. You remember how we Boy Scouts, who didn't know we were Boy Scouts, used to clamor for the front row of kitchen chairs after peddling bills for "The Octoroon" or "Nevada, and the Lost Mine"? Oh, well, we're uninteresting old-timers now. And it used to be that I knew everyone in town--even the transient baker whose family had no garden and chickens but lived up over the furniture store, and the temporary telephone man who sat out in front of the hotel evenings with the pale-faced traveling man. That hotel--haunted with an atmosphere that was brought in from the outside world! Remember how you used to walk past it with awe, the hot sun on the plank sidewalk burning your bare feet, and your eyes wistful as you heard the bus man on the steps call a train? And the time came when we took the train ourselves. And when we came back-- When we came back, the town was still there, but the wondrous age when all life is roseate belonged to us no longer. And yet that town, to me, will always be as it was in those days when the world was giving me its first pink-tinted impressions. And when my tussle with the world as it really is comes to a close, I want to go back there and take my last long sleep beneath one of those evergreens on the hillside where I know the robins hop along the branches. I know how each season's change comes there--the white drifts, the dew on the bluegrass, the rustling of crimsoned leaves. I'll know that off on the prairies beyond, the cornfields will still wave green in summer, and that from back across the creek, over in the school yard, there will float the old hushed echo of youth at play. But Once a Year _By R. O'Grady_ A shabby little woman detached herself from the steadily marching throng on the avenue and paused before a shop window, from which solid rows of electric bulbs flashed brilliantly into the December twilight. The ever-increasing current of Christmas shoppers flowed on. Now and then it rolled up, like the waters of the Jordan, while a lady with rich warm furs about her shoulders made safe passage from her car to the tropic atmosphere of the great department store. Warmth, and the savory smells from a bakery kitchen wafted up through the grating of a near-by pavement, modifying the nipping air. The shabby little woman, only half conscious of such gratuitous comfort, adjusted her blinking gaze to the brightness and looked hungrily at the costumes shimmering under the lights. Wax figures draped with rainbow-tinted, filmy evening gowns caught her passing admiration, but she lingered over the street costumes, the silk-lined coats and soft, warm furs. Elbowed by others who like herself were eager to look, even though they could not buy, she held her ground until she had made her choice. With her wistful gaze still fixed upon her favorite, she had begun to edge her way through the crowd at the window, when she felt, rather than saw, someone different from the rest, close at her side. At the same instant, she caught the scent of fresh-cut flowers and looked up into the eyes of a tall young girl in a white-plumed velvet hat, with a bunch of English violets in her brown mink fur. As their glances met, the shabby little woman checked a start, and half-defensively dropped her lids. The smile that shone evanescently from the girl's cordial eyes had aroused in her a feeling of something unwonted, and strangely intimate. There had flashed over the mobile face beneath the velvet hat a look of personal interest--an unmistakable impulse to speak. The thrill of response that set the woman's pulses throbbing died suddenly. The red that mottled her grayish cheeks was the red of shame. Through the window, in a mirrored panel cruelly ablaze with light, she saw herself: her made-over turban, her short, pigeon-tailed jacket of a style long past, and her old otter cape with its queer caudal decorations and its yellowed cracks grinning through the plucked and ragged fur. One glance at her own image was enough. The little woman pushed determinedly into the slow-moving crush, and headed toward the nearest elevated station, to be carried on irresistibly by the army of pedestrians. She caught a last glimpse of the tall young girl, coming in her direction, still watching her with that same eager look. But what of that? She knew why women stared curiously at her. By the time her station was reached, the occurrence had assumed in her mind a painful significance which emphasized the sordidness of her evening's routine. She made her way along a narrow, dimly lighted street, walking with the aimless gait of one who neither expects nor is expected. But, loiter as she might, she soon reached a neighborhood where rows of narrow brick tenements brooded over dingy, cluttered basement shops. Here she found it necessary to accelerate her pace to make way for romping children and bareheaded women hurrying from the shops with their suppers in paper bags. In spite of the wintry chill, the section had an air of activity all its own. Neither did it lack occasional evidences of Christmas cheer. In the window of a little news and fruit shop, against the smeared and partly frosted glass, a holly wreath was hanging, and within stood a rack of gaudy, tinseled Christmas cards. The woman hesitated, as if about to enter the shop, then abruptly passed on. She ascended one of the stoops that were all alike. Standing in a blur of reddish light that filtered through the broken glass above the door, she looked back the way she had come. For an instant her pulses quickened again as they had done on the avenue down-town. At the corner, a tall girl with a white-plumed velvet hat was smilingly picking her way through the swarming element so foreign, apparently, to one of her class. As the white plume came nearer and nearer, the tremulous little woman regained her self-control. It was but one of the coincidences of the city, she told herself, turning resolutely away. The door slammed shut behind her. Odd, she thought, as she groped her way through the dimly lighted lower hall, and the complete darkness of the upper, that such a girl should be living in such a neighborhood. Then, with an effort, she dismissed the matter from her mind. To find a match and light the sputtering gas required but very few steps in her tiny box of a room. When that was accomplished, she could think of nothing more to do. Her little taste of excitement had spoiled her zest for any of the homy rites which at other times formed the biggest events of her day. As she sank down upon the cot without removing her wraps, she was greeted by the usual creaking of rusty springs; her table with its meager array of dishes, its coffee pot and little alcohol burner, sat as ever in its corner, inviting the preparation of her evening meal. But to-night she did not want to eat. She had not visited the bake-shop on her way home. She had not even bought her daily paper at the corner stand where the postcards were--those gay Christmas cards that bring you greetings from friends. As she slowly removed her turban, her jacket and fur cape and, without getting up, tossed them across a chair against the opposite wall, the dull ache of dissatisfaction in her heart grew slowly to a sharp pain of desire. She wanted to do something, to have something happen that might break the sordid routine of her existence. Still, habit and environment would continue to force at least a part of this routine upon her. She glanced at her fingers, stained to an oily, bluish grime by the cheap dye of the garments that furnished her daily work. Mechanically she rose to wash. While her hands were immersed in the lather of rankly perfumed toilet soap, there came a gentle knock at the door. "Come in," invited the woman, expecting some famine-pressed neighbor for a spoonful of coffee or a drawing of tea. The door opened slowly, a tentative aperture. "May I come in?" asked a voice that was sweeter than the breath of violets that preceded the caller into the room. With the towel clutched in her dripping hands, the woman flung wide open the door, then hastened to unload the chair which held her wraps--her only chair. "Thank you; don't bother," urged the visitor. "I shall like sitting on the couch." There was a melody of enthusiasm in this remark, which the complaining of the cot, as the girl dropped easily upon it, could not wholly drown. The woman, having absently hung her towel on the doorknob, stared dazedly at the visitant. She could hardly credit her eyes. It was--it was indeed the girl with the white ostrich plume and the bouquet of violets in her brown mink fur. "I feel like an intruder," began the girl, "and, do you know--" her appraising glance directed to the old fur collar on the chair, was guiltily withdrawn as she spoke--"do you know, I've such a silly excuse for coming." She laughed, and the laugh brought added music to her voice. The woman, now at last recalled from her abstraction, smiled, and the weariness passed from her face. She seated herself at the extreme end of the humpy, complaining cot. "I'm sure you'll understand," resumed the girl. "At least, I hope you'll not be offended.... I heard ... that is, I noticed you had a rare fur-piece--" her vivid glance returned to the pile of wraps on the chair--"and I want to ask a very great favor of you. I--now _please_ don't be shocked--I've been ransacking the city for something like it, and--" with a determined air of taking the plunge--"I should like to buy it of you!" "Buy it!" scorned the woman, with a sudden dull red staining her sallow cheeks. "I can't see why anyone would want to pay money for such a thing as that." "It--it's a rare pattern, you know," groped the girl, her sweet tones assuming an eloquent, persuasive quiver, "and--and you don't know how glad I'd be to have it." The indignant color faded out of the woman's face. "If you really want the thing--" abruptly she put her bizarre possession into her strange visitor's lap--"If you really want it--but I don't see--" yearning crept into her work-dimmed eyes, a yearning that seemed to struggle with disillusionment. "Tell me," she broke off, "is that all you came here for?" Apparently oblivious to the question, the young woman rose to her feet. "You'll sell it to me then!" she triumphed, opening her gold-bound purse. "But, see here," demurred the woman, "I can't--it ain't worth----" The girl's gloved hands went fumbling into her purse, while the old fur cape hung limply across one velvet arm. "You leave it to me," she commanded, and smiled, a radiant, winning smile. Impulsively the woman drew close to her guest. "Excuse me," she faltered, "but, do you know--you look ever-so-much like a little niece of mine back--home?" "Do I? That's nice." The visitor looked at her watch. A note of abstraction had crept into her beautiful voice, but it still held the caress that invited the woman's confidence. "Yes, my little niece--excuse me--I haven't seen her for twelve years--most fifteen years, I guess. She'd be growed up, but I thought--when I saw you down-town----" "Oh, you remember me, then! Forgive me for following--" The girl seized the woman's soap-reddened hands in a sudden fervent clasp. "I understand," she breathed. "You must be lonely.... I'll try to see you again--I surely will.... Good-bye...." The girl was gone and all at once the room seemed colder and dingier than it ever had before. But the woman was not cold. As she sat huddled on the cot, warmth and vitality glowed within her, kindled by the memory of a recent kindly human touch. The following evening, after working hours, the shabby woman, wearing a faded scarf about her neck to replace the old fur collar, diffidently accosted a saleslady at the Sixth Avenue department store. She wanted to buy a brown mink collar, just like one worn by a figure in green in the window. It was unusual to sell expensive furs to such a customer. But people might send what freaks of servants they pleased to do their Christmas shopping, provided they sent the money, too. In this case, the shabby little woman was prepared. She produced three crisp ten-dollar bills--the fabulous sum which the girl had left in her hand at parting--and two dollars more from the savings in her worn little purse. Then, hugging the big flat box against the tight-fitting bosom of her jacket, she triumphantly left the store. In a sort of tender ecstasy she dallied along until she came to a florist's window. As she paused to gaze at great bunches of carnations and roses, tied with broad and streaming ribbons, the anxious look that attends the doubtful shopper returned to her face. Would it be of any use to go in? Since she must either keep moving or be carried along by the crowd, she edged through the revolving door. "English violets?--Fifty cents for the small bunches," clipped off the red-cheeked salesgirl, in reply to the woman's groping inquiry. The perturbed shopper turned reluctantly away, hesitated, and then asked: "But the roses? A single, half-blown rose--?" "Twenty-five apiece," replied the girl in the same mechanical tones, while she busied herself in rearranging a basket of flowers. "I--I'll take the rose." At the express office, where scores were waiting before her, the woman had ample time to untie her box and slip the rosebud beneath the tissue paper of the inner wrapping. Then, having retied it securely and stuck a "Do-not-open-until-Christmas" tag in a conspicuous place, she took her stand in line. When it finally came her turn at the desk, a stout clerk, who worked like an automaton and breathed like an ox, tore the package from her lingering grasp and dashed across the wrapper the address she gave. She paid the charges, wadded the receipt into her purse and turned briskly away. Fresh crullers she took to her room from the bake-shop, having bought them from a dark, greasy woman, whom she wished a "Merry Christmas" in a voice that almost sang. At dusk she had coffee in her room. It was Christmas Eve and she must begin early to get her full share of the season's peculiar indulgences. After she had read her paper for an hour or so by the recklessly flaming gas jet, she bustled about to brew another cup of coffee, and feasted upon crullers for the second time. At last she filled a water-bottle with tepid water from a faucet in the hall, and prepared for bed. The chill of the bedclothes, upon which the tepid water-bottle had little effect, could not touch the cozy warmth about the woman's heart. Neither were the happy memories of her strange and lovely visitor disturbed by knowledge of an incident that was taking place at that very hour. As she bounced into her cot, humming a little tune, she did not know that at a down-town theater a popular young actress was just responding to an insistent curtain call. Nor could she have recognized the graceful young girl, issuing from the wings in a new character part--an extreme type of eccentric maidenhood--except for the plucked and ragged fur-piece which formed the keynote of the performer's quaint attire. No knowledge of this episode disturbed the half-drowsy, half-blissful state which supplanted the woman's sleep that night. The incident cast no cloud upon her eager awakening, nor retarded her active leap from bed when the voice of her landlady aroused her with a start on Christmas morning. "_Eggs_-press, _eggs_-press ... a package for Miss Law-lor-r-r!" Full-chested and lingering, the call reverberated up three flights of naked stairs, and by the time the woman had donned her skirt and sweater and had emerged into the twilight of the upper hall, frowsy, curious heads protruded from every door. She carried the bulky Christmas package to her own room, moving deliberately, in shy, half-guilty triumph, and placed it on the cot. Behind her closed door she untied it, removed the cover and smilingly bent down to draw an eager inhalation from the tissue paper folds. Then, with careful fingers, she parted the crisp inner wrappings and unearthed a wilting, half-blown rose from its nest in the brown mink fur. The Reminder _By Allan Updegraff_ A little Belgian and an old violin-- A short, dumpy, melancholy little Belgian And a very fine old violin.... An inconsequential small Belgian Wearing a discouraged bit of mustache, American "store" clothes that didn't fit, Cheap American shoes, shined but shapeless.... (And yet he had often played in high honor Before great audiences in Belgium; But that was before Hell's lid was lifted Somewhere in the North of Germany-- May it be clamped down, hard, before long!) So this shabby, fat, discouraged oldish Belgian (Too old and fat for military service), And his very old beautiful violin, (Borrowed--he'd lost his better one to his conquerors), Appeared before a dubious tag-end of an audience In a music hall built in the woods Near an American summer resort, And played a dozen selections for forty-five dollars. Then we learned why he had often played in high honor Before great audiences in Belgium; And why his king and his country Had given him the honors he still wore, The riches recently taken away By his conquerors. Then we saw what manner of man he was, How that his soul was finely clad, upright, Nobly statured, crowned with Apollo's bays. Then we knew, when he played Tartini's sonata for violin, That Belgium would own once more Its little place in the sun. For the old Italian master might have written that sonata With the devastated Belgium of these days in mind. First, streaming from beneath the Belgian's sentient bow, The music told of peace and common things, With some bickering, some trivialities, But much melody and deep harmony underneath. The third movement, _affetuoso_, awoke to ruin-- To ruin too sudden and complete. Too bloody and bestial and cruel And thorough and filthy and Prussian To be more than wailed over softly. There was a stabbed child Lying in the mud beneath a half-burned house, Beside the naked corpse of its mother, The mutilated bodies of its old grandfather, And young sister; And the child cried faintly, and moaned, And cried again.... And then was silent. A while after, from far away, Rose dull outcries, trampling feet, Voices indomitable-- Retreating, returning, joined by others, dying, reviving, Always indomitable. And still others joined those beaten but unconquered ones, And the end came in one long, high, Indomitable cry. Then we knew, and bowed our heads, And were ashamed of our poor part, And prayed God we might bear a nobler part, In the reply to that most cold-planned, Murderously carried out, Unexpurgable horror over there. "Old Bill" _By Henry C. Wallace_ We buried Old Bill to-day. As we came back to the house it seemed almost as if we had laid away a member of the family. All afternoon I have been thinking of him, and this evening I want to tell you the story. Old Bill was a horse, and he was owned by four generations of our family. He was forty-one years old when he died, so you will understand that for many years he was what some might call a "dead-beat boarder." But long ago he had paid in advance for his board as long as he might stay with us. In winter a warm corner of the stable was his as a matter of right, and not a day went by but a lump of sugar, an apple, or some other tidbit found its way to him from the hands of those who loved him. Old Bill was never in the slightest danger of meeting the sad fate of many a faithful old horse in the hands of the huckster or trader. My grandfather liked a good horse. He loved to draw the lines over a team that trotted up into the bits as if they enjoyed it. He had such a team in a span of eleven-hundred pound mares, full sisters, and well matched both as to appearance and disposition. The old gentleman said they were Morgan bred. Whether they were or not, they had a lot of warm blood in them. He raised several colts from these mares by light horses, but none of them had either the spirit or the quality of their dams. One year a neighbor brought in a Percheron horse, a rangy fellow weighing about seventeen hundred and fifty pounds, clean of limb, and with plenty of life, as were most of the earlier horses of that breed, and grandfather bred these mares to him. The colts foaled the next spring, developed into a fine span, weighing about twelve hundred and fifty each, sound as nuts, willing workers and free movers. Grandfather gave this team to my father the spring he started to farm for himself. They were then three years old, and one of them was Old Bill. In those days the young farmer's capital was not very large: a team of horses, a cow, two or three pigs, and a few farm implements, the horses being by far the most important part of it. I shall not try to tell of the part these horses played in helping father win out. They were never sick; they were always ready for work. And well do I remember father's grief when Bill's mate slipped on the ice in the barnyard one cold winter day and had to be shot. It was that evening that my father talked of the important part a good horse plays in the life of a farmer, and gave us a little lecture on the treatment of horses and other animals. I was but a lad of ten at that time, but something father said, or the way he said it, made a deep impression on me, and from that time forward I looked upon horses as my friends and treated them as such. What a fine thing it would be if all parents would teach the youngsters at an early age the right way to treat our dumb animals. Bill was already "Old Bill" when he became mine. He was four years older than I when we started courting together, and my success must have been due in large part to his age and experience. We had but a mile and a half to go, and of a summer evening Bill would trot this off at a pace equal to a much younger horse. When the girl of my affection was snugly seated in the buggy, he would move off briskly for half a mile, after which he dropped to a dignified walk, understanding full well the importance of the business in hand. He knew where it was safe to leave the beaten track and walk quietly along the turf at the side, and he had a positive genius for finding nice shady places where he could browse the overhanging branches, looking back once in a while to see that everything was going along as it should be. I suppose I am old-fashioned, but I don't see how a really first-class job of courting can be done without such a horse as Old Bill. He seemed to take just about as much interest in the matter as I did. One night Jennie brought out a couple of lumps of sugar for him (a hopeful sign to me, by the way), and after that there was no time lost in getting to her house, where Bill very promptly announced our arrival by two or three nickers. One time I jokingly said to my wife that evidently she married Bill as much as she did me. That remark was a mistake. She admitted it more cheerfully than seemed necessary, and on sundry occasions afterward made free to remind me of it. Sometimes she drew comparisons to my discredit, and if Old Bill could have understood them, he would have enjoyed a real horse laugh. Jennie always said Bill knew more than some real folks. After the wedding, Old Bill took us on our honeymoon trip--not a very long one, you may be sure--and the three of us settled down to the steady grind of farm life. We asked nothing hard of Old Bill, but he helped chore around, and took Jennie safely where she wanted to go. I felt perfectly at ease when she was driving him. I wish I had a picture of the three of them when she brought out the boy to show to Old Bill. I can close my eyes and see her standing in front of the old horse, with the boy cuddled up in a blanket in her arms. I can see the proud light in her eyes, and I can see Old Bill's sensitive upper lip nuzzling at the blanket. He evidently understood Jennie perfectly, and seemed just as proud as she was. The youngster learned to ride Old Bill at the age most children are riding broomsticks. Jennie used to put him on Old Bill's back and lead him around, but Old Bill seemed so careful that before a great while she would trust him alone with the boy in the front yard, she sitting on the porch. I remember a scare I had one summer evening. Old Bill did not have much hair left on his withers, but he had a long mane lock just in front of the collar mark, and the youngster held onto this. I was walking up toward the house, where Bill was marching the youngster around in front, Jennie sitting on the porch. Evidently a botfly was bothering Bill's front legs, for he threw his head down quickly, whereupon the youngster, holding tightly to this mane lock, slid down his neck and flopped to the ground. You may be sure I got there in a hurry, almost as quickly as Jennie, who was but a few steps away, calling as I ran: "Did he step on him?" You should have seen the look of scorn Jennie gave me. Such an insult to Old Bill deserved no answer. The old horse seemed as much concerned as we were and Jennie promptly replaced the boy on his back and the ride was resumed, with me relegated to the corner of the porch in disgrace. As if Old Bill would hurt her boy! Old Bill's later years were full of contentment and happiness, if I know what constitutes horse happiness. In the winter he had the best corner in the stable. In the summer he was the autocrat of the small pasture where we kept the colts. He taught the boy to ride properly and with due respect for his steed. He would give him a gallop now and then, but as a rule he insisted upon a dignified walk, and if the youngster armed himself with a switch and tried to have his way about it, the old fellow would quickly show who was boss by nipping his little legs just hard enough to serve as a warning of what he could do. Bill had a lot of fun with the mares and colts. We never allowed the colts to follow the mares in the fields, but kept them in the five-acre pasture with Bill for company. At noon, we would lead the mares in after they had cooled off, and let the colts suck, and at night we turned the mares into the pasture with them. Bill had a keen sense of humor. He would fool around until the colts had finished, and then gallop off with all the colts in full tilt after him. Naturally the mares resented this. They followed around in great indignation, but it did them no good. We used to walk over to the pasture fence and watch this little byplay, and I think Bill enjoyed having us there, for he kept up the fun as long as we would watch. He surely was not popular with the mares. They regarded him about as the proud mother regards grandfather when he entices away her darling boy and teaches him tricks of which she does not approve. Although Bill took delight in teaching the colts mean little tricks during their days of irresponsibility, when they reached the proper age he enjoyed the part he had to play in their training with a grim satisfaction. For more than twenty-five years he was our main reliance in breaking the colts to work. It was amusing to watch a colt the first time he was harnessed and hooked up to the wagon alongside Bill, his halter strap being tied back to the hames on Bill's collar. Our colts were always handled more or less from infancy, and we had little trouble in harnessing them. When led out to the wagon with Bill, the colt invariably assumed he was out for a good time. But the Bill he found now was not the Bill he had known in the pasture, and he very quickly learned that he was in for real business. Bill was a very strict disciplinarian; he tolerated no familiarities; with his teeth he promptly suppressed any undue exuberance of spirit; he was kind but firm. As he grew older, he would lose patience now and then with the colts that persisted in their unruly ways. When they lunged forward, he settled back against their plunges with a bored air, as much as to say: "Take it easy, my young friend; you surely don't think you can run away with Old Bill!" When they sulked, he pulled them along for a bit. But if they continued obstreperous he turned upon them with his teeth in an almost savage manner, and the way he would bring them out of the sulky spell was a joy to see. Finally, when the tired and bewildered colt had settled down to an orderly walk, and had learned to respond to the guiding reins, Bill would reward him with a caress on the neck and other evidences of his esteem. Old Bill knew the game thoroughly, and was invaluable in this work of training the young ones. But after the first round at the wagon with him, the colts always seemed to feel as if they had lost a boon companion; they kept their friendship for him, but they maintained a very respectful attitude, and never after took liberties unless assured by his manner that they would be tolerated. I got a collie dog for the youngster when he was about three years old. When he was riding Old Bill, Jack would rush back and forth, in front and behind, barking joyously. Old Bill disliked such frivolity. To him it was a serious occasion. I think he never forgot the time the boy fell off, for nothing could tempt him out of a steady walk until the youngster got to an age when his seat was reasonably secure. When the ride was over, Old Bill would lay back his ears and go after Jack so viciously that the collie would seek refuge under the porch. Except when the boy was about, however, Old Bill and Jack were good friends, and in very cold weather Jack would beg a place in Bill's stall, curling up between his legs, to the apparent satisfaction of both. There was a very real friendship between them, but just as real jealousy for the favors of the little fellow. They were much like human beings in this respect. Until the last year of his life Bill was a most useful member of the family. Jennie liked a good garden and used to say before we were married that when we had our own home, she would have a garden that was a garden, and that she did not propose to wear herself out with a hoe as her mother had done. She laid out her garden in a long, narrow strip of ground between the pasture and the windbreak, just back of the house, and with Bill's help she had the garden she talked about. Bill plowed the ground and cultivated it, and the care with which he walked the long narrow rows was astonishing. This was another place where he did not want to be bothered with Jack. He was willing Jack should sit at one end and watch the proceedings, but he must keep out of the way. During the school season Bill's regular job was to take the children to school, a mile away. They rode him, turning him loose to come home alone. He learned to go back for them in the afternoon, and he delivered them at the porch with an air as much as to say: "There are your little folks, safe and sound, thanks to Old Bill." Jennie always met him with an apple or a lump of sugar. She and Old Bill seemed to be in partnership in about everything he could have a part in. They understood each other perfectly, and I don't mind confessing now that once in a great while I felt rather jealous of Old Bill. Well, as I said in the beginning, we buried Old Bill to-day. He died peacefully, and, as we say of some esteemed citizen, "full of honors." He was buried on the farm he helped pay for; and, foolish as it may seem to some folks, before long a modest stone will mark his last resting place. And sometimes, of a summer afternoon, if I find Jennie sitting with her needlework in the shade of the big oak tree under which Old Bill rests, I will know that tender memories of a faithful servant are being woven into her neat stitches. The Recruit's Story _By Frank Luther Mott_ Last Sunday afternoon I wandered into Smith Park and sat down on a bench near the fountain. It was a fine day. The sun shone warmly and I was one of many men who lounged on those benches and luxuriated in the grateful warmth of the early spring sunshine. Men of many kinds were there. There were a few old men, but many were young, or middle-aged. Unless I am a very poor observer, not a few of them were drifters. As I sat there I watched the play of the water falling in the fountain. I observed the bronze figures of women sitting in the center, musing over who knows what great world problem; and I saw, surmounting all, the towering figure of a soldier of the Civil War. There he stood in his quiet power--apotheosis of the common soldier in the war for the Union. He wore the great-coat and military cape of the old uniform. He stood at ease, his left foot advanced, and the butt of his gun resting on the ground in front of him, while he held the gun-barrel with his left hand and rested his forearm on the muzzle. He gazed a little past me, steadfastly, toward a corner of the park. On his face was the look of the man who is ready--the man undaunted by any emergency--the man unafraid in the quiet strength of soul and body. "He it was," I reflected, "who leaped to the colors when Father Abraham called, and by the might of his loyalty and sacrifice saved his country in the hour of her greatest need." Glancing across the park, I saw a poster glaring from the great window of a salesroom. I could make out three words, printed in giant type: MEN WANTED NOW! Again I looked about me at the men lounging, as I was lounging, there on the benches in the sunlight, some of them asleep. I too felt the soporific influence of the May sun, and might soon have lapsed into unconsciousness myself had it not been for a strange thing that happened just then. I saw the Union soldier turn his head a little and look directly at me. I am not given to illusions, being generally considered a matter-of-fact young man. But, as I live, I saw that Union soldier turn his head! And more than that, I knew just why he did it. I had read the papers, and knew my country's need. I had read the flaming posters calling for men to enlist in her armies. I had read President Wilson's classic-to-be concerning America's purpose in our greatest war for liberty. I had not meant to be a slacker; but, some way, I had not been strongly moved. I was letting the other fellow fill up the ranks, intending hazily to rally to the colors myself when the need seemed greater. Even now, I was inclined to argue the matter. I leaned back in my seat and said, in a conversational tone: "Now look here, Mr. Union Soldier, the need was greater when you joined the colors. The Union was threatened; the very existence of the nation was at hazard. I too will answer the call if worse comes to worst in this war." "Young man," replied the soldier, his eyes fixed on mine and his voice deep and calm, "young man, your country's call is your country's call. This time it is no question of union; thank God, the states stand indivisible forever. But this time the crisis is even greater, the need of vision and sacrifice even more vital. This time the liberty, not of the black man alone, but of the world, is in the balance. Are you deaf to the call?" "But listen," I answered. "This is not our war. Nobody has crossed the sea to strike us." "Have they not?" he countered. "By spies, by intrigue, by a treacherous diplomacy, by an unscrupulous policy of world subjugation, the enemy has invaded our shores. Yet it is not that alone. As I have stood here, I have heard the cries of the people of ravished Belgium; I have heard the despairing screams of men and women sinking in watery graves; the wails of perishing Armenia assail my ears. Do you say it is not our war? It is! Just as the fate of the black man touched the hearts of us Northerners, just as the misfortune of the traveler to Jericho touched the heart of the Samaritan, just as the suffering Christ on the cross has touched the heart of the world--just so must the woeful cry of a world perishing to-day touch the heart of America.... And yet I look about me here! These men drowsing in the sunshine! Are these Americans? From the field I rushed when Lincoln called, scarcely pausing to bid my mother good-bye; and I braved cold, and heat, and sickness, and privation, and terrors by day and night, and rain of shot and shell, and wounds and suffering and death--all because my country called!" As he spoke his voice rose to a commanding resonance. He raised his right arm from the muzzle of the gun where it had rested--raised it high in impassioned appeal. At last I was moved; tears ran down my cheeks. I started--awoke. I had been asleep, and the water from the fountain was blowing in my face. But was it the spray from the fountain alone that made my cheeks wet? I looked up at the bronze figure surmounting the fountain. There the soldier stood at rest, left foot advanced, arm resting on his gun. His eyes looked steadfastly toward the corner of the park. But did I not see a glow of passion on that bronze face--a passion for the Liberty of the World? I turned to my neighbor on the bench at my left. His eyes were half shut, drowsily. "Pardon me, brother," I said. "Can you tell me where the nearest recruiting station is located?" The Happiest Man in I-o-way _By Rupert Hughes_ Jes' down the road a piece, 'ith the dust so deep It teched the bay mare's fetlocks; an' the sun So b'ilin' hot, the pewees dassn't peep; Seemed like midsummer 'fore the spring's begun! An' me plumb beat an' good-fer-nothin'-like An' awful lonedsome fer a sight o' you ... I come to that big locus' by the pike, An' she was all in bloom, an' trembly, too, With breezes like drug-store perfumery. I stood up in my stirrups, with my head So deep in flowers they almost smothered me. I kind o' liked to think that I was dead ... An' if I hed 'a' died like that to-day, I'd 'a' be'n the happiest man in I-o-way. For whut's the us't o' goin' on like this? Your pa not 'lowin me around the place ... Well, fust I knowed, I'd give them blooms a kiss; They tasted like Good-Night on your white face. I reached my arms out wide, an' hugged 'em--say, I dreamp' your little heart was hammerin' me! I broke this branch off for a love-bo'quet; 'F I'd be'n a giant, I'd 'a' plucked the tree! The blooms is kind o' dusty from the road, But you won't mind. And, as the feller said, "When this you see remember me"--I knowed Another poem; but I've lost my head From seein' you! 'Bout all that I kin say Is--"I'm the happiest man in I-o-way." Well, comin' 'long the road I seen your ma Drive by to town--she didn't speak to me! An' in the farthest field I seen your pa At his spring-plowin', like I'd ought to be. But, knowin' you'd be here all by yourself, I hed to come--for now's our livin' chance. Take off yer apern, leave things on the shelf-- Our preacher needs what th' feller calls "romance." Ain't got no red-wheeled buggy; but the mare Will carry double, like we've trained her to. Jes' put a locus'-blossom in your hair An' let's ride straight to heaven--me an' you! I'll build y' a little house, an' folks'll say: "There lives the happiest pair in I-o-way." The Captured Dream _By Octave Thanet_ Somers rode slowly over the low Iowa hills, fitting an air in his mind to Andrew Lang's dainty verses. Presently, being quite alone on the country road, he began to sing: "In dreams doth he behold her, Still fair and kind and young." The gentle strain of melancholy and baffled desire faded into silence, but the young man's thoughts pursued it. A memory of his own that sometimes stung him, sometimes plaintively caressed him, stirred in his heart. "I am afraid you hit it, Andy," he muttered, "and I should have found it only a dream had I won." At thirty Somers imagined himself mighty cynical. He consorted with daring critics, and believed the worst both of art and letters. He was making campaign cartoons for a daily journal instead of painting the picture of the future; the panic of '93 had stripped him of his little fortune, and his sweetheart had refused to marry him. Therefore he said incessantly in the language of Job, "I do well to be angry." The rubber tires revolved more slowly as his eyes turned from the wayside to the smiling hills. The corn ears were sheathed in silvery yellow, but the afternoon sun jewelled the green pastures, fresh as in May, for rain had fallen in the morning, and maples, oaks and elms blended exquisite gradations of color and shade here and there among the open fields. Long rows of poplars recalled France to Somers and he sighed. "These houses are all comfortable and all ugly," thought the artist. "I never saw anything less picturesque. The life hasn't even the dismal interest of poverty and revolt, for they are all beastly prosperous; and one of the farmers has offered me a hundred dollars and my expenses to come here and make a pastel of his wife. And I have taken the offer because I want to pay my board bill and buy a second-hand bicycle. The chances are he is after something like a colored photograph, something slick and smooth, and every hair painted--Oh, Lord! But I have to have the money; and I won't sign the cursed thing. What does he want it for though? I wonder, did he ever know love's dream? Dream? It's all a dream--a mirage of the senses or the fancy. Confound it, why need I be harking back to it? I must be near his house. House near the corner, they said, where the roads cross. Ugh! How it jumps at the eyes." The house before him was yellow with pea-green blinds; the great barns were Indian red; the yard a riot of color from blooming flowers. Somers wheeled up to the gate and asked of the old man who was leaning upon the fence where Mr. Gates lived. "Here," said the old man, not removing his elbows from the fence bar. "And, may I ask, are you Mr. Gates?" said Somers. "Yes, sir. But if you're the young man was round selling 'Mother, Home and Heaven,' and going to call again to see if we liked it, we don't want it. My wife can't read and we're taking a Chicago paper now, and ain't got any time." Somers smiled. "I'm not selling anything but pictures," said he, "and I believe you want me to make one for you." "Are you Mr. Somers, F. J. S.?" cried the farmer, his face lighting in a surprising manner. "Well, I'm glad to see you, sir. My wife said you'd come this afternoon and I wouldn't believe her. I'm always caught when I don't believe my wife. Come right in. Oh, did you bring your tools with you?" He guided Somers into the house and into a room so dark that he stumbled. "There's the sofy; set down," said Gates, who seemed full of hospitable cheer. "I'll get a blind open. Girl's gone to the fair and Mother's setting out on the back piazza, listening to the noises on the road. She's all ready. Make yourself to home. Pastel like them pictures on the wall's what I want. My daughter done them." His tone changed on the last sentence, but Somers did not notice it; he was drinking in the details of the room to describe them afterwards to his sympathizing friends in Chicago. "What a chamber of horrors," he thought, "and one can see he is proud of it." The carpet was soft to the foot, covered with a jungle of flowers and green leaves--the pattern of carpet which fashion leaves behind for disappointed salesmen to mark lower and lower until it shall be pushed into the ranks of shopworn bargains. The cheap paper on the wall was delicately tinted, but this boon came plainly from the designers, and not the taste of the buyer, since there was a simply terrible chair that swung by machinery, and had four brilliant hues of plush to vex the eye, besides a paroxysm of embroidery and lace to which was still attached the red ticket of the county fair. More embroidery figured on the cabinet organ and two tables, and another red ticket peeped coyly from under the ornate frame of a pastel landscape displaying every natural beauty--forest, mountain, sunlit lake, and meadow--at their bluest and greenest. There were three other pictures in the room, two very large colored photographs of a lad of twelve and of a pretty girl who might be sixteen, in a white gown with a roll of parchment in her hand tied with a blue ribbon; and the photograph of a cross of flowers. The girl's dark, wistful, timid eyes seemed to follow the young artist as he walked about the room. They appealed to him. "Poor little girl," he thought, "to have to live here." Then he heard a dragging footfall, and there entered the mistress of the house. She was a tall woman who stooped. Her hair was gray and scanty, and so ill-arranged on the top of her head that the mournful tonsure of age showed under the false gray braid. She was thin with the gaunt thinness of years and toil, not the poetic, appealing slenderness of youth. She had attired herself for the picture in a black silken gown, sparkling with jet that tinkled as she moved; the harsh, black, bristling line at the neck defined her withered throat brutally. Yet Somer's sneer was transient. He was struck by two things--the woman was blind, and she had once worn a face like that of the pretty girl. With a sensation of pity he recalled Andrew Lang's verses; inaudibly, while she greeted him he was repeating: "Who watches day by day The dust of time that stains her, The griefs that leave her gray, The flesh that still enchains her, Whose grace has passed away." Her eyes were closed but she came straight toward him, holding out her hand. It was her left hand that was extended; her right closed over the top of a cane, and this added to the impression of decrepitude conveyed by her whole presence. She spoke in a gentle, monotonous, pleasant voice. "I guess this is Mr. Somers, the artist. I feel--we feel very glad to have the honor of meeting you, sir." No one had ever felt honored to meet Somers before. He thought how much refinement and sadness were in a blind woman's face. In his most deferential manner he proffered her a chair. "I presume I am to paint you, madam?" he said. She blushed faintly. "Ain't it rediculous?" she apologized. "But Mr. Gates will have it. He has been at me to have somebody paint a picture of me ever since I had my photograph taken. It was a big picture and most folks said it was real good, though not flattering; but he wouldn't hang it. He took it off and I don't know what he did do to it. 'I want a real artist to paint you, Mother,' he said. I guess if Kitty had lived she'd have suited him, though she was all for landscape; never did much figures. You noticed her work in this room, ain't you--on the table and chair and organ--art needlework? Kitty could do anything. She took six prizes at the county fair; two of 'em come in after she was in her last sickness. She was so pleased that she had the picture--that's the picture right above the sofy; it's a pastel--and the tidy, I mean the art needle work--put on her bed, and she looked at them the longest while. Her paw would never let the tickets be took off." She reached forth her hand to the chair near her and felt the ticket, stroking it absently, her chin quivering a little, while her lips smiled. "Mr. Gates was thinking," she said, "that maybe you'd paint a head of me--pastel like that landscape--that's why he likes pastel so. And he was thinking if--if maybe--my eyes was jest like Kitty's when we were married--if you would put in eyes, he would be awful much obliged and be willing to pay extra if necessary. Would it be hard?" Somers dissembled a great dismay. "Certainly not," said he, rather dryly; and he was ashamed of himself at the sensitive flutter in the old features. "Of course I know," she said, in a different tone than she had used before, "I understand how comical it must seem to a young man to have to draw an old woman's picture; but it ain't comical to my husband. He wants it very much. He's the kindest man that ever lived, to me, caring for me all the time. He's got me that organ--me that can't play a note, and never could--just because I love to hear music, and sometimes if we have an instrument, the neighbors will come in, especially Hattie Knight, who used to know Kittie, and is a splendid performer; she comes and plays and sings. It is a comfort to me. And though I guess you young folks can't understand it, it will be a comfort to him to have a picture of me. I mistrusted you'd be thinking it comical, and I hurried to come in and speak to you, lest, not meaning anything, you might, just by chance, let fall something might hurt his feelings--like you thought it queer or some sech thing. And he thinks so much of you, and having you here, that I couldn't bear there'd be any mistake." "Surely it is the most natural thing in the world that he should want a portrait of you," Somers hastily interrupted. "Yes, it is," she answered in her mild, even tones, "but it mightn't seem so to young folks. Young folks think they know all there is about loving. And it is very sweet and nice to enjoy things together; and you don't hardly seem to be in the world at all when you're courting, your feet and your head and your heart feel so light. But they don't know what it is to need each other? It's when folks suffer together that they find out what loving is. I never knew what I felt towards my husband till I lost my first baby; and I'd wake up in the night and there'd be no cradle there--and he'd comfort me. Do you see that picture under the photograph of the cross?" "He's a pretty boy," said Somers. "Yes, sir. He was drownded in the river. A lot of boys in playing, and one got too far, and Eddy, he swum out to help him. And he clumb up on Eddy and the man on shore didn't get there in time. He was a real good boy and liked to play home with me 'most as well as with the boys. Father was proud as he could be of him, though he wouldn't let on. That cross was what his schoolmates sent; and teacher she cried when she told me how hard Eddy was trying to win the prize to please his pa. Father and I went through that together. And we had to change all the things we used to talk of together, because Eddy was always in them; and we had to try not to let each other see how our hearts were breaking, and not shadder Kitty's life by letting her see how we missed him. Only once father broke down; it was when he give Kitty Eddy's colt." She stopped, for she could not go on. "Don't--don't distress yourself," Somers begged lamely. His cheeks were very hot. "It don't distress me," she answered, "only for the minnit; I'm always thinking of Eddy and Kitty too. Sometimes I think it was harder for father when his girl went than anything else. And then my blindness and my rheumatism come; and it seemed he was trying to make up to me for the daughter and the son I'd lost, and be all to once to me. He has been, too. And do you think that two old people that have grown old together, like us, and have been through losses like that--do you think they ain't drawed closer and kinder and tenderer to each other, like the Lord to his church? Why, I'm plain, and old and blind and crooked--but he don't know it. Now, do you understand?" "Yes," said Somers, "I understand." "And you'll please excuse me for speaking so free; it was only so father's feelings shouldn't get hurt by noticing maybe a look like you wanted to laugh." "God knows I don't want to laugh," Somers burst in. "But I'm glad you spoke. It--it will be a better picture. Now may I ask you something? I want you to let me dress you--I mean put something about your neck, soft and white; and then I want to make two sketches of you--one, as Mr. Gates wishes, the head alone; the other of you sitting in the rustic chair outside." "But--" she looked troubled--"it will be so expensive; and I know it will be foolish. If you'd just the same----" "But I shouldn't; I want to do it. And it will not cost you anything. A hundred dollars will repay me well enough. I wish--I truly wish I could afford to do it all for nothing." She gasped. "A hundred dollars! Oh, it ain't right. That was why he wouldn't buy the new buggy. And jest for a picture of me." But suddenly she flushed like a girl and smiled. At this instant the old man, immaculate in his heavy black suit and glossy white shirt, appeared in the doorway bearing a tray. "Father," said the old wife, "do you mean to tell me you are going to pay a hundred dollars jest for a picture of me?" "Well, Mother, you know there's no fool like an old fool," he replied, jocosely; but when the old wife turned her sightless face toward the old husband's voice and he looked at her, Somers bowed his head. He spent the afternoon over his sketches. Riding away in the twilight, he knew he had done better work than he had ever done before in his life, slight as its form might be; nevertheless he was not thinking of himself at all. He was trying to shape his own vague perception that the show of dainty thinking and the pomp of refinement are in truth amiable and lovely things, yet are they no more than the husks of life; not only under them, but under ungracious and sordid conditions, may be the human semblance of that "beauty most ancient, beauty most new," that the old saint found too late. He felt the elusive presence of something in love higher than his youthful dream; stronger than passion, fairer than delight. To this commonplace man and woman had come the deepest gift of life. "A dream?" he murmured. "Yes, perhaps he has captured it." [Illustration: "DING" BY WING] Truth _By Carrie Moss Hawley_ The archives of history contain wonderful revelations of the growth and physical development of man. Going back to the beginning of time, when creation donned its immortal robe of life and nature gave utterance to the thought that nothing perishes, we follow down the aisle of centuries until we find ourselves to-day where we realize that thought has become the most powerful factor in advancement. Gradations are everywhere, yet mental processes and volitions take control of the wheel of progress and guide everything with majestic power. The mind, as we commonly think of it, is not a safe guide unless directed by wisdom. So we appeal for light to give direction to the ideas or conceptions that filter through the brain from the all-holding universal thought. How to distinguish true from false conceptions is the labor of philosophy. Truth may be tested by one infallible rule: its power to construct. You may see it forming what may terminate in evil, and doing unmistakable harm. Then you say: How can this be truth if it creates disaster? But all that is created does not act one way. There is the gross and the refined, the blemished and the perfect. All is good in the sense that it comes from a perfect law. It is the direction creation takes that determines the outcome. The next step is how to direct truth that it may produce only the end desired. There are millions of beings on this sphere, each of whom has the same access to truth. Many of these do not even know of their power in production, and, with sensualized vision which has not been renovated, they keep on bringing forth that which another class, further advanced, is endeavoring to exterminate. This will continue indefinitely, for there will always be growing souls that have to learn. Since what appears as evil must exist, when it has become abhorrent to you in all its forms, your privilege and power is to convert all that comes within your radius into what you desire it to be. Minimize your fear of all effects in the negative, and take firm hold of the actual forces and mold them into whatever _you desire_. Were you a sculptor and had a piece of marble before you, you would not feel obliged to chisel out of it a cat, because a cat chanced to be rubbing her head against your leg in a friendly way. While you would be conscious of the cat she would be something outside the realm of your perceptions when you struck your first blow upon the marble. You would build from your perceptions that have been brought to the foreground by your conceptions of the valuable. Man must reach a certain plane in his development before he realizes there are things worthless and things of worth, and that he may possess which he will. But when the moral milestone is passed he sees the dawn of a new day that will bring him his hopes realized. Thus, the way to attain truth is first to see it from the vantage-point that comes through illumination; then realize that the cosmic world possesses all the material you need for its development. What surrounds you that does not appeal to you, merely touches and draws attention to its existence, need come into your creation no more than the cat came into the artist's production. Work _By Irving N. Brant_ Let me once more in Druid forest wander, To gain its legacy of ancient lore; Make me its prophet, as I dreamed of yore, A priest, on holy mysteries to ponder. Lead me to realms of quiet, or the fonder Scenes of the rising sea's unruly roar. Or turn my gaze upon the vistaed floor Of quiet valleys, and the blue haze yonder On the opposing hills. Let me traverse The shadows of man's immemorial mind, The haunt of fear, joy, sorrow and despair, God-given wonder and the primal curse. Within the throbbing heart of humankind Give me my work, or let me perish there. Some Magic and a Moral _By Virginia H. Reichard_ Along in the early nineties as I was traveling in the West, selling shoes, I left the train at the little junction of Skywaw and surveyed the town. I found that the proverbial hotel, blacksmith shop, general store and a handful of houses, beside the depot, comprised the town. After supper at the hotel, where I was waited upon by the landlord's pretty daughter, I asked about the storekeeper across the way and found to my surprise that he carried about a ten or twelve thousand dollar general stock which included everything from a sheepskin to a paper of needles. The farming country being so good, it was no wonder that this man did almost as big a business as many others in much larger towns, so the daughter told me, while the landlord himself chipped in with a question: "Why, don't you know this is just the richest spot in Wahoo County? In fact the ground is too rich. Just think of it--too rich to grow pumpkins." "Why," I asked, "can't you grow pumpkins?" With a smile of confidence that his joke was entirely new he replied: "The vines grow so fast it drags them over the ground and wears them out. Go up and see the storekeeper and if you sell him you get your money for the goods sure thing, for he sells for cash only." I picked up my grips and started to see my man at once; found him standing in the door chewing a quid and spitting out into the street at any stray chicken or dog that chanced to wander by. As he stood there indifferent, expressionless, he looked the typical Westerner, with an air of "do as you darn please" about him; pants tucked into a pair of boots that were run over and worn off at the toe in a peculiar way that would indicate to a shoeologist that he was a sharp, keen trader, very suspicious of strangers, hard to strike a trade with unless he could see a hundred per cent in it for himself. In early days he had been a horse trader and a dealer in buffalo hides, and had never seen the time when he couldn't tell what o'clock it was better by the sun than by a watch; a hard man to approach on the shoe subject as his mind didn't seem to hover around shoes. There must have been a depression in his skull where his bump of order was supposed to be, as from the general appearance it looked as if the devil had held an auction there the day before. I began my little "spiel" by telling my business--who I was, where I was from--and asked if my conversation would interest him at all if I talked about shoes for awhile, remarking incidentally: "You'll have some business now sure. Trade will get good right away, as I never opened up my samples in a man's store in my life but what customers came dropping in." "Well, then, for God's sake open them up. I need the business all right enough," quoth he. Then strange to say, as if to cinch what I had said, up rode six country boys on horseback, and in a minute the big strapping fellows came tramping in. You know the kind that work on a farm all day, ride to town to buy one pound of sugar for family use and ten pounds of chewing tobacco for their own use, and other articles in like proportion while they are having a good time. Taking seats on the counter opposite, they began a lot of loud talking. One picked up a turnip and began peeling it, poising it on the tip of his knife-blade, taking large bites, and never for a minute losing sight of what we were doing in the shoe line. It took a lot of persuading to get the proprietor to look at my samples, but I soon noticed the shrewd gleam of his eyes that told that he had had hold of good leather before and was a much better judge of my line than I expected to find in such a place. But talk about exhorting! How I worked with that fellow. And after keeping it up for two whole hours--from seven until nine, I finally landed him, selling him a little over five hundred dollars' worth of shoes. As I was getting a straight eight per cent commission at that time, the sale made me a little over forty dollars for two hours' work, and I was feeling mighty good. Even my cold-blooded customer had warmed up some from the effects of the deal on which he saw he was bound to make a good thing. While I was packing up my samples he said, sort of edging around: "Say, can't you sing us a song or dance us a jig or do something to entertain us all? You travelin' fellers allus know somethin' new, and are up to whatever is goin' on over the country, ain't ye?" I replied: "I can't sing; I am out of voice; but if you can furnish the music I can dance a jig or clog. Oh, by the way, did you ever see any sleight of hand or legerdemain tricks?" None of them ever had; didn't even know what they were, and solemnly assured me they were something new in that burg. As I had been practicing coin tricks and other feats of sleight of hand for the last ten years and could do many of the former, making the coins appear and disappear at will in a mysterious manner, I decided to try this form of amusement, thinking I had an easy bunch to work on. So I showed them a silver dollar, giving it to one of them to examine, passing it on to each one of them in succession, just to show them that it was a genuine, everyday piece. Then taking it in my hand, I proceeded to manipulate the coin by picking it out from underneath one fellow's foot as he sat on the counter dangling his long legs; taking it from another fellow's chin; picking it out from the pocket of the jumper one of them had on; finding it in the next man's ear; and finally, coming to the proprietor, I told him to hold his thumb and finger together, pointing up; then took the coin from between his own thumb and finger without his realizing how it got there or how it got away. I caught his startled look--the fellows jumped down off the counter and crowded close together--wonder and amazement written all over them. This was the first time in their lives they had ever seen a sleight of hand trick, where the motion of the hand is so quick the sight cannot follow it. But presto, chango, begono, magico, came near being too much for them. They were absolutely horror stricken. Some of them were unable to speak; some were afraid to; others couldn't speak above a whisper; and one of these desired to know when I would be back in that country again. He wanted Brother Bill to see it; in fact he would like to bring the whole family in. The proprietor's face was a study. Doubt, surprise and suspicion passed over his face in succession, but gave way to fresh curiosity when I asked him to bring me two hats and I would do Hermann's parlor trick with two hats and four balls. The method of doing this is to place the four balls in a square about three feet apart on a counter or a table, then place the hats over two of the balls; the object being to find all four balls under one hat, without, of course, anybody seeing how they got there. This I accomplished successfully, and this performance seemed to bring them close to the limit. They had been craning their necks to see, but when it was over they all straightened up, took a step backward in line and looked at one another. Then one of them said solemnly: "Folks is gettin' geniuser and geniuser every day, boys. Ain't it so?" And Pete nudged Jim to make sure it was no dream, then spat excitedly on the rusty stove. The proprietor had been eyeing me with suspicion for a good while. I noticed whenever I would pass in front of him he would step back and plant his hands tight on his pockets where he kept his money, as if he thought I might somehow coax it to jump out unless he held it in by main force. Legerdemain had scared him some and made him both suspicious and wary. Pretty soon I began to realize I had done a little too much; in fact, I had given them a little more than they had been able to digest. But like many another fool who has overstepped, I tried to make up by giving them something in another line. The proprietor looked up with a distrustful glance. "Is that all you can do?" "That's all in the trick line, gentlemen. But I have something that I can do that is out of the line of tricks. It's a gift--mind-reading. Only about one in six millions has it. I do the same as Brown, Johnson or Bishop--those big guns you have heard about--in finding any given object. And if you, sir (to the proprietor), will place your mind on any one of the ten thousand articles in this store, concentrating your mind on it, I will get the object you are thinking about and hand it to you." "You can't do that; it ain't possible," he said. One of the boys spoke up: "Aw, let him try, Dan. Gosh! Let him try." After looking around the store and meditating a little he said: "Durn it all, then, go ahead. I've picked out the thing I want you to get and by jigger I'll keep my mind on it all right." Taking his hand, placing it upon my forehead, and holding it there with one of mine, I started down the store, the other six rubbering after us with all their might. After going about thirty feet with an occasional kick or bump at a basket or barrel that happened to be in the way, I turned to the left; stopping at the show-case, and sliding back the doors, I reached in, picked up a razor--his own razor--that lay in the case and handed it to him. "Great Scott," he yelled. "The very razor I shave myself with--when I shave; and that's the very thing I had my mind on too, by thunder." The sweat stood out in great drops on his forehead and for a few minutes his emotion seemed to be too much for him. So I said: "Well, boys, this concludes the evening's performance; meeting's out, boys." Dazed with wonder, the six riders looked blankly at each other, turned to me grinning foolishly, then filed out, jumped on their horses and galloped away, whooping like Comanche Indians. Bidding the proprietor good night I started for the door. "Hold on a minute!" he cried. "I want to see you, young feller." He strode up to within about two feet of me, hands thrust deep in his pockets, looking as if he would like to fight. Then he burst out with: "Say, you're about the slickest thing I ever saw in my life, ain't you? You're durned slick. You're smooth--a little too smooth; and you hear me, you needn't send them goods I bought to-night. I won't take 'em." "What!" I cried. "You hear me; you needn't send 'em. I won't take the goods," he said in a tone there was no mistaking. I commenced to argue. But no. "You've done killed yourself with me," was all I could get out of him, and nothing I could say or do would make any difference. But I was bound not to lose the forty dollars without a struggle and brought all the arts, arguments and persuasions to bear that I could think of; but without avail. He seemed to be convinced that if I wasn't the devil himself, at least I was a near relation, and he would have none of me. Then I did what I never had done before: took the dollar and carefully showed him just how I had done the trick, explaining that sight was really slower than motion sometimes and that the whole thing was intended to be harmless and amusing. "If that's the way you did with the money, how about the four-ball trick?" he asked gruffly. Still bent upon making the proposition stick, I explained the ball trick too, by going over it and explaining how the eye could be deceived. You see, I was growing more and more anxious all the time to cinch my commission, and felt that my efforts were worth while. When suddenly, dubious and still unconvinced, he turned to me and asked: "Well, how in time did you find the razor?" "I was very particular to tell you," I said, "before I went after that razor that it wasn't a trick. It's a gift I can't explain; nobody can; nobody ever did. I can't do it; I don't know how or why. Some call it mind-reading and some people have been kept guessing to give it a name. I am one of the few who can do it, that's all. When I went after the article you had in mind, I didn't know it was a razor; I didn't know what it was; but when I came in contact with what you had in mind I picked it up and handed it to you. This is my explanation--the only one I can give. I call it 'mind-reading,' that's all." After some more talk I left him mystified and distrustful, in spite of all I had said and done, still refusing to reinstate the order. I left my grips in the store as it was near the station, and went to the hotel to spend a restless night, kicking myself for a fool meanwhile, since my attempts to amuse had lost me the neat little sum of forty dollars. I slept a couple of hours when I was awakened by the most horrible noise it was ever my fortune to hear: Two car-loads of calves, just a day away from their mothers, were being shipped and their bawling was intolerable. Talk about your quiet country towns for rest and sleep! No more for me that night, I thought. So I dressed, took a smoke, and decided to tackle my man again in the morning and to try to change his mind. A little after daylight I saw him sweeping the sidewalk in front of the door, handling the broom as a man does a flail on the barn floor. I went over and said: "Good morning." As he looked up I saw that his glance was as surly and suspicious as it had been the night before, but thought I would make a good start by approaching him upon some of his hobbies the landlord had told me about. In his capacity as horse trader he prided himself on his ability to judge a good horse. So I opened up by telling him about a horse I owned, and asked if he had anything to trade for him. This seemed to bring the right twinkle into his eye, and he began to brace up and take notice a little. So I talked on until I saw the smoke of the approaching train away down the valley seven or eight miles along the old Kantopey trail. Then I made a last attempt. "Now see here, Mister," I said, "I came into your store last night and showed you my samples, showed you the names of some of the best merchants who have bought big bills of me and I sold you a bill of goods in good faith. Then you proposed that I entertain you as you had very little amusement in a place like this. I told you I couldn't sing but would do what I could with such sleight of hand tricks as I knew, and I did exactly what I said I would. It seemed to meet with plenty of approval all around until the mind-reading came up, when you turned me down for no reason whatever. Now, I ask you a question: Is that a square deal to a man on a business proposition?" He looked at the floor and was silent, though apparently a little uneasy. He shook his head doubtfully, which made me feel that he was perhaps not so unfriendly after all, and might possibly do the right thing yet. Hearing the distant whistle, I said: "Train's coming; have to go. Wish you good luck, just the same as if you'd treated me square. Wish you good crops and plenty of water for your stock. As long as you live don't turn another fellow down like you have me, just because he's done his best to give you a good time." And I made a rush for the depot to check my baggage. The train came in; there was the usual hurry and noise. The old fellow stood there, leaning against the weather-boarding of the depot like a picture of Uncle Sam--a queer, awkward figure with his hay-colored whiskers, pipe in the corner of his mouth, and hands still planted firmly in his pockets, his eyes riveted on every move I made. I boarded the train, said "Howdy" to a friend, and looking back saw old Dan standing where I had left him as if glued to the spot. The engine puffed and snorted; the wheels began to go around. "Good-bye," I shouted from the platform as if answering his steady gaze. All of a sudden the long, gaunt figure limbered up, like a corpse that had been touched by a galvanic battery. He came chasing down the track after the train, waving his arms like a windmill and yelling like Bedlam let loose: "Hey! Say there, you young feller; hey there! I'll take them goods; send 'em along. I'll take them goods. D'ye hear?" And I called back to him with great gusto: "All right," as the train rounded a curve. _Moral_: When you have sold your goods make your get-away. Sonny's Wish _By Bertha M. H. Shambaugh_ Sometimes before I go to bed I 'member things that Grandpa said When I sat close beside his knee And Grandpa laid his hand on me. I 'member how he'd smile and say, "Well, what did Sonny do to-day?" 'Cause Grandpa always liked to know (I s'pose that's why I miss him so). I never had to coax and plead For things I really didn't need: I'd 'splain it in an off-hand way And Grandpa brought it home next day. When I grow up I'd like to be A grandpa with a boy like me To live with and to bring things to: That's what I'd like the _most_ to do. I'd rummage 'round and hunt about For things the boy could do without, Because you see of course I'd know That's why the boy would like them so. And when I'd bring some brand new toy And someone said, "You'll spoil that boy!" I'd only shake my head and say, "A _good boy_ isn't spoiled that way." When Sonny said he'd like to get A nice wee doggie for a pet, And when the grown-ups one and all Said, "Oh, no, Son! You're much too small," I'd whisper, "Come, don't look so blue 'Cause Grandpa bought a dog for you, A birthday present! Schh! Don't cry! He's black and just about _so_ high." Oh, yes! I'm sure I'd like to be A grandpa with a boy like me To live with and to bring things to: That's what I'd like the _most_ to do. Dog _By Edwin L. Sabin_ The dog we have always with us; if not active in the garden or passive on the best bed, then gracing or disgracing himself in other domestic capacities. For the dog is a curious combination, wherein heredity constantly opposes culture; and therefore though your dog be a woolly dog or a smooth dog, a large dog or a small dog, a house-dog, yard-dog, hunting-dog or farm-dog, he will be ever a delight and a scandal according as he reveals the complexities of his character. Just as soon as you have decided that he is almost human, he will straightway unmistakably indicate that he is still very much dog. As example, select, if you please, the most pampered and carefully nurtured dog in dog tribe: some lady's dog--beribboned King Charles, bejeweled poodle, befatted pug--and give him the luxury of a half-hour in the nearest genuine alley. Do you think that he turns up his delicate nose at the luscious smells there encountered? Do you think that because of his repeated scented baths he sedulously keeps to the middle of the narrow way? Do you venture to assert that he whose jaded palate has recently declined the breast of chicken is now nauseated by the prodigal waste encountered amidst the garbage cans? Fie on him, the ingrate! Why, the little rascal fairly revels in the riot of débris, and ten to one he will even proudly return lugging the most unsavoury of bones filched from a particularly odorous repository! His lapse into atavism has been prompt and certain. I agree with Robert Louis Stevenson that every dog is a vagabond at heart; in adapting himself to the companionship of man and woman, and the comforts of board and lodging, he leads a double life. In this respect the dog is far more servile than the cat, his contemporary. Generations of attempted coercion have little influenced the cat. She (it seems a proper distinction to speak of the cat as "she") steadfastly maintains the distance that shall divide cat life from man life. Without duress, and in spite of duress, she accepts the material favors of civilization and domesticity only to an extent that will not inconvenience her; she has no notion of responsibilities or indebtedness. Having achieved her demands for a warm nap or a full stomach, she then makes no false motions in following her own inclinations entirely. But the dog, occupying a limbo between his natural instincts and his acquired conscience, must always be a master of duplicity. The dog (as again points out the admirable Stevenson) has become an accomplished actor. Observe his ceremonious approach to other dogs. Mark the mutual dignity, the stiff-leggedness, the self-conscious strut, the rivalrous emulation, all of which plainly says: "I am _Mister_ So-and-So; who in the deuce are you?" No dog so small, and only a few faint-hearts so squalid, that they do not carry a chip on their shoulder. Compare with their progenitors, the wolves in a city park. Here encounters are quick and decisive. The one wolf stands, the other cringes. Rank and character are recognized at once. The pretences of human society have not perverted wolf ethics. Take a dog at his tricks: not the game of seeking and fetching, which he enjoys when in good humor, but parlor tricks. He has learned through fear of punishment and hope of reward. Having performed, either sheepishly or promptly, with what wrigglings and prancings and waggings, or else with what proud self-appreciation does he court approval. He knows very well that he is assuming not to be a dog, and trusts that you will admit he is smarter than mere dog. On the contrary, the cat tribe, jumping through a hoop, does it with a negligent, spontaneous grace that makes the act a condescension. The cat does not aspire to be human; she is fully content with being cat. Elevate a dog to a seat in an automobile (any automobile), or even to the box of a rattle-trap farm-wagon. How it affects him, this promotion from walking to riding! It metamorphoses the meekest, humblest of so-called curs into a grandee aristocrat, who by supercilious look and offensive words insults every other dog that he passes. He calls upon the world about to witness that he is of man-kind, not of dog-kind. A dog riding abroad is to me the epitome of satisfied assumption. It would be interesting to know how much, if any, the dog's brain has been increased by constant efforts to be humanized. The Boston bull is, I should judge, (and of course!) faster in his intellectual activities than is the ordinary English bull. And then I might refer to the truly marvelous feats of the sheep-dog, who will, when told, cut out any one sheep in a thousand; and I might refer to the finely bred setter, or pointer, and his almost human field work; and I can refer to my own dog, whose smartness, both natural and acquired, generally is extraordinary--although at times woefully askew, as when he buries pancakes in the fall expecting, if we may believe that he expects, to dig them up during the winter. And there are dogs with great souls and dogs with small souls. We are told of dogs noble enough to sit by and let a needy dog gobble the meal from the platter--but I suspect that such dogs are complacent because comfortably fixed. We hear of dogs making valiant defenses of life and property--which perhaps is the development of the animal instinct to guard anything which the animal considers its own. And dogs sometimes effect heroic rescues, by orders or voluntarily--although one may query whether they consider all the consequences. The dog's brain must be an oddly struggling mass of fact and fancy. We have done our best for him, and as a rule he creditably responds. I love my dog; he appears to love me; and by efforts of me and mine he has been humanized into a very adaptable personage. But I am certain that first principles remain the same with him as when he was a wolf-dog of cave age. He might grab me by the collar and swim ashore with me, but if on the desert island there was only one piece of meat between us and starvation, and he had it, I'd hate to have to risk getting my share without fighting for it. The Unredeemed THE BALLAD OF THE LUSITANIA BABES _By Emerson Hough_ THE HOLY THREE BEHOLD God the Father leaned out from Heaven, His white beard swept His knee; His eye was sad as He looked far out, Full on the face of the sea. Saith God the Father, "In My Kingdom Never was thing like this; For yonder are sinless unredeemed, And they may not enter Our bliss." And Mary the Mother, She stood near by, Her eyes full sad and grieved. Saith Mary the Mother, "Alas! Alas! That they may not be received. Now never since Heaven began," saith She, "Hath sight like this meseemed, That there be sinless dead below Who may not be redeemed!" And Jesu, the Saviour, He stood also, And aye! His eyes were wet. Saith Jesu the Saviour, "Since Time began, Never was this thing yet! For these be the Children, the Little Ones, Afloat on the icy sea. They are doomed, they are dead, they are perished, And they may not come unto Me!" THE CHILDREN CRY OUT They float, forever unburied, Their faces turned to the sky; With their little hands uplifted, And their lips forever cry: "Oh, we are the helpless murdered ones, Blown far on the icy tide! No sin was ours, but through all the days, On the northern seas we ride. No cerements ever enshroud us, We know no roof of the sod; We float forever unburied, With our faces turned to God. "So foul the deed that undid us, So damned in its dull disgrace, That even the sea refused us, And would not give us place. Nor ever a place in the sky-- We are lost, we are dead, we are perished, Ah, Jesu, tell us why!" * * * * * Now the Three who heard They wept as one, But Their tears they might not cease. Saith God the Father, "While unavenged These may not know Our peace! When the sons of men are men again, And have smitten full with the sword, At last these sinless but unredeemed Shall enter unto their Lord. "But deed like this is a common debt; It lies on the earth-race whole. Till these be avenged they be unredeemed-- Each piteous infant soul. We must weep, We must weep, till the debt be paid, Te debt of the sons of men-- But well avenged, they are aye redeemed; Ah, how shall We welcome them then!" THE SONS OF MEN HEARKEN Are ye worth the kiss of a woman? Were ye worth the roof of a womb? Are ye worth the price of your grave-clothes? Are ye worth the name on a tomb? Nay! None of these is your earning, And none of these be your meed, If the deathless wail of their yearning Shall add to your pulse no speed. Never by hand of a warrior, Never by act of a man, Have the Little Ones thus perished, Since ever that Heaven began. Such deed and the beings who wrought it-- Ah! deep must the cutting go To cure the world of the memory Of the Little Ones in woe. The Three watch high in Their Heaven, And aye! the Three be grieved; The sword is the key of Their Heaven, If the babes shall be received. Rise then, men of our banner-- Speak in our ancient tone-- Each of you for his mother, Each of you for his own! Smite full and fell and fearless, Till that these be set free-- These, slain of the foulest slaying That ever made red the sea. The sword of the Great Avenger Is now for the sons of men; It must redden in errand holy Till the babes be cradled again. _Copyrighted, 1917, by Emerson Hough_ Tinkling Cymbals _By Helen Sherman Griffith_ It was in the spring of 1915 that Margaret Durant came back to her home in Greenfield, Iowa, from a visit to friends in the East, and brought with her a clear, shining flame of patriotism, with which she proceeded to fire the town. Margaret had always been a leader, the foremost in civic betterment, in government reform, and in the activities of her church and woman's club. She was a born orator, and loved nothing better than haranguing--and swaying--a crowd. A fund was started for the purchase of an ambulance, which, Margaret insisted, must be driven by a Greenfield man. And she expressed sorrow on every occasion--particularly in the hearing of the mothers of young men--that she had no son to offer. The Red Cross rooms became the centre of Greenfield social activity, and the young people never dreamed of giving an entertainment for any purpose save to benefit the Red Cross, the British Relief or the Lafayette Fund. This last became presently the object of Margaret's special activities, since her husband, Paul, some four generations previously, had come of French blood. "So that it is almost like working for my own country," Margaret said proudly. And she glowed with gratification whenever the French were praised. So complete and self-sacrificing was her enthusiasm that she announced, as the spring advanced, her intention of taking no summer vacation, but to dedicate the money thus saved to the Lafayette Fund, and to work for that organization during the entire summer. Her friends were thrilled with admiration at Margaret's attitude, and some of them emulated her heroic example. To be sure, staying at home that summer was a popular form of self-denial, since a good many families, even in Greenfield, Iowa, were beginning to feel the pinch of war. One summer afternoon, Margaret strolled home from an animated meeting of the Lafayette Fund, exalted and tingling with emotion. She had addressed the meeting, and her speech had been declared the epitome of all that was splendid and noble. She had moved even herself to tears by her appeal for patriotism. She entered the house, still mentally enshrouded by intoxicating murmurs of "Isn't she wonderful!" "Doesn't she make you wish you were a man, to go yourself!" and so forth. Softly humming the Marseillaise, she mounted the steps to her own room, to remove her hat. She stopped short on the threshhold with a sudden startled cry. Her husband was there, walking up and down the room, and also humming the Marseillaise. It was half an hour before his usual home-coming time, but that was not why Margaret cried out. Paul was dressed in khaki! He was walking up and down in front of the cheval glass, taking in the effect from different angles. He looked around foolishly when he heard his wife. "Just trying it on," he said lightly. "How do you like me?" "But Paul--what--what does it _mean?_" "Just what you have guessed. I've signed up. I'm to drive the Greenfield ambulance," he added with justifiable pride. Margaret stared, gasped, tottered. She would have fallen if she had not sat down suddenly. Paul stared, too, astonished. "Why, old girl, I thought it was what you wanted! I--you said----" "Paul, Paul! You! It can't be! Why--why, you are all I have!" "That is one reason the more for my going--we have no son to send." "But Paul--it--I--the war is so far away! It isn't as if--as if we were at war." "Almost--'France is the land of my ancestors'--your very words, Margaret." "I know, but----" "'And the cause is so just.'" "But, Paul, I did not mean----" "Did not mean what!" Paul turned and faced her sternly. "Margaret, your eloquence has sent a good many young men to the front. I wonder--" He paused, and a new expression dawned in his eyes; an expression that Margaret could not bear: an accusation, a suspicion. Margaret cowered in her chair and hid her face. "Oh, Paul, not that, not that! Leave me a moment, please. I--I want time to--to grasp it." When she was alone she sat upright and faced the look she had seen in Paul's eyes. "I am a canting hypocrite. I see it now, plainly. I read it in Paul's eyes. But I will show him he's mistaken. God! is hypocrisy always so cruelly punished? Merciful God, have pity upon me!" Rising to her feet, Margaret staggered to the door and called. The enthusiasm, the exaltation, had faded from her face, leaving it pinched and gray. But in her eyes a new expression had been born, which lent a soft radiance to her features, the light of complete self-denial. Paul entered, gave one look, then knelt at his wife's feet. "Forgive me, my love, for misunderstanding you. The fault was mine. You've been afraid I would not make good, and were testing me. Ah, my love." For one terrible moment Margaret hesitated. Then she whispered: "No, Paul, you were right at first; but love has conquered. Not _our_ love, but a greater, nobler sentiment: love of Right and Justice. Do you remember the verse: 'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.' I--I am _not_ a tinkling cymbal, Paul. I--Oh, Paul, take me with you! I can be of some use over there. We will go together." Paul rose and embraced her. "My precious one! How Greenfield will honor you!" Margaret winced and hid her face in his breast. "No, Paul, no, no. Don't let them know! Let us go away quietly, in the night. Please, please, Paul. I--I could not bear any other way!" Durant kissed her and said no more. And if he understood, he never let her know that he did. The First Laugh _By Reuben F. Place_ In the life of every baby there is a continuous succession of first impressions and adventures. The first tooth, the first crawl, the first step, the first word, each mark a milestone in the child's career. But more interesting than any of these is the first laugh--the first genuine, sustained, prolonged, whole-hearted laugh. If it is a tinkling, bubbling, echoing laugh, it sends its merry waves in all directions--the kind that brings smiles to sober faces. What hope springs up in the parents' breasts at the sound of that first laugh! How thoroughly it denotes the future! A hearty laugh or no laugh in later years may mean the difference between fame and obscurity, fortune and poverty, friends and enemies. "How much lies in laughter: the cipher key, wherewith we decipher the whole man!" wrote Carlyle. A good laugh is a charming, invaluable attribute. It saves the day, maintains the health, makes friends, soothes injured feelings, and saves big situations. Laughter is a distinguishing mark between man and beast. It is the sign of character and the mirror in which is reflected disposition. To laugh is to live. The babe's first laugh is a precious family memory. A load of responsibility goes with it. It should be guarded and guided and cultivated until it becomes "Laughter that opens the lips and heart, that shows at the same time pearls and the soul." The Freighter's Dream _By Ida M. Huntington_ "Squeak! Squ-e-a-k! Scr-e-e-ch!" The shrill, monotonous sound rent the hot noontide air like a wail of complaint. "Thar she goes ag'in, a-cussin' of her driver!" grumbled old Hi, as he walked at the head of his lead oxen, Poly and Bony, with Buck and Berry panting behind them. "Jest listen at her! An' 'twas only day afore yistiddy that I put in a hull half hour a-greasin of her. Wal, she'll hev to fuss till mornin'. We ain't got no time to stop a minute in this hot place. If we make the springs afore the beasteses gin out 'twill be more'n I look fer!" Old Hi anxiously gazed ahead, trying to see through the shimmering haze of the desert the far-distant little spot of ground where bubbled up the precious spring by which they might halt for rest and refreshment. "G'lang, Poly! That's right, Bony! Keep it up, ol' fellers!" Hi strove to encourage the patient oxen as they plodded wearily along through the fearful heat and the suffocating clouds of fine alkali dust. For weeks the long train of covered wagons had moved steadily westward over the dim trails. Starting away back in Ohio, loaded with necessities for the prospectors in the far West, they had crossed the fertile prairies, stuck in the muddy sloughs, forded the swollen rivers, rumbled over the plains and wound in and out the mountain passes. Now they were crawling over the desert, man and beast almost exhausted, even the seasoned wagons seeming to protest against the strain put upon them. All that afternoon Hi walked with his oxen, talking and whistling, as much to keep up his own courage as to quicken their pace. For a few moments at a time they would rest, and then onward again towards the springs indicated on the map by which they traveled. Half blind and dizzy from the dust and heat, sometimes Hi stumbled and staggered and nearly fell. He dared not turn to see how it fared with the men and teams behind him. Wrecks of wagons and bones of oxen by the side of the trail told an all-too-plain story. Some there were in every train who dropped by the way; men who raved in fever and died calling for water; faithful oxen who were shot to put them out of misery. Wagons were abandoned with their valuable freight when the teams could no longer pull them. All afternoon they crept forward; the reiterating "Squeak! Squ-e-a-k! Scr-e-e-ch!" of the wagon sounded like a maddened human voice to poor Hi, fevered and half delirious. At last the sun sank like a ball of fire in the haze. A cool breath of air sighed across the plain. The prairie dogs barked from their burrows. The coyotes yapped in the distance. But not yet could the long train stop, for rest without water meant death. Far into the night the white-topped wagons crept on like specters. No sound was heard except that of the plodding feet of the oxen, the rumble of the heavy wagons and the "Squeak! Squ-e-a-k! Scr-e-e-ch!" that had troubled Hi since noon. Suddenly the oxen lifted their heads, sniffed the air eagerly, and without urging quickened their pace. "What is it, ol' fellers?" asked Hi, as hope revived. "Is it the water ye are smellin'? Stiddy, thar! Stiddy!" A few moments more, and Hi gave a shout of joy that was taken up and sounded down the line. "The spring! The spring!" A halt was made. Every drop of the precious water was carefully portioned out so that each might have his share. Preparations were made for the night. The wagons were pulled up in a circle. The oxen were carefully secured that they might not wander away. Here and there a flickering little fire was seen as the scanty "grub" was cooked. After Hi had bolted his share he wrapped himself in his blanket and lay down near his wagon. The large white top loomed dimly before him in the darkness. A little while he stretched and twisted and turned uneasily until his tired muscles relaxed. In his ears yet seemed to sound the "Squeak! Squ-e-a-k! Scr-e-e-ch!" of the complaining wagon as it had bothered him all afternoon. "Darn ye! Won't ye ever shet up?" he muttered as he drifted off to sleep. "Won't I ever shet up? I won't till I git good and ready!" The sharp, shrill voice made Hi open his eyes with a start. Above him leaned the huge form of an old woman in a white cap drawn close about her wrinkled, seamed face, only partly distinguishable in the darkness. As he lay blinking, trying to see her more plainly, the high falsetto voice continued its plaint. "Won't I ever shet up? A nice way thet is to talk to me, Hi Smith! Do I iver grumble and snarl when ye treat me right? Hain't I been faithful to ye through thick an' thin? Hain't I made a home fer ye all this hull endurin' trip? Hain't I looked after yer grub and yer blankets and done ever'thin' I could to make ye comfortable? Hain't I kep' the rain offen ye at night? An' thet time the Injuns was after ye, didn't I stand atween ye an' the redskins and pertect ye? Didn't I keep ye from gittin' drownded when ye crossed thet river whar the current swep' the beasteses offen their feet? Didn't I watch over ye and shield ye from the sun when ye lay sick of the fever and hadn't nary wife to look after ye? Hain't I follered after them dumb beasteses through mud and water and over gravel and through clouds of alkali dust thick enough to choke a person, and niver said a word? An' now, jest bekase I'm fair swizzled up with the heat and ye fergit to give me some grease to rub on my achin' j'ints, ye cuss me! Yis, I heerd ye! Ye needn't deny it! A-cussin' of me who has taken the place of home an' mother to ye fer years! I heerd ye! I he-e-rd ye! What d'ye mean, I say!" And the tirade ended in a perfect screech of anger. Thoroughly aroused, Hi rolled over and jumped hastily to his feet. He looked all around. The old woman had mysteriously vanished. A coyotte sneaked past him. Day was breaking in the east. The first gleam of light fell on the white-topped wagon drawn up beside him. He rubbed his eyes. "Wal, I swan!" he muttered, as he gazed bewilderedly at the close-drawn white top looming above him. "Glad I woke up airly! I'll hev time ter grease that thar wagon afore we start!" A Box From Home _By Helen Cowles LeCron_ I'll send to you in France, my dear, A box with treasures in it: The patch of sky that meets our hill And changes every minute, The grape-vine that you taught to grow-- My pansies young with dew, The plum-tree by the kitchen door-- These things I'll send to you. I'll pack with care our fragile dawn-- The dawn we laughed to greet; I'll send the comfort of the grass That once caressed your feet. No yearning love of mine I'll send To tear your heart in two-- Just earth-peace--home-peace--still and strong-- These things I'll send to you. For you must tire of flags, and guns, And courage high, and pain, And long to rest your heart upon The common things again, And so I'll send no prayers, no tears, No longings--only dew And garden-rows, and goldenrod And country roads to you! Since life has given you to know The gentle tenderness Of growing things, I cannot think That death would give you less! Hold fast, hold fast within your heart The earth-sweet hours we knew, And keep, my dear, where'er you are These things I send to you. The Spirit of Spring _By Laura L. Hinkley_ Margaret Hazeltine sat on her porch with the spring wind blowing over her elusive wafts of fragrance--plum-blossom, apple-blossom, young grass, budding wood scents, pure, growing earth-smells. "It is like breathing poetry," Margaret thought. She was sewing, but now and then her hands fell in her lap while she lifted her head, catching in some wandering sweetness with a sharp breath, like a sigh. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. Sunshine mellowed the new greenness of short, tender grass on the lawns. It shone upon all the bare, budded branches up and down the street, seeking, caressing, stimulating. It lay kindly, genially, on the mid-road dust. Margaret's father was pottering about the garden. He was a very old man, with stooping shoulders, but tall and slender like his daughter. He came up to the porch and stood leaning on his hoe. The wind fluttered his shabby garden-coat and thin, white beard. He rested his wrinkled old hands on the top of his hoe handle, and cast up his faded, sunken eyes to the intense young blue of the sky with its fleecy clouds floating. Mr. Hazeltine addressed his daughter in the strain of conversational piety habitual with him, and in a voice which age and earnestness made tremulous: "Seems like every spring I get more certain of my eternal home up yonder!" Margaret smiled acquiescently. Long since she had silently drifted outside the zone of her father's simple, rigid creed; but to-day its bald egoism did not repel her. It seemed at one with the sweet will to live all about them. Mr. Hazeltine went back to the garden. A girl appeared on the porch of the house opposite. The Hazeltine house was small and old and not lately painted. The house opposite was large, fresh, trim, and commodious in every visible detail. White cement walks enclosed and divided its neatly kept lawns and parking. Its fruit-trees breathed out of the unfolding whiteness of their bosoms the sweetest of those perfumes that drifted across to Margaret. The girl on the porch pushed the wicker chairs about for a moment, then, disdaining them all, sat down on the cement steps and rested her chin in her palm. After a quick look and smile Margaret sewed busily, affecting not to see the other. She felt a little sympathetic flutter of pleasure and suspense. "Jean is waiting for Frank," she said to herself. A piano began to play in a house up the street. Through the open windows rang joyous, vibrant music. White moths fluttered across the street and the lawn and parking opposite, veering vaguely over scattered yellow dandelion heads. Around the house opposite on the cement walk strutted a very young kitten on soft paws, its short tail sticking straight up, its gray coat still rough from its mother's tongue. "Me-ow!" said the kitten plaintively, appalled at its own daring. Jean sprang up, laughing, snatched up the kitten and carried it back to her seat, cuddling it under her chin. Down the street came a young girl wheeling a baby's cab. The girl was but just past childhood, and she had been a homely child. But of late she had bloomed as mysteriously and almost as quickly as the plum-trees. She wore a light summer dress with a leaf-brown design upon it, in which her girlish form still half-confessed the child. Her complexion was clear and bright, the cheeks flushed; and the strongly-marked features seemed ready to melt and fuse to a softer mould. Her brown eyes had grown wistful and winning. As they advanced, Margaret ran down the rickety wooden walk. "Oh, is that the new baby?" she cried delightedly. "May I look?" The girl smiled assent. Softly Margaret drew back the woolly carriage robe and gazed adoringly. The baby was about six weeks old. Its tiny face was translucent, pinky white, the closed eyelids with their fringe of fine lashes inconceivably delicate. Its wee hands cuddled about its head; the curled, pink fingers, each tipped with its infinitesimal, dainty nail, were perfection in miniature. The formless mouth, pinker than the rest of the face, moved in sleep, betraying the one dream the baby knew. Margaret drew a long, still breath of rapture, hanging over the little pink pearl of humanity. "Will he wake if I kiss him?" she pleaded. The girl smiled doubtfully. "Maybe," she said. She was equally indifferent to the baby and to Margaret. Her wistful eyes wandered eagerly down the street, watching each sidewalk, and the glow in her cheeks and eyes seemed to kindle and waver momently. Margaret did not kiss the baby. She only bent her head close over his, close enough to feel his warm, quick breathing, to catch the rhythm of his palpitating little life. When she came back to her porch, after the girl had gone on, Margaret saw that Jean's caller had come. The young man sat beside Jean. His head was bare, his black hair brushed stiffly up from his forehead pompadour-fashion, his new spring suit palpably in its original creases. He and Jean talked eagerly, sometimes with shouts of young laughter, at which Margaret smiled sympathetically; sometimes with swift, earnest interchange; sometimes with lazy, contented intervals of silence. Occasionally he put out his hand to pat or tease the kitten which lay in Jean's lap. She defended it. Whenever their fingers chanced to touch they started consciously apart--covertly to tempt the chance again. Two little girls came skipping down the street, their white dresses tossed about their knees. Their loose hair, of the dusky fairness of brunette children, tossed about their shoulders and an immense white ribbon bow quivered on the top of each little bare head. Their dress and their dancing run gave them the look and the wavering allure of butterflies. They were on Jean's side of the street. They fluttered past the house unnoticed by the two on the porch, who were in the midst of an especially interesting quarrel about the kitten. The little girls passed over the crossing with traces of conscientious care for their white slippers, and came up on Margaret's side. Opposite her they paused in consultation. "Won't you come in," she called to them, "and talk to me a minute?" The two advanced hesitatingly and stood before her at a little distance on the young grass in attitudes clearly tentative. They were shy little misses, and had not lived long on that street. "Someone told me," said Margaret, "that your names were Enid and Elaine. Which is which?" The taller one pointed first to her embroidered bosom, then to her sister. "I'm Enid; she's Elaine." "I've read about you in a book of poetry," observed Margaret--"it must have been you! I suppose if you had a little sister her name would be Guinevere?" The large dark eyes of the two exchanged glances of denial. The small Elaine shook her head decidedly. "We _got_ a little sister!" announced Enid, "but her name ain't that; it's Katherine." They were both pretty with the adorable prettiness of small girls, half baby's beauty, and half woman's. But Enid's good looks would always depend more or less upon happy accident--her time of life, her flow of spirits, her fortune in costume. Her face was rather long, with chin and forehead a trifle too pronounced. But the little Elaine was nature's darling. Her softly rounded person and countenance were instinct with charm. Even her little brown hands had delicacy and character. Her white-stockinged legs, from the fine ankles to the rounded knees at her skirt's edge, were turned to a sculptor's desire. Beside them, Enid's merely serviceable legs looked like sticks. The white bows in their hair shared the ensemble effect of each: Enid's perched precisely in the middle, its loops and ends vibrantly and decisively erect; Elaine's drooped a little at one side, its crispness at once confessing and defying evanescence and fragility. Margaret thrilled with the child's loveliness, but for some subtle reason she smiled chiefly on Enid. That little lady concluded she must be a person worthy of confidence. "My doll's name is Clara," she imparted. "An' hers is Isabel, only she calls it 'Ithabel'!" The color deepened in Elaine's dainty cheek. She was stung to protest; which she did with all the grace in the world, hanging her head at one side and speaking low. "I don't either!" she murmured. "I thay Ithabel!" "Either way is very nice," Margaret hastened to say. "We've been to Miss Eaton's Sunday school children's party," Enid informed her. "These are our best dresses, and our white kid slippers. Don't you think they're pretty? Mine tie with ribbons, but hers only button like a baby's." Elaine looked down grievingly at the offensively infantile slippers, turning her exquisite little foot. "I'm going to speak a piece for Easter," Enid pursued, "all alone by myself; and she's going to speak one in concert with a class." "Oh, I hope you will come and speak them for me some time," Margaret invited; "and bring Clara and Isabel." "Maybe we will," answered Enid. "We must go now. Come on, Elaine." Margaret watched them until they stopped beside a flowerbed along the sidewalk where the first tulips of the season were unfolding. Elaine bent over to examine them. Margaret reproached herself that, though Elaine had spoken but once, it was her image that lingered uppermost. Why should she add even the weight of her preference to that child in whose favor the dice were already so heavily loaded? For in Margaret's eyes, beauty was always the chief gift of the gods. As she resumed her sewing, a sudden, fantastic fear shot across her thoughts--the fear that Elaine would die. She recognized it, in a moment, for the heart's old, sad prevision of impermanence in beauty, its rooted unbelief in fortune's constancy. A quick glance up the street showed Elaine still stooping over the tulip bed, her stiff little skirts sticking out straight behind her. The grotesqueness was somehow reassuring. Margaret smiled, half at the absurd little figure, half at her own absurdly tragic fancy. On the other porch Frank was taking his leave--a process of some duration. First he stood on the lower steps talking at length with Jean who stood on the top step. Then he raised his cap and started away, only to remember something before he reached the corner and to run back across the lawn. There he stood talking while Jean sat on the porch railing, suggesting a faint Romeo and Juliet effect. The next time, Jean called him back. They met halfway down the cement walk and conversed earnestly and lengthily. With an exquisite sympathy Margaret watched these maneuvers from under discreet eyelids. She was glad for them both, with a clear-souled, generous joy. And yet she felt a sensitive pleasure that walked on the edge of pain. In the young man especially she took a quick delight--in his supple length of limb, the spread of his shoulders, his close-cropped black hair, his new clothes, the way he thrust his hands deep in his trousers' pockets while he swung on the balls of his feet, the attentive bend of his head toward Jean; she reveled in all his elastic, masculine youth which she knew for the garb of a straight, strong, kindly, honorable soul. But out of the revel grew a trouble, as if some strange spirit prisoned in her own struggled to tear itself free, to fling itself, wailing, in the dust. "Egotism!" said Margaret to herself, curling her lip, sewing very fast. The fluttering spirit lay tombed and still. When Frank was finally gone, Jean sauntered across the street to Margaret's porch. She perched on the rail and pulled at the leafless vine-stems beside her, talking idly and desultorily of things she was not interested in. She was an attractive girl, more wholesome than beautiful. Her bronze-brown hair coiled stylishly about her head, gleamed in the late sun. There were some tiny freckles across her nose. She wore a pale blue summer-dress with short sleeves out of which her young arms emerged, fresh and tender from their winter seclusion. The two maidens circled warily about the topic they were both longing to talk of. Margaret noted in Jean a new aloofness. Every time she threw Frank's name temptingly into the open Jean purposely let it lie. At last, with a little gasp of laughter, looking straight before her, Jean exclaimed: "I guess I'm sort of scared!" "What I like about Frank," said Margaret, "is that he's so true and reliable. He's a fellow you can trust!" "Yes," assented Jean. "Don't you think he looks--nice in that new suit?" "Splendid! Frank's a handsome boy." "Isn't he?" sighed Jean. "He'll always be constant to anyone he cares for. And, I think--he does care for someone." "What makes _you_ think so?" demanded Jean, her blue eyes suddenly intent on Margaret. "What makes you think so?" Margaret parried. Jean sat up instantly very straight and stiff. "Who said I thought anything?" "Oh, no, no!" Margaret disclaimed hastily. "I didn't mean that. I meant anyone would think so!" Jean lapsed into a placated limpness, resting her lithe young figure in its summer blue against the dingy house-wall. "Isn't it funny," she mused, "how you can resolve you won't think, and keep yourself from thinking, and really not think, because you've made up your mind you wouldn't--and all the time you _know_!" Margaret was searching in her mind for some tenderest phrase of warning when Jean anticipated her. "Well, it's a good thing I don't care!--I thought at first I didn't like his hair that way, but I do now--better than the other way. He was telling about college." "He finishes this year, doesn't he?" "Yes. He's going in with his father next year--unless he makes up his mind to go to Yale. But he doesn't think he will. His father wants him here; and he's about decided that's best." "Marg'ret," called a thin, querulous, broken voice from within the house; "ain't it time you was gettin' supper?" Margaret opened the door to call back in a loud, clear voice: "Not yet, Mother." Jean slipped off the railing. "I must go." "It really isn't time yet. Mother gets nervous, sitting all day. And she doesn't care to read any more. Stay a little longer." These snatches of Jean's confidence were delicious to her. "Oh, I've got to go." Jean suddenly put both arms around Margaret's waist and clasped her in a swift embrace. "I wish," she said, "some awfully nice old widower or bachelor would come along and marry you!" As Jean crossed the street with the lowering sun making a nimbus in her chestnut-golden hair, she began to sing. The words sprang joyous and clear as a bobolink's note-- "What's this dull town to me? Robin's not here!" But a sudden waft of consciousness smote them to a vague humming that passed swiftly into-- "My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream; Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream." In the scented dark of the spring evening, Margaret came to the porch again. A little curved moon sailed the sky--less a light-giver than a shining ornament on the breast of night. A while before children's laughter and skurrying footfalls had echoed down the sidewalks. Boys had played ball in the middle of the street, with running and violent contortions, and shouts and calls rejoicing in the release of their animal energies. But these sounds had ceded to silence as the soft darkness fell. Then young strollers, two and two, had passed; but these also were gone. A gentle wind rustled very softly in the dead vine-stalks. The world was alone with the fragrant wind and the dreaming dusk and the little silver scimitar of moon. The house opposite was all dark, except for a line of lamplight beside the drawn blind of a side window. Earlier, Jean had turned on the porch lights and sat under them in the most graceful of the wicker chairs, reading, or affecting to read, and Frank, coming down the street, had seen her in all that glow. Then they had turned off the lights and gone away together, and the house had sunk into shadowy repose. Vague lines of wanness betrayed the place of the cement walks. The fruit-trees were dim, withdrawn, half-hinted shapes of whiteness, but their perfume, grown bolder in darkness, wandered the winds with poignant, sweet desire. Margaret leaned against the weather-worn corner-post of the porch; her hand passed over its cracked, paint-blistered surface with, a soft, absent touch. She felt to her finger-tips the wooing lure of the night. In the spring of her pulses she was aware of Frank and Jean somewhere together in the dusky, fragrant, crescent-clasped folds of it. She seemed to draw in with her breath and gather subtly through the pores of her flesh all the shy, sweet, youthful yearning of the world--and, behind that, wordlessly she knew the driven sap, the life-call, the procreant urge. She sighed and stirred restlessly. The strand of pain that runs in the pleasure of such moods began to ache gently like an old wound touched with foreknowledge of evil weather. She shared the pang that lies at the heart of spring. Words of poetry pressed into her mind, voices of the great interpreters. She was not a cultivated woman, hardly to be called educated; her horizon, even of books, was chance-formed and narrow; but what circumstance had given her she remembered well. The groping, vain longing that stirred in her fell on speech, and moved among the haunted echoes of the world. "Bloomy the world, yet a blank all the same-- Framework that waits for a picture to frame." And then, sudden as a cry: "Never the time and the place, And the loved one all together!" She drew a long, shivering sigh, and deliberately thrust the lines out of her mind. Best not to remember them--on such a night! Their edges cut like young grass drawn through careless fingers. The little new moon was rising higher in the deep, soft blue-darkness of the sky. Margaret looked up at its gleaming curve, and other words of poetry came to her, words she had read once in an old magazine--translated from the Persian: "Quaffing Hadji-Kivam's wine-cup, there I saw by grace of him, On the green sea of the night, the new moon's silver shallop swim!" They swung on, like a familiar, wistful, passionate tune: "Oh, my heart is like a tulip, closing up in time of cold! When, at length, shy Bird of Fortune, shall my snare thy wings enfold?" Footsteps sounded along the walk, the linked steps of two, lingering, yet with the springing fall of youth; then a murmur of voices, girl's and boy's interchanging, lingering, too, and low, weighted, like the footsteps, with the burden of their hour. Margaret drew back a little behind the sapless vine-stems. She knew that she could not be seen in the shadow of the porch, even by a passer far less absorbed than the two who drifted by. She had recognized Frank and Jean at once, and thrilled intimately at the quality of their voices. Both were changed from the careless tones of every day, Frank's husky and strained, Jean's vibrant and tremulous. What they said was quite inaudible--only that betraying _timbre_, conscious and unconscious, hung on the scented air. A single word in the girl's thrilled voice--a sharpened, quivering note of life at high tension--pierced the shadows of the porch: "---- you ----" "'You!'" Margaret leaned forward among her shadows, thrusting her clenched hands downward, then pressed them tight upon her heart. "You!" That little key unlocked the flood-gates. The barriers went down, and the tide of passionate loneliness swept her soul. "You!" she whispered to the fragrant, shimmering, vitalizing night; and the word mocked her, and returned unto her void. She leaned her bosom against the angled surface of the porch-post; she pressed her face among the dry, unbudded vines. The cry went out from her into the empty spaces of the world--a voiceless, hopeless call: "You! you! you! Oh, you who never came to me!" Her soul was ravaged by that mocking bitterness of loss which comes only to those who have not possessed. She, crying for a lover in the night, she who had never been sought! If ever her shy and homely girlhood might have attracted a youth, poor Margaret's love of poetry would have frightened him away. If the burdened poverty of her maturity might have admitted a suitor, her acquaintance numbered no man who would not have shunned an earnest-minded old maid. And she knew this utterly. A thousand old aches were in the sudden rush of anguish, and shame fought among them. She was shocked and startled at the drip of salt tears down her cheeks, at the heaving of her shaken breast. She struggled to rebuild her old barriers against the woe--pride, and dignity, and the decent acceptance of one's lot. But those were for the eyes of men and women; and here were no eyes, only night, and the risen sap and the wild heart in her breast. Duty? She had never swerved in doing it, but she thrust the thought by with passionate rebellion at the waste of her in dull service to the outworn lives which neither asked nor could take from her anything but the daily drudgery. She groped for the old humble consolations, tender appreciations, generous friendships, the joy in others' joy. But there the wall had broken through. "I am nothing to them!" thought Margaret bitterly. "Jean will not care to talk to me after to-night. And I can't always kiss other people's babies! I want one of my own!" The gauzy veil of dream that wrapped her often had fallen from before her eyes. Rent by the piercing beauty of the night, and soaked in her tears, that fragile fabric of vision served no more. Imagined blisses had betrayed her, naked and tender, to the unpitying lash of truth. The remote, the universal, mocked her sore longing for something near and real, of earth and flesh--oh, as welcome in sorrow as in joy!--to be imperiously her own! The river of life dashed by and would not fill her empty cup. The love she loved so had passed her by. She faced the hollowest desolation known to humanity. She had committed no sin; she had been true and tender and faithful; she had not failed in the least and humblest dues of love: yet, now she stood wrapped in torment, and saw, across a great gulf fixed, the joys of love's elect. She stood utterly frustrate and alone--a shared frustration were happiness! Her mental life had been so intensely uncompanioned that she was tortured with doubts of her own reality. What warrant of Being had that soul which could not touch in all the blank, black spaces of the void another soul to give it assurance of itself? What if the aching throat and riven breast were but the phantom anguish of a dream Thing, unpurposed, unjustified, a Thing of ashes and emptiness! There remained God--perhaps! Was God a dream too? Was there any _You_ in all the empty worlds? She stood quite still, questing the universe for God. She thought of her father's God--the savage Hebrew deity he thought he worshiped, the harsh Puritan formalist who ruled his creed, the hysterical, illogical sentimentalist who swayed his heart. She dropped them all out of her mind. God was not, for her, in the ancient earthquake or fire or whirlwind. But--perhaps--somewhere! She sank to her knees in the darkness, and, laying her head upon her arms on the railing, sought in her soul for God. "You are Love," she said. "They say it, but they do not believe it; but _I_ believe it. You are Love that creates, and makes glad--and wounds. You are Love that rises in all creatures in spring, and would make all things beautiful and kind. You are Love that gives--and gives itself. You made me to love love and love's uses, and nothing else in the world! You made my life loveless. Why?" She waited a moment, then, with a sobbing breath of remembrance, "Oh, one spring they nailed you on a cross because you loved too much!" After that she was very still, her head bent upon her arms, her heart quiet, waiting for the still, small voice, the answer of God. It came presently, and she knew it was the answer. She accepted it with comfort, and sad pride, and submission, and a slow, strange, white happiness of consecration. The answer came without any words. If there had been words, they might have been, perhaps, like these: "Bear the pain patiently, my daughter, for life is wrought in pain, and there is no child born without sharp pangs. I have not shut thee out from my festival of spring. Thy part is thy pang. I have given thee a coronal of pain and made thee rich with loss and desire. I have made thee one of my vestals who guard perpetually the hearth-fire which shall not be lit for them. I have denied thee love that love shall be manifest in thee. Wherever love fails in my world, there shalt thou re-create it in beauty and kindness. The vision thou hast, and the passion, are of me, and I charge thee find some fair and sweet way that they perish not in thee. All ways are mine. Be thou in peace." Margaret rose at length. The moon was gone from the sky, but out of its deep, tender darkness shone the far, dim light of stars. A cool wind touched her cheek, bearing a faint, ethereal odor of blossoms as from a great distance. And upon her face, if one might have seen for the darkness, shone a fine, ethereal beauty far-brought from that great distance which is nearer than hands and feet. Against the shadowy front of the house opposite, two figures were vaguely discernible, the taller a little darker than the encompassing space, the other a little lighter. As Margaret looked, they melted together, and were no longer two but one. She smiled in the darkness, very sweetly, and, holding her head high, turned and went quietly into the dark little house. Work Is a Blessing _By Lafayette Young_ Work is a blessing to the human race. If this had remained a workless world, it would have been a homeless world. The progress of the human race began when work began. When work began, men began to wear clothes; thus progress commenced. Industry and happiness go hand in hand. Men who feel that they are doomed to daily toil, and that there is no so-called emancipation from the daily routine, imagine that happiness would be theirs if they did not have to work. The man whose employment compels him to get up at six o'clock in the morning imagines if he could just get out of that slavery he would ask for no greater happiness. But if he ever does reach that condition he will find out what true misery is. Some years ago the warden of the Iowa penitentiary told me that he had a prisoner serving a long term, who begged a day off. He wanted to stop the regular routine. He wanted to be set free in the courtyard for one day. He wanted to look straight up at the sky, and to breathe the air of the outdoors. I was at the penitentiary the day the prisoner's request was granted, and at ten o'clock the prisoner had grown tired of idleness. The sky had lost its attraction. There was something missing. And he got word to the warden that he wished to be returned to labor. There are millions of men toiling in factories and in mines, laying brick on tall buildings, swinging cranes in the great iron mills, tending the machines in cotton or woolen mills, who think that they would be perfectly happy if they were once perfectly idle. But their experience would be like that of the prisoner's. What a wretched world this would be without work! How many things we have which are indispensable, that we would not have but for somebody's work. Work has built every great bridge, every great cathedral, every home, large or small. It has made every invention. Work found man in a cave, and put him into a good home. Work has made man decent and self-respecting. The great nations are the working nations; the great peoples are the working peoples. Nations, like individuals, date their prosperity and happiness from the beginning of work. The start was made when man gave attention to the primal curse of the race recorded in the book of Genesis: "By the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, until thou return to the ground." This mandate has never been repealed. Lazy men in all parts of the world have undertaken to nullify it. The ambition for idleness fills jails and penitentiaries. It causes man to commit forgeries and murders. Every man slugged in a dark alley is put out of the way by some other man desiring money without working for it. There has been a foolish notion in many countries in regard to labor. They do not consider it dignified. In some countries, missionary families learn that they cannot cook their own victuals without losing caste. In other countries a certain number of servants must be kept if the family would be respected. In our own country there is a false pride in regard to labor. Young men avoid the learning of trades because they do not wish to soil their hands. Laboring men themselves have been guilty of not sufficiently estimating their own callings. They demand the rights of their class, but fail to respect it themselves. This causes many young men to seek some employment which will not soil their hands. Many thousands of young men make the mistake of not having some regular calling, some work which they can do better than anybody else. The man who has a regular trade is never found walking the streets looking for a job. Even when he is called old, he can secure employment. Industry is indispensable to happiness. Idleness destroys the souls of more young men, and leads to more forms of dissipation, than any other influence. The experienced mechanic knows how rapidly and joyfully time passes when he is interested in his work. He never watches the clock; to him quitting time comes all too soon. Labor can be made a joy if man wills it so. An appreciation of what a man earns and the thought that he can do something with his money, ought to be a part of the happiness of labor. Work develops the man. It develops his appreciation of others. He is likely to be unhappy if he works solely for himself. The Indian hunter, returning from the chase, lays the evidence of his prowess at the feet of his squaw. He is glad that he has accomplished something, and in her eyes he is a hero. Once I was driving in the Allegheny Mountains in the early summer. Unexpectedly I came to a little cottage almost covered with flowers and vines. A brown-faced woman with pruning shears was at her work. Around her bees were humming, and birds were twittering. I sought to buy some flowers. She said she never had sold a flower in her life. I asked her what induced her to work early and late, cultivating, planting and pruning. She said, "I do this work because I enjoy it, and because my husband and two sons will enjoy these flowers when they come home at night." This woman had the whole philosophy of human happiness. If there are women in heaven she will be there. Work came as a blessing. It remains as a blessing. It makes us tired so that we can enjoy sleep. We awaken in the morning refreshed for a new day. When kings and queens shall be no more, when autocracy shall end, when the voices of intelligent men and women shall govern, then if work shall be universal, thus satisfying the energy, and giving direction to the ambitions of men, there will be no more wars. To make work enjoyable, men and women must be proud of it; must not pretend that they are above it; must not apologize for it. Once I was in Holland. I saw women with a peculiar headdress as if they belonged to some lodge. They wore smiling faces. I inquired what their regalia meant, and was told that they were working women of the peasant or some other humble class. They were proud of their position. They were content, with plenty to do. They enjoyed the society of their families and friends. But their happiness consisted in being proud of, and satisfied with, the things they were doing. Who can say that they have not chosen the better part? September _By Esse V. Hathaway_ Blaze on blaze of scarlet sumach, Roadsides lined with radiant gold, Purple ironweed, regal, slender, Rasping locust, shrill and bold. Dusty smell in field and upland, Sky of copper mixed with blue, Life intense as is the weather-- Let's away, just me and you! [Illustration: HOST AND HOUSEGUEST "I say, old top, I wish you wouldn't be continually kissing the wife. I think once when you come and once when you go quite sufficient." "But, my dear man, I can't wear myself out coming and going all the time just to please you." _--From "Judge." Copyright by Leslie-Judge Co._] The Poet of the Future _By Tacitus Hussey_ Oh, the poet of the future. Will he come to us as comes The beauty of the bugle's voice above the roar of drums-- The beauty of the bugle's voice above the roar and din Of battle drums that pulse the time the victor marches in? --_James Whitcomb Riley._ "Oh, the poet of the future!" Can anybody guess Whether he'll sound his bugle, or she'll wear them on her dress; An' will they kinder get their themes from nature, second hand, An' dish 'em up in language that plain folks can't understand? There's a sight of this 'ere po'try stuff, each year, that goes to waste, Jest a-waitin' fer a poet who has the time and taste To tackle it just as it is, an' weave it into rhyme, With warp and woof of hope and love, in life's swift loom of time. An' mebbe the future poet, if he understands the thing, Won't start the summer katydids to singin' in the spring, Jest like the croakin' frog; but let the critter wait at most, To announce to timid farmers that "it's jest six weeks till frost." The katydid and goldenrod are partners in this way: They sing and bloom where'er there's room, along life's sunny way; So I warn you, future poet, jest let 'em bloom an' lilt Together--don't divorce 'em. That's jest the way they're built. In order to be perfect, the future poet should Know every sound of nature, of river, lake an' wood, Should know each whispered note and every answerin' call-- He should never set cock-pheasants to drummin' in the fall. "Under the golden maples!" Not havin' voice to sing They flap their love out on a log quite early in the spring; For burnin' love will allus find expression in some way-- That's the style that _they've_ adopted--don't change their natures, pray. I cannot guess just what the future poet's themes may be; Reckon they'll be pretty lofty, fer, as anyone can see, The world of poetry's lookin' up an' poets climbin' higher; With divine afflatus boostin' them, of course they must aspire. The poets of the good old times were cruder with the pen; Their idees weren't the same as ours--these good old-fashioned men-- Bet old Homer never writ, even in his palmiest day, Such a soul-upliftin' poem as "Hosses Chawin' Hay." "Hosses" don't know any better out in the Hawkeye State-- Down to Boston now, I reckon, they jest simply masticate. The poet of the future'll blow a bugle, like as not-- Most all us modern poets had to blow fer what we've got. To keep the pot a-b'ilin' we all have to raise a din To make the public look our way--an' pass the shekels in. The scarcity of bugles seems now the greatest lack Though some of us keep blowin' 'thout a bugle to our back. The poet of the future! When once he takes his theme His pen will slip as smoothly as a canoe glides down stream. He'll sing from overflowin' heart--his music will be free-- Would you take up a subscription fer a robin in a tree? He'll never try to drive the Muse, if he doesn't want to go, But will promptly take the harness off--er drive keerfully an' slow-- When po'try's forced, like winter pinks, the people's apt to know it An' labor with it jest about as hard as did the poet. Putting the Stars with the Bars _By Verne Marshall_ Midnight beneath a low-hanging strip of amber-hued moon. Smoke in one's eyes and sulphur in his nostrils; the pounding of cannon in his ears and a hatred of war and its sponsors in his soul. A supply wagon piled high with dead men on one side of the road and a little ambulance waiting for its bruised load to emerge from the mouth of the communicating trench near by. Sharp tongues of fire darting into the night on every side as the guns of the French barked their challenge at the Crown Prince on the other bank of the Meuse. A lurid glare over there to the left where the smoke hung thickest under drifting yellow illuminating bombs and red and blue signal bombs that added their touch to the weird fantasy that wasn't a fantasy at all, but a hill in whose spelling men had changed one letter and turned it into hell. It was Dead Man's Hill at Verdun--Le Cote Mort Homme. And Dead Man's Hill it truly was, for among the barbed wire entanglements and in some of the shell craters in No Man's Land there still lay the skeletons of Frenchmen and Germans who had been killed there months before and whose bodies it had been impossible to recover because the trenches had not changed positions and to venture out between them was to shake hands with Death. Dead Man's Hill at Verdun--where ten thousand men have fought for a few feet of blood-soaked ground in vain effort to satiate the battle-thirst of a monarch and his son! The countryside for miles around is laid waste. Villages lie in tumbled masses, trees are uprooted or broken off, demolished wagons and motors litter the roads and fields, and dead horses, legs stiff in the air, dot the jagged landscape. Not a moving object is seen there by day except the crows that flutter above the uptorn ground and the aeroplanes that soar thousands of feet above. But, with the coming of night, long columns of men wind along the treacherous roads on their way to or from the trenches, hundreds of supply wagons lumber across the shell holes to the stations near the line, ammunition trains travel up to the lines and back and the ambulances ply their routes to dressing stations. Everything must be done under night's partially protecting cloak, for the German gunners seldom miss when daylight aids their vision. A tiny American ambulance--a jitney--threads its way down from the Dead Man to ----, carrying a boy through whose breast a dum-dum bullet had torn its beastly way. Three hours before, the driver of that ambulance had talked with the boy who now lay behind him on a stretcher. Then the young Frenchman had been looking forward to the wondrous day when the war would end. He had planned to come to America to live, just as soon as he could get back to Paris and say good-bye to the mother from whom he had received a letter that very day. "I will be lucky!" he had exclaimed to the American. "I will not be killed. I will not even be wounded. Ah, but won't I be glad when the war is over!" But his life was slipping away, faster than the Red Cross car could carry him to aid. The checking station reached, two orderlies pulled the stretcher from the ambulance. There was a choking sound in the wounded soldier's throat and the driver, thinking to ease his breathing, lifted his head. The closed eyes fluttered open, the indescribable smile of the dying lighted his face and with his last faint breath he murmured those words that always still war momentarily-- "Ah, _mere_! _Ma mere!_" "Oh, mother! My mother!"--and he was dead. Just one little incident of war, just a single glimpse at the accomplishments of monarchial militarism. That French boy has not come to America, but America has gone to him. He died for a flag that is red, white and blue--for the tricolor of France. And we have gone across the sea to place the stars of our flag with the bars of his. His fight was our fight and our fight is his. Together we fight against those who menace civilization in both old world and new. We fight against the army that outraged Belgium and devastated France, against the militaristic clique that sanctioned the slaughtering and crippling of little children, the maiming of women, against that order of militarists who decorated the commander of the submarine that sank the Lusitania with her babies and their mothers. We are at war and we are Americans.... Enough. Verne Marshall was the driver of that ambulance. Three months of his service were spent at Verdun. The Kings of Saranazett _By Lewis Worthington Smith_ A SCENE FROM THE FIRST ACT A drama of the awakening of the nearer Orient. In this scene Nasrulla appears as the royal lover of the fig merchant's daughter, Nourmahal. She has learned something of the ways of the West, where even kings have but one acknowledged consort, and she is not willing to be merely one of a number of queens. Before the wall and gate enclosing Nourmahal's Garden. It is early morning, just before dawn. Above the gleaming white of the wall's sun-baked clay there is the deep green of the trees--the plane, the poplar, the acacia, and, beyond the garden, mountains are visible through the purple mist of the hour that waits for dawn, slowly turning to rose as the rising sun warms their snowy heights. At the left the wall extends out of sight behind a clump of trees, but at the right it ends in a tower topped by a turret with a rounded dome passing into a point. The space under the dome is open, except for a railing, and is large enough for one or more persons. It may be entered from the broad top of the wall through a break in the railing. At the left, out from the trees and in front of the wall, there is a well marked out with roughly piled stones. At the right, out of sight behind the trees that come almost to the tower at the corner of the wall, a man's voice is heard singing Shelley's "Indian Serenade." "I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright; I arise from dreams of thee, And a something in my feet Hath led me--who knows how? To thy chamber window, Sweet! "The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream-- The Champak odors fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart;-- As I must die on thine, O! beloved as thou art! "Oh lift me from the grass! I die! I faint! I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast;-- Oh! press it to thine own again, Where it will break at last." During the singing Nourmahal has come slowly out from the left, walking along the broad top of the wall until, coming to the tower, she drops down on the floor by the railing of the turret and listens, her veil falling from before her face. When the song has ended, Nasrulla comes forward and approaches the little tower. He leads a horse, a white horse with its tail dyed red in the Persian fashion. _Nourmahal._ You turn the gray of the poplars in the darkness into the silver of running water. _King Nasrulla._ The dawn is waiting under your veil. I see now only the morning star. _Nourmahal._ I am but the moon, and I must not be seen when My Lord the Sun comes. _King Nasrulla._ The Lord of the Sky rises to look on the gardens where the nightingales have been singing. _Nourmahal._ But when he finds that the nightingales are silent, he passes to other gardens. _King Nasrulla._ Following the song, as I follow the lisp of spring in your voice, the flutter of the wings of birds in the branches when buds are swelling. _Nourmahal._ It is the flutter of wings and the song that you care for; it is not the bird. _King Nasrulla._ It is the song of the bird that tells me where I shall find the bird herself. It is the oasis lifted up into the sky that guides the thirsty traveler across the desert. _Nourmahal (rising in agitation)._ When I am your queen, will you follow the voices of other nightingales? _King Nasrulla._ You will be my first queen. _Nourmahal._ I must be your only queen. _King Nasrulla._ Always my first queen, and in your garden the fountains shall murmur day and night with a fuller flow of water than any others. The flowers there shall be more beautiful than anywhere else in all the world, and a hundred maidens shall serve you. _Nourmahal._ And I shall not be your only queen? _King Nasrulla._ It is not the way of the world. _Nourmahal._ I have heard stories of places where the king has only one queen. _King Nasrulla._ It has never been so in Saranazett. _Nourmahal._ It has not been so in Saranazett, but does nothing change? _King Nasrulla._ I must be king in the way of my ancestors. _Nourmahal (dropping down by the railing again)._ And we must live in the way of our ancestors, over and over again, sunrise and noon-glare and star-shine, as it was before our stars rose in the heavens, as it always will be? _King Nasrulla._ Our ancestors have taught us that a king should not live too meanly. _Nourmahal._ We cannot appeal to our ancestors. We cannot appeal to anything, and nothing can be undone. As the Persian poet says, "The moving finger writes," and what is written must be. _King Nasrulla._ And if what is written is beautiful, and if you are to be a king's throne-mate, if all the treasures of all the world are to be sought out for you---- _Nourmahal._ It is nothing, nothing, if you must have another wife, if you must have two other wives, three. _King Nasrulla._ My prime minister will choose the others. I choose you. _Nourmahal (passionately)._ But what shall we ever choose again--and get what we choose? Have not the hours been counted out for us from the beginning of the world? Can we stop the grains of sand in the hour-glass? _King Nasrulla._ Each one will make a new pleasure as it falls. _Nourmahal._ Yes, but it falls. We do not gather it up. It falls out of the heavens as the rain comes. We cannot make it rain. _King Nasrulla._ But the drops are always pleasant. _Nourmahal._ Yes, like a cup of water to a prisoner who dies of thirst and cannot know when his jailer comes. If we could bring the clouds up over the sun when the hot dust is flying, it would be really pleasant, but "That inverted Bowl we call the Sky, Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to _It_ for help--for It As impotently moves as you or I." You are my sky, and the old poet is right, if you must have four wives because your father had four wives, and his father. _King Nasrulla._ They are but symbols of kingliness, and they shall bow in the dust before you, whom my heart chooses, as weeds by the roadside bow when you pass in your tahktiravan and the air follows its flying curtains. _Nourmahal._ Why should anyone bow to me? Why should I care for bowing? It would make me a slave to the custom of bowing. Are you a king and must you be a slave too? Impotence is the name of such kingship, and why should I care to be a queen when my king cannot make me queenly? _King Nasrulla (advancing to the tower and leaving his horse standing)._ Come! The stars are paling, and there is only the light of your eyes to lift me out of the dust. Come! In the side of the wall by the tower a sloping series of stout pegs has been driven, descending to the ground at short intervals. Nourmahal comes out of the tower, puts her foot on the highest of these pegs, takes Nasrulla's hand, and, with his help, comes slowly down the pegs, as if they were a flight of stairs, to the ground. _Nourmahal._ How I love a horse! It is Samarcand and Delhi and Bokhara and Paris, even Paris. _King Nasrulla._ Paris! What is Paris? _Nourmahal (standing in front of the horse and caressing its head)._ I don't know. I have never been there, but a horse makes me think of Paris. I don't know London, but a horse makes me think of London too. A horse could take me there. I could ride and ride, and every day there would be something new and something wonderful. There are cities beyond the water, too, marvelous cities, full of things more than we dream of here. A horse is swift, and the tapping of his feet on the stones is distance. When he lifts his head, when he curves his neck, already in his heart he is going on and on. _King Nasrulla._ And these are the stories that you have heard, stories about Paris and London and the cities across the water? _Nourmahal._ Stories? Perhaps not stories. Dreams, I think, imaginings dropped from the wings of falcons flying out of the west. _King Nasrulla._ You shall sit on the horse, and you can seem to be riding. Then as your dreams come true, you can tell them to me. Let the horse be Paris in my fancies too, and London and the cities across the water. The horse is still standing where he stopped when Nasrulla led him out from behind the trees with him. He faces toward the left, and Nasrulla is back of him. Nourmahal puts her foot into Nasrulla's hand, and he lifts her into the saddle. When she is comfortably seated, he stands beside her and in front of her, back of the horse, leaning against the horse's neck and caressing his shoulder. _King Nasrulla._ Now we are on the road, and all the world is moving across the horizon. If it is all a dream, let me be in the dream. _Nourmahal (looking out and away from him and pausing a moment)._ Stories! Dreams!--What I have heard is only a whisper, but it seems so true and so beautiful. Somewhere a man loves one woman always and no other. Somewhere a king is not a manikin stalking through ceremonies. Somewhere he lives humanly as other men. Somewhere to-day is not like yesterday, and man has learned to break the cycle of what has been forever, of what seems dead and yet out of death comes back again and again. I have not seen it, but I know it. Somewhere you and I could be happy without being king or queen. Somewhere a woman thinks her own thoughts, and not the thoughts of her lord only. Somewhere men are not bound to a king, and somewhere kings are not bound to the words of their fathers' fathers. _King Nasrulla (slowly, after a pause)._ It is the way of the world, Nourmahal. What the world is, it is, and that is forever and ever, unless it should be the will of God to make a new world. _Nourmahal._ A new world! (_She pauses dreamily._) Yes, that is what I want, a new world. That is what men are making somewhere, I know it. That is what is in my heart, and the same thing must be in the hearts of other men and women. A new world! What would it be to wake up every morning with a fresh wonder, not knowing what the day would bring? What would it be every morning to take the saddle and follow a new road ahead of the sun? _King Nasrulla._ If I could go with you---- _Nourmahal._ You have horses. _King Nasrulla._ It is not so decreed. My place is here. _Nourmahal._ Your place is here, and it is your place to have three or four queens as your ministers decide for you. One queen is to keep peace with the King of the South, another is to keep peace with the King of the West, and the third is to keep peace with the King of the East. The fourth queen you may choose for yourself from your own people--if you choose before some other king offers a daughter. You may make slaves of your queens so that your neighbor kings may make a slave of you. _King Nasrulla._ Yes, if I would be king--and you would be queen. _Nourmahal._ Queen!--in a world where the flowers that bloom to-day died centuries ago! Queen--in a world where queens may look out of grated windows and never walk the streets! Queen--in a world where My Lord the King may not come to my door too often lest the daughter of the King of the South put poison in the nectar that her slaves offer him to-morrow! _King Nasrulla._ The world is the world, and its enduring is forever and ever. We are but shadows that change and break on the surface of running water. We may stand for a moment in the sun, but we cannot stop the rain that fills the stream. We cannot fix our images for a moment on the drops that are rushing out to the sea. _Nourmahal (looking away from him dreamily)._ "Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things Entire, Would we not shatter it to bits--and then Remould it nearer to the Heart's desire?" He looks at her steadily, but she does not turn her head, and, while they are so silent a woman comes from the left with a water jar, fills it from the well, puts it on her head, and passes off again. The sun is now warming the tops of the mountains to a soft pink. _King Nasrulla._ We must find the water where it flows--or go thirsty. _Nourmahal (more passionately)._ But somewhere the women do not carry water. The poet only thought of doing what somewhere men have done. Here a thousand years are but as yesterday and ten thousand as a watch in the night. I am not I, but an echo of the mad desires of dead men whose dust has been blown across the desert for countless centuries. Why should I not think of my own desires before my dust, too, flies forgotten before the passing caravans? _King Nasrulla._ But you are to be my queen. Nothing more can anyone give you in Saranazett. _Nourmahal._ And to-morrow or next week your ambassador to the King of the East comes back with letters and pledges of friendship. Perhaps he brings with him the King's daughter. _King Nasrulla._ But she is only the official seal of a bond, only a hostage. She is not the rose that I pin over my heart. She is not the nightingale that I love to hear singing in my garden. She is not the face behind the lattice that draws my eager feet. She is not the fountain that will make me drink and drink again. _Nourmahal._ But I shall not ride with you into the distance and leave the kings' daughters behind? _King Nasrulla._ The King of the East---- _Nourmahal._ I know. The King of the East has a great army. I must stay in my garden, or I shall have to spend my life talking about the things he likes or dislikes, his angers and his fondnesses, with the women of his harem. She puts her foot out for his hand, ready to be taken down from the horse. _King Nasrulla._ Nourmahal! _Nourmahal._ Yes, I must keep my veil before my face and stay within my garden. He helps her down, and she turns the horse's head back to the right in the direction from which they came. _King Nasrulla._ I shall take you, Nourmahal, and make you queen. _Nourmahal._ Take me! Take the others and let them be queens. They will be happy enough, after the way of their mothers, but you cannot take the wind. _King Nasrulla._ Being your lover is not ceasing to be king. May not the king ask of his subjects what he will? What is it to be king? _Nourmahal (turning as she is passing toward the gate)._ Sometimes it is making a fresher and happier world for those who come to kneel before the throne. Kings are not often so wise. _King Nasrulla._ And when they are not so wise they think of their own happiness. They let love come into the palace, and the favorite queen has the riches of the earth heaped in jewels before her. The tenderness of the moon shines in the clasp of her girdle, and the splendor of the sun glitters in a circlet for her forehead. _Nourmahal._ And sometimes, seeking their own pleasure, kings make the killing of those who are not kings their joy. They teach all men to be soldiers and all soldiers to be ruthless. Their women learn to delight in the echoes of battle, and the man who is not scarred by the marks of many fights they pity and despise. So women forget to be gentle, and the lords and masters of earth no longer watch over them and care for them, no longer shelter the weak and the defenseless, no longer think of right and justice, because they carry in their hands the javelins of might and they have learned to fling them far. _King Nasrulla._ But I shall watch over you as the cloud watches over the garden where the roses are waiting for the rain. _Nourmahal._ No, I shall not have a king to watch over me. Somewhere they have no kings. A queen dies daily with loneliness, or lives hourly in the burning hate of all her sister queens. To breathe the air where there are no queens would be an ecstasy. I will not be a king's first queen or his last queen or his concubine or any other creature whom he may cast aside for a new fancy whenever the fancy comes. A messenger enters from the right, preceded by two attendants carrying each one of the long, melon-shaped lanterns that accompany royalty. The messenger bows before Nasrulla, dropping on one knee. _Messenger._ Your Royal Highness, I am sent to beg that you will hear me. _King Nasrulla._ It is my pleasure to listen to your message. Speak! _Messenger._ It is not I speaking, Your Majesty, but your minister, Huseyn. _King Nasrulla._ I listen to the words of Huseyn. _Messenger._ Know, O Mighty Lord of the Great Center of Earth--the ambassador to the King of the East is reported returning by the long highway. Nourmahal's father, Mehrab, comes out from the gate in the wall and stands listening. _King Nasrulla._ Say to Huseyn that I will see him and make arrangements for his reception before nightfall. _Messenger._ He brings very important tidings, Your Majesty. Pardon me, O Lord of the Lives of Your Servants. I speak but the words of Huseyn. _King Nasrulla._ I hear the words of Huseyn. _Messenger._ The ambassador should be received a early as may be, is the word of Huseyn. He knows the will of the King of the East, and the King of the East would know your will, O Mightiest of the Mighty. _Nourmahal (bowing to her knees before him)._ Let me beg of you also, King Nasrulla, that you give audience at once to the ambassador who comes with word from the King of the East. _King Nasrulla._ I listen to the words of Nourmahal with the words of Huseyn. _Messenger._ And I shall say to the Prime Minister Huseyn that His Majesty, the Lord of Everlasting Effulgence, will graciously consent to speak with him before the sun looks in at his image in the water jars. _Nourmahal._ O King Nasrulla, for the sake of the rule that is thine from thy fathers, for the maintaining of peace in all thy borders, for the security of thy people, who harvest their hopes in fear, permit the approach of the ambassador who returns from the King of the East. _King Nasrulla._ The wish of Nourmahal is a command. I go to make ready for the ambassador who comes with word from the King of the East. _Nourmahal._ And for the daughter of the King of the East, give thanks, O King Nasrulla. It is said that she is very beautiful, and many wooers have sought her vainly. She has been kept for the joy and the splendor and the growing greatness of My Lord the King. _King Nasrulla._ Announce my coming to my Prime Minister, Huseyn. _Messenger (rising)._ Your Noble Majesty is most gracious. I fly with your words to Huseyn. _King Nasrulla._ As a king I go, but my thoughts are not a king's thoughts, and they stay here. It may be I shall look for them again, as one looks for love in his friend's heart at the home-returning. Farewell! _Nourmahal._ I shall keep your thoughts forever, My Lord Nasrulla, but for the King and the ways of the King--farewell! The two lantern carriers who have come with the messenger turn to the right to light the way for the King, and, as they pass off, he follows them. Nourmahal watches them until they are gone, while Mehrab, Nourmahal's father, comes forward slowly. _Mehrab._ He threatened you, did he? _Nourmahal._ Threaten! No, father, he did not threaten me. _Mehrab._ Does he not mean to make you queen whether you wish to be or not? _Nourmahal._ He will not dare. _Mehrab._ I am only a merchant, only a dealer in figs and olives. I am not to be feared or considered by him or by those that are about him. It is the way of his kind to think that you are to be taken as he would take a pomegranate from the garden of one of his satraps. _Nourmahal._ He will not take me. _Mehrab._ They despise me because I go with the caravans, but I have learned something. I know the world. My camels have tracked the sands hundreds of miles from Saranazett, and there are places where the words of Nasrulla the King mean less than the words of Mehrab the merchant. _Nourmahal._ They will have horses to follow us. Horses are swifter than camels. _Mehrab._ We shall have horses too, and ours shall be the fleetest. The riders of the King's horses will put out their palms for my silver. They will know how to make their whips fall lightly. _Nourmahal (eagerly)._ Let us go to-morrow. Let us go before the daughter of the King of the East is carried in her palanquin to the palace. I want to see all the places where you have been. I want to know something of the strange things that you have seen. _Mehrab._ The women of Saranazett have never traveled. _Nourmahal._ But I will not be a woman of Saranazett. There are other worlds and other ways for me than the ways of Saranazett. _Mehrab._ You shall not be queen one day and someone else queen in your place the next. I was not born to live in the world's high places, but also I was not born to bend the knee. You shall not suffer because you are not a king's daughter, and because those that are kings' daughters smile at you behind their curtains. _Nourmahal (more dreamily reluctant)._ If we could make Saranazett over into a new world. _Mehrab._ A new world somewhere else, Nourmahal. The packs are being made ready for the camels. Have your women tie up your clothes as if they were bundles of figs. Day after to-morrow or the next day or the next, we shall take horse and follow. We shall go to a world that is an old, old world, wiser than our world, a world where men's thoughts are free and their women's eyes look wherever they will. _Nourmahal (passing to the gate)._ The women shall make ready. _Mehrab._ At once, and tell Zuleika she goes with you. _Nourmahal._ Zuleika shall make ready. She passes out through the gate into the garden. Mehrab turns and sees the spikes driven into the wall by the tower. For a moment he looks at them in astonishment, observing that they pass down to the ground slopingly, and then, one by one, he pulls them out and flings them down on the ground violently. The Old Cane Mill _By Nellie Gregg Tomlinson_ "What's sorghum?" Don't you know sorghum? My gran'son nigh sixteen, Don't boys know nothin' nowadays? Beats all I ever seen. Why sorghum's the bulliest stuff Wuz ever made ter eat. You spread it thick on homemade bread; It's most oncommon sweet. "Come from?" Wall yer jist better bet It don't come from no can. Jus' b'iled down juice from sorghum cane, Straight I'way 'lasses bran'. "What's cane?" It's some like corn, yer know, An' topped with plumes o' seed. Grows straight an' tall on yaller clay That wouldn't grow a weed. Long in September when 'twuz ripe, The cane-patch battle field Wuz charged by boys with wooden swords, Good temper wuz their shield. They stripped the stalks of all their leaves, Then men, with steel knives keen Slashed off the heads and cut the stalks An' piled them straight an' clean. The tops wuz saved ter feed the hens, Likewise fer nex' year's seed. The farmer allus has ter save Against the futur's need. The neighbors cum from miles erbout An' fetched the cane ter mill. They stacked it high betwixt two trees, At Gran'dads, on the hill. An' ol' hoss turned the cane mill sweep, He led hisself erroun. The stalks wuz fed inter the press, From them the sap wuz groun'. This juice run through a little trough Ter pans beneath a shed; There it wuz b'iled an' skimmed and b'iled, Till it wuz thick an' red. Then it wuz cooled an' put in bar'ls An' toted off to town While us kids got ter lick the pan, Which job wuz dun up brown. Gee whiz! but we did hev good times At taffy pullin' bees. We woun' the taffy roun' girls' necks-- Bob wuz the biggest tease. Inside the furnace, on live coals, We het cane stalks red hot, Then hit 'em hard out on the groun'-- Yer oughter hear 'em pop! Sometimes a barefoot boy would step Inter the skimmin's hole, Er pinch his fingers in the mill, Er fall off from the pole. When winter winds went whis'lin' through The door an' winder cracks, An' piled up snow wuz driftin' Till yer couldn't see yer tracks, Then we all drawed roun' the table An' passed the buckwheat cakes, Er mebbe it wuz good corn bread. "What's sorghum?" Good lan' sakes. Wall, son, yer hev my symperthy; Yer've missed a lot, I swan. Oh, sure yer dance an' joy-ride Frum ev'nin' untel dawn, Yer've football, skates an' golf ter he'p The passin' time ter kill, But give me mem'ry's boyhood days, Erroun' the ol' cane mill. The Queer Little Thing _By Eleanor Hoyt Brainerd_ Bonita Allen was a queer little thing. Everyone in the school, from Miss Ryder down to the chambermaid, had made remarks to that effect before the child had spent forty-eight hours in the house, yet no one seemed able to give a convincing reason for the general impression. The new pupil was quiet, docile, moderately well dressed, fairly good looking. She did nothing extraordinary. In fact, she effaced herself as far as possible; yet from the first she caused a ripple in the placid current of the school, and her personality was distinctly felt. "I think it's her eyes," hazarded Belinda, as she and Miss Barnes discussed the new-comer in the Youngest Teacher's room. "They aren't girl eyes at all." "Fine eyes," asserted the teacher of mathematics with her usual curtness. Belinda nodded emphatic assent. "Yes, of course; beautiful, but so big and pathetic and dumb. I feel ridiculously apologetic every time the child looks at me, and as for punishing her--I'd as soon shoot a deer at six paces. It's all wrong. A twelve-year-old girl hasn't any right to eyes like those. If the youngster is unhappy she ought to cry twenty-five handkerchiefs full of tears, as Evangeline Marie did when she came, and then get over it. And if she's happy she ought to smile with her eyes as well as with her lips. I can't stand self-repression in children." "She'll be all right when she has been here longer and begins to feel at home," said Miss Barnes. But Belinda shook her head doubtfully as she went down to superintend study hour. Seated at her desk in the big schoolroom she looked idly along the rows of girlish heads until she came to one bent stoically over a book. The new pupil was not fidgeting like her comrades. Apparently her every thought was concentrated upon the book before her. Her elbows were on her desk, and one lean little brown hand supported the head, whose masses of straight black hair were parted in an unerring white line and fell in two heavy braids. The face framed in the smooth shining hair was lean as the hand, yet held no suggestion of ill-health. It was clean cut, almost to sharpness, brown with the brownness that comes from wind and sun, oddly firm about chin and lips, high of cheekbones, straight of nose. As Belinda looked two dark eyes were raised from the book and met her own--sombre eyes with a hurt in them--and an uncomfortable lump rose in the Youngest Teacher's throat. She smiled at the sad little face, but the smile was not a merry one. In some unaccountable way it spoke of the sympathetic lump in her throat, and the Queer Little Thing seemed to read the message, for the ghost of an answering smile flickered in the brown depths before the lids dropped over them. When study hour was over the Youngest Teacher moved hastily to the door, with some vague idea of following up the successful smile, and establishing diplomatic relations with the new girl; but she was not quick enough. Bonita had slipped into the hall and hurried up the stair toward the shelter of her own room. Shrugging her shoulders, Belinda turned toward the door of Miss Ryder's study and knocked. "Come in." The voice was not encouraging. Miss Lucilla objected to interruptions in the late evening hours, when she relaxed from immaculately fitted black silk to the undignified folds of a violet dressing gown. When she recognized the intruder she thawed perceptibly. "Oh, Miss Carewe! Come in. Nothing wrong, is there?" Belinda dropped into a chair with a whimsical sigh. "Nothing wrong except my curiosity. Miss Ryder, do tell me something about that Allen child." Miss Lucilla eyed her subordinate questioningly. "What has she been doing?" "Nothing at all. I wish she would do something. It's what she doesn't do, and looks capable of doing, that bothers me. There's simply no getting at her. She's from Texas, isn't she?" The principal regarded attentively one of the grapes she was eating, and there was an interval of silence. "She is a queer little thing," Miss Lucilla admitted at last. "Yes, she's from Texas, but that's no reason why she should be odd. We've had a number of young ladies from Texas, and they were quite like other school girls only more so. Just between you and me, Miss Carewe, I think it must be the child's Indian blood that makes her seem different." "Indian?" Belinda sat up, sniffing romance in the air. "Yes, her father mentioned the strain quite casually when he wrote. It's rather far back in the family, but he seemed to think it might account for the girl's intense love for nature and dislike of conventions. Mrs. Allen died when the baby was born, and the father has brought the child up on a ranch. He's completely wrapped up in her, but he finally realized that she needed to be with women. He's worth several millions and he wants to educate her so that she'll enjoy the money--'be a fine lady,' as he puts it. I confess his description of the girl disturbed me at first, but he was so liberal in regard to terms that----" Miss Lucilla left the sentence in the air and meditatively ate another bunch of grapes. "Did her father come up with her?" Belinda asked. "No, he sent her with friends who happened to be coming--highly respectable couple, but breezy, very breezy. They told me that Bonita could ride any broncho on the ranch and could shoot a jack-rabbit on the run. They seemed to think she would be a great addition to our school circle on that account. Personally I'm much relieved to find her so tractable and quiet, but I've noticed something--well--unusual about her." As Belinda went up to bed she met a slim little figure in a barbaric red and yellow dressing gown crossing the hall. There was a shy challenge in the serious child face, although the little feet, clad in soft beaded moccasins, quickened their steps; and Belinda answered the furtive friendliness by slipping an arm around the girl's waist and drawing her into the tiny hall bedroom. "You haven't been to see me. It's one of the rules that every girl shall have a cup of cocoa with me before she has been here three evenings," she said laughingly. The Queer Little Thing accepted the overture soberly and, curled up in the one big chair, watched the teacher in silence. The cocoa was soon under way. Then the hostess turned and smiled frankly at her guest. Belinda's smile is a reassuring thing. "Homesick business, isn't it?" she said abruptly, with a warm note of comradeship in her voice. The tense little figure in the big chair leaned forward with sudden, swift confidence. "I'm going home," announced Bonita in a tone that made no reservations. Belinda received the news without the quiver of an eyelash or a sign of incredulity. "When?" she asked with interest warm enough to invite confession and not emphatic enough to rouse distrust. "I don't know just when, but I have to go. I can't stand it and I've written to Daddy. He'll understand. Nobody here knows. They're all used to it. They've always lived in houses like this, with little back yards that have high walls around them, and sidewalks and streets right outside the front windows, and crowds of strange people going by all the time, and just rules, rules, rules, everywhere. Everybody has so many manners, and they talk about things I don't know anything about, and nobody would understand if I talked about the real things." "Perhaps I'll understand a little bit," murmured Belinda. The Queer Little Thing put out one hand and touched the Youngest Teacher's knee gently in a shy, caressing fashion. "No, you wouldn't understand, because you don't know; but you could learn. The others couldn't. The prairie wouldn't talk to them and they'd be lonesome--the way I am here. Dick says you have got to learn the language when you are little, or else have a gift for such languages, but that when you've once learned it you don't care to hear any other." "Who's Dick?" Belinda asked. "Dick? Oh he's just Dick. He taught me to ride and to shoot, and he used to read poetry to me, and he told me stories about everything. He used to go to a big school called Harvard, but he was lonesome there--the way I am here." "The way I am here" dropped into the talk like a persistent refrain, and there was heartache in it. "I want to go home," the child went on. Now that the dam of silence was down the pent-up feeling rushed out tumultuously. "I want to see Daddy and the boys and the horses and the cattle, and I want to watch the sun go down over the edge of the world, not just tumble down among the dirty houses, and I want to gallop over the prairie where there aren't any roads, and smell the grass and watch the birds and the sky. You ought to see the sky down there at night, Miss Carewe. It's so big and black and soft and full of bright stars, and you can see clear to where it touches the ground all around you, and there's a night breeze that's cool as cool, and the boys all play their banjos and guitars and sing, and Daddy and I sit over on our veranda and listen. There's only a little narrow strip of sky with two or three stars in it out of my window here, and it's so noisy and cluttered out in the back yards--and I hate walking in a procession on the ugly old streets, and doing things when bells ring. I hate it. I hate it." Her voice hadn't risen at all, had only grown more and more vibrant with passionate rebellion. The sharp little face was drawn and pale, but there were no tears in the big tragic eyes. Belinda had consoled many homesick little girls, but this was a different problem. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "Don't you think It will be easier after a while?" The small girl with the old face shook her head. "No, it won't. It isn't in me to like all this. I'm so sorry, because Daddy wants me to be a lady. He said it was as hard for him to send me as it was for me to come, but that I couldn't learn to be a lady with lots of money to spend down there with only boys and him. There wasn't any lady there on the ranch at all, except Mammy Lou, the cook, and she didn't have lots of money to spend, so she wasn't the kind he meant. I thought I'd come and try, but I didn't know it would be like this. I don't want to be a lady, Miss Carewe. I don't believe they can be very happy. I've seen them in carriages and they don't look very happy. You're nice. I like you, and I'm most sure Daddy and Dick and the boys would like you, but then you haven't got lots of money, have you? And you were born up here and you don't know any better anyway. I'm going home." The burst of confidence ended where it had begun. She was going home, and she was so firm in the faith that Belinda, listening, believed her. "But if your father says no?" The dark little face was quiet again, all but the great eyes. "I'll have to go," the Queer Little Thing slowly said. Four days later Miss Lucilla Ryder called the Youngest Teacher into the study. "Miss Carewe, I'm puzzled about this little Miss Allen. I had a letter from her father this morning. He says that she has written that she is very homesick and unhappy and doesn't want to stay. He feels badly about it, of course, but he very wisely leaves the matter in our hands--says he realizes she'll have to be homesick and he'll have to be lonesome if she's to be a lady. But he wants us to do all we can to make her contented. He very generously sends a check for five hundred dollars, which we are to use for any extra expense incurred in entertaining her and making her happy. Now, I thought you might take her to the theater and the art museum, and the--a--the aquarium, and introduce her to the pleasures and advantages of city life. She'll soon be all right." With sinking heart Belinda went in search of the girl. She found her practicing five-finger exercises drearily in one of the music-rooms. As Belinda entered the child looked up and met the friendly, sympathetic eyes. A mute appeal sprang into her own eyes, and Belinda understood. The thing was too bad to be talked about, and the Youngest Teacher said no word about the homesickness or the expected letter. In this way she clinched her friendship with the Queer Little Thing. But, following the principal's orders, she endeavored to demonstrate to Bonita the joy and blessedness of life in New York. The child went, quietly wherever she was taken--a mute, pathetic little figure to whom the aquarium fish and the Old Masters and the latest matinee idol were all one--and unimportant. The other girls envied her her privileges and her pocket-money, but they did not understand. No one understood save Belinda, and she did her cheerful best to blot out old loves with new impressions; but from the first she felt in her heart that she was elected to failure. The child was fond of her, always respectful, always docile, always grave. Nothing brought a light into her eyes or a spontaneous smile to her lips. Anyone save Belinda would have grown impatient, angry. She only grew more tender--and more troubled. Day by day she watched the sad little face grow thinner. It was pale now, instead of brown, and the high cheek bones were strikingly prominent. The lips pressed closely together drooped plaintively at the corners and the big eyes were more full of shadow than ever; but the child made no protest or plea, and by tacit consent she and Belinda ignored their first conversation and never mentioned Texas. Often Belinda made up her mind to put aside the restraint and talk freely as she would to any other girl, but there was something about the little Texan that forbade liberties, warned off intruders, and the Youngest Teacher feared losing what little ground she had gained. Finally she went in despair to Miss Ryder. "The Indian character is too much for me," she confessed with a groan half humorous, half earnest. "I give it up." "What's the matter?" asked Miss Ryder. "Well, I've dragged poor Bonita Allen all over the borough of Manhattan and the Bronx and spent many ducats in the process. She has been very polite about it, but just as sad over Sherry's tea hour as over Grant's tomb, and just as cheerful over the Cesnola collection as over the monkey cages at the Zoo. The poor little thing is so unhappy and miserable that she looks like a wild animal in a trap, and I think the best we can do with her is to send her home. "Nonsense," said Miss Lucilla. "Her father is paying eighteen hundred dollars a year." Belinda was defiant. "I don't care. He ought to take her home." "Miss Carewe, you are sentimentalizing. One would think you had never seen a homesick girl before." "She's different from other girls." "I'll talk with her myself," said Miss Lucilla sternly. She did, but the situation remained unchanged, and when she next mentioned the Texan problem to Belinda, Miss Lucilla was less positive in her views. "She's a very strange child, but we must do what we can to carry out her father's wishes." "I'd send her home," said Belinda. It was shortly after this that Katherine Holland, who sat beside Bonita at the table, confided to Belinda that that funny little Allen girl didn't eat a thing. The waitress came to Belinda with the same tale, and the Youngest Teacher sought out Bonita and reasoned with her. "You really must eat, my dear," she urged. "Why?" "You'll be ill if you don't." "How soon?" Belinda looked dazed. "I'm afraid I don't understand." "How soon will I be sick?" "Very soon, I'm afraid," the puzzled teacher answered. "That's good. I don't feel as if I could wait much longer." Belinda gasped. "Do you mean to say you want to be ill?" "If I get very sick Daddy will come for me." The teacher looked helplessly at the quiet, great-eyed child, then launched into expostulation, argument, entreaty. Bonita listened politely and was profoundly unimpressed. "It's wicked, dear child. It would make your father wretchedly unhappy." "He'd be awfully unhappy if he understood, anyway. He thinks I'm not really unhappy and that it's his duty to keep me here and make a lady of me, no matter how lonely he is without me. He wrote me so--but I know he'd be terribly glad if he had a real excuse for taking me home." Belinda exhausted her own resources and appealed to Miss Lucilla, who stared incredulously over her nose-glasses and sent for Bonita. After the interview she called for the Youngest Teacher, and the two failures looked at each other helplessly. "It's an extraordinary thing," said Miss Lucilla in her most magisterial tone--"a most extraordinary thing. In all my experience I've seen nothing like it. Nothing seems to make the slightest impression upon the child. She's positively crazy." "You will tell her father to send for her, won't you?" Miss Lucilla shook her head stubbornly. "Not at all. It would be the ruination of the child to give in to her whims and bad temper now. If she won't listen to reason she must be allowed to pay for her foolishness. When she gets hungry enough she will eat. It's a shame to talk about a child of twelve having the stoicism to starve herself into an illness just because she is homesick at boarding-school." Belinda came back to her thread-worn argument. "But Bonita is different, Miss Ryder." "She's a very stubborn, selfish child," said Miss Ryder resentfully, and turning to her desk she changed the conversation. Despite discipline, despite pleadings, despite cajolery, Bonita stood firm. Eat she would not, and when, on her way to class one morning the scrap of humanity with the set lips and the purple shadows round her eyes fainted quietly, Belinda felt that a masterly inactivity had ceased to be a virtue. James, the house man, carried the girl upstairs, and the Youngest Teacher put her to bed, where she opened her eyes to look unseeingly at Belinda and then closed them wearily and lay quite still, a limp little creature whose pale face looked pitifully thin and lifeless against the white pillow. The Queer Little Thing's wish had been fulfilled and illness had come without long delay. For a moment Belinda looked down at the girl. Then she turned and went swiftly to Miss Ryder's study, her eyes blazing, her mouth so stern that Amelia Bowers, who met her on the stairs, hurried to spread the news that Miss Carewe "was perfectly hopping mad about something." Once in the presence of the August One the little teacher lost no time in parley. "Miss Ryder," she said crisply--and at the tone her employer looked up in amazement--"I've told you about Bonita Allen. I've been to you again and again about her. You knew that she was fretting her heart out and half sick, and then you knew that for several days she hasn't been eating a thing. I tried to make you understand that the matter was serious and that something radical needed to be done, but you insisted that the child would come around all right and that we mustn't give in to her. I begged you to send for her father and you said it wasn't necessary. I'm here to take your orders, Miss Ryder, but I can't stand this sort of thing. I know the girl better than any of the rest of you do, and I know it isn't badness that makes her act so. Now she is ill--really ill. I've just put her to bed, and honestly, Miss Ryder, if we don't send for her father we'll have a tragedy on our hands. It sounds foolish, but it is true. If nobody else telegraphs to Mr. Allen I am going to do it." * * * * * When the doctor came there were bright red spots on the Queer Little Thing's cheeks, and she was babbling incoherently about prairie flowers and horses and Dick and Daddy. Meanwhile a telegram had gone to Daddy and the messenger who delivered it heard a volume of picturesque comment that was startling even on a Texas ranch. "Am coming," ran the answering dispatch received by Miss Ryder that night; but it was not until morning that Bonita was able to understand the news. "He's scared, but I know he's glad," she said and she swallowed without a murmur the broth against which even in her delirium she had fought. One evening, three days later, a hansom dashed up to the school and out jumped a tall, square-shouldered man in a wide-brimmed hat, and clothes that bore only a family resemblance to the clothing of the New York millionaires, though they were good clothes in their own free-and-easy way. A loud, hearty voice inquiring for "My baby" made itself heard even in the sickroom, and a sudden light flashed into the little patient's eyes--a light that was an illumination and a revelation. "Daddy," she said wearily, and the word was a heart-throb. Mr. Allen wasted no time in a polite interview with Miss Ryder. Hypnotized by his masterfulness, the servant led him directly up to the sick-room and opened the door. The man filled the room; a high breeze seemed to come with him, and vitality flowed from him in tangible waves. Belinda smiled, but there were tears in her eyes, for the big man's heart was in his face. "Baby!" "Daddy!" Belinda remembered an errand downstairs. When she returned the big Texan was sitting on the side of the bed with both the lean little hands in one of his big brawny ones, while his other hand awkwardly smoothed the straight black hair. "When will you take me home, Daddy?" said the child with the shining eyes. "As soon as you're strong enough, Honey. The boys wanted me to let them charge New York in a bunch and get you. It's been mighty lonesome on that ranch. I wish to heaven I'd never been fool enough to let you come away." He turned to Belinda with a quizzical smile sitting oddly on his anxious face. "I reckon she might as well go, miss. I sent her to a finishing school, and by thunder, she's just about finished." There was a certain hint of pride in his voice as he added reflectively: "I might have known if she said she'd have to come home she meant it. Harder to change her mind than to bust any broncho I ever tackled. Queer Little Thing, Baby is." Copyrighted by Doubleday, Page & Co. An American Wake _By Rose A. Crow_ This was the last night in the old home, which had sheltered the family for five generations. The day had been full of excitement, as by a merciful ordinance last days usually are. The final packing had been done, the chests and boxes securely fastened and carefully labeled. This was all looked after by Margaret, herself, amidst interruptions by her brood of young children. Visits from friends and relatives, living at a distance, occupied much of the day; attending to countless minor things kept them all busy until nightfall. Even then there was no time allowed to visit the shrine. Margaret had a fairy shrine, to which she carried the cares of the day and the hopes of the morrow. This charmed place was a stile over the ivy-clad walls of the garden. There she brought her childish joys and sorrows, and in the quiet received consolation. She had fought the fiercest battles of her womanhood with her head resting against the ivy-covered pillar. To-night, when she was parting from her country and friends, there was no time to commune with her silent friend. Shortly after dusk, in accordance with local etiquette, very stringent on such momentous occasions, the relatives, friends and neighbors of a lifetime began to drop in by twos and threes until every inch of wall space was filled. Who of all this gathering was more welcome than "John, the Fiddler"? He was a great favorite with young and old. The sight of him carrying his fiddle caused a feeling of emotion in the hearts of the older people. It recalled the tragic story of John's father who years before left for America intending to send for his wife and crippled son. A fever contracted on shipboard deprived them of a husband and father. It was then that John Doyle became "John, the Fiddler." John was beckoned into the "room," where with Father O'Connell and a few trusty friends, he was treated to a small measure of potheen. Dan Monahan had donated a very small jug for this special occasion. To be given the first shot from Dan's still was no small favor, as those present knew. Before taking his seat at the end of the room, John drank Margaret's health, wishing herself and family a safe voyage across the water, and a happy home on the prairies of Iowa. Each guest realized the strain of parting and generously made an effort to conceal the gloom with a brave semblance of mirth. There was dancing, singing of songs, and elaborate drinking of healths. With persistent calls for Margaret's brother James, the dancing stopped. The floor was cleared, and he was borne in on the shoulders of the leaders, who had found him leaning against the ivy-covered wall, gazing at the moon, floating over his old home which, alas! he would never see again. James MacNevin was a magnificent specimen of Irish manhood and a charming singer. He was about twenty-three years old, tall and broad-shouldered, with a fine head of curly auburn hair. His clear blue eyes reflected the sadness of the group around him, while his white teeth flashed a smile. In one hand he crushed his handkerchief, while with the other he nervously twirled a sprig of ivy. A few measures of "Good Night and Joy Be with You All" came from the violin. For an instant he wavered, then throwing back his head he sang the song, not with full volume, but with intense feeling, emphasis and a clear ringing tone. The song seemed to voice his own feelings as his chest rose and fell. He was no longer just James MacNevin, but a pilgrim traveling to a strange country. His whole soul was filled with the sentiment, and there was such pathos in its heart-throb that the whole company was moved to tears. The last verse ended, he stood a moment with gaze transfixed--then rousing himself, bowed, smiled and with one hand in his sister Margaret's, the other clutching the sprig of ivy, he passed out of the home forever. Rochester, Minn. (With apologies to the Mayos) _By Marie G. Stapp_ Mr. Smith had gallstones, Mr. Jones had gout, Bad appendices had the Browns But now they've been cut out. Rachel had a goitre, Susan a queer spleen, A tumor worried Mrs. Wright Though it could not be seen. Robert had large tonsils And Dick had adenoids, too, Bill Green had never had an ear, He did when _they_ got through. Peggy had a leaky heart, Her father had no hair, Both heart and head are now fixed up And what a happy pair! And I--well I have nothing wrong-- That's why I don't feel right; I'll pay my bill at this hotel And go back home to-night. God's Back Yard _By Jessie Welborn Smith_ AN EPISODE FROM ACT THREE _Place, Tim Murphy's saloon. Time, evening._ Men are crowding about the bar, drinking and laughing coarsely. The wives are huddled together on a long bench at one side of the room. The children keep close to their mothers, but stretch their little necks to watch the dancing in the back of the room, where a group of painted women are tangoing to the wheezy accompaniment of an old accordion. Over in the corner a man sprawls drunkenly across a broken-down faro table. _Dick Long (hammering the bar with his mug and singing)._ Oh, I'm goin' to hell, and I don't give a damn. I'm goin' to hell. I'm goin' to--hell. _Murphy (knocking a board from the crate that holds the new nickel-in-the-slot gramaphone)._ You're going a damn sight faster than that, Dickie Bird, but you'll have to speed up a bit to get in on the concert. The program begins at eight o'clock sharp, like it says on the card in the window, and everybody gets an invite, but Caruso don't sing this time. _First Painted Lady (stopping the dance and coming down beside Murphy)._ Let 'er go, Murph. Give us "Too Much Mustard." The piano player down at the Gulch plays that just fine, and a piece about a girl that didn't want to love him, but he made her do it. That machine was long on personal history, Murph. I heard them all through three times. Let 'er go. We're all here. _First Wife (leaning over and speaking eagerly)._ Mrs. Long won't be able to come, Murphy, and Old Moll is settin' up with her to-night. I met Doc as I came across. The young-un died. I don't see no use in waitin' when we're all here. _Rosie Phelan (reaching over and pulling Long's sleeve)._ Did you hear that, Dick? Your kid is dead. Your kid is--d-e-a-d. Do you get me? _Man at the Bar._ Aw, break it to him gentle. He don't know he is a father yet. Have a heart. _Rosie Phelan (disgustedly)._ "Have a heart." Well, what do you think of that? For a man who guzzles all day you are mighty strong on the heart-throb slush. "Speak kindly to the erring." Didn't know you had got religion. Was it you got the revivalist to come up from the Gulch? _Nell (shifting her wad of gum)._ Well, he was sitting over at Benton's rather lonesome-like as I came along. I allus follow the crowd. _Murphy (hotly)._ And that is what that preacher will have to do if he makes any converts up here at the mine. I reckon that, with that music machine, I'm equipped to compete with any preacher that comes larking around here until kingdom come. He said he'd save me, if he had to chase me to hell and back, did he? Well, that guy should worry. That pale chicken-liver chase me to--Pour out the drinks, Bob. It's my treat. Bob slops a little whiskey into every glass and mug on the bar and passes it round. As it comes to the wives they smile, but shake their heads. Murphy lifts his glass. _Murphy._ Won't you women drink the minister's health. How about you females, Bett? Nell? Rosie? Mollie? You girls never turn down free liquor, do you? Ready? To hell with the minister. _Barkeeper._ To hell with every denatured female that comes round here praying for our souls' salvation. I reckon a feller can do what he damn pleases with his own soul. _First Lounger (lazily boastful)._ I told my old woman that if I ketched her or the kids hanging round listening to that mollycoddle letting off steam, I'd---- _First Wife (spitefully)._ Us women ain't got no call to get religion. We're too meek already. My man knows that he'll have a wildcat at his head when he comes in with that O'Grady woman, but it don't do no good. He ain't afeared o' nothin' short o' the devil. You don't ketch me joinin' while my old man is alive. You gotta have some protection. Safety first, I say. _Second Wife (meekly)._ They say the "Blue Ridge Mountains" is a mighty tuneful piece. My sister heard it over at Smarty's las' Thanksgiving. Can you tell whether your pianoler plays that, Murphy? _Second Painted Lady (patronizingly)._ How would you expect Murphy to know what is stored in that machine? You pays your money and your choice is whatever it happens to grind out. If you place your money on a "Harem" and draws an "Apple Blossom Time in Normandy," you got to take your medicine. What you waiting for, Murph? My gentleman friend is coming over from the Pass this evening, and I can't hang around here all night. _Rosie (excitedly, turning from the window that looks upon the street)._ The light is out at Benton's. The minister is coming over here. Remember and give him hell. Let him turn the other cheek. _Murphy._ No prayer meeting virgin is going to interfere with my business. The door opens and the minister steps inside. Murphy goes over and greets him with mock politeness. _Murphy._ Rosie, you are chief usher to-night. Will you find the minister a seat? Sit over, Nell. There's room enough between you and Bett for any sky pilot that ever hit the trail. Bob, give the preacher a drink. He looks sort of fagged. It's hard work saving sinners in God's Back Yard. I hope this little concert ain't going to interfere with your meeting, parson. _Minister (standing at the bar, whiskey glass in hand)._ Not at all, friend. What is the bill of fare? _Rosie (coming forward in her low-cut red gown and swinging her full skirts from side to side)._ For Gawd's sake, why didn't you tell me it was going to be religious? I'd forgot it was prayer-meetin' night, Murph. (_She carefully tucks her handkerchief over her bosom in pretense of modesty._) I'd dressed up more, if I'd remembered. _Nell (holding out a string of glittering beads)._ Here, take these, Rosie. These'll cover up some. I ain't takin' an active part, so I don't mind. _Rosie (lifting her arms to fasten the beads)._ Not takin' an active part? You don't know what you're sayin'. I heard of a minister once who could make hell look so darned nice you wanted to fall for it right away. Couldn't such a fellah give the heavenly gates a jar? (_She turns to the minister._) Where d'you want to sit? Up there by Mollie? Take your choice. _Old Moll's Daughter (jumping down from her perch at one end of the bar and walking over brazenly to drop the first nickel in the slot)._ Clear the way, can't you? I'm praying for the "Bunny Hug" and the minister is backing me. For Gawd's sake, can't you clear the floor? Do you want the music to be half done before you find your partners? I'll be obliged to you, parson, if you'll save this dance for me. (_She pauses a moment, nickel in hand._) _First Card Player._ I'll stake you ten to one it'll be "The Pullman Porters on Parade." _Second Player (doggedly)._ They always play "A Great Big Blue-Eyed Baby." _Rosie (shaking her head and singing, hands on hips)._ "My harem, my harem, my roly, poly harem." _Nell (with mock sentiment)._ "For it's Apple Blossom Time in Normandy, in Normandy, in Normandy." The nickel jangles in the slot. The disk begins to revolve. It grates and begins its introductory mechanical clinkety-clinkety clink. A small child wails dismally as the music shivers through the room. "Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly. While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high. Hide me, O, my Saviour, hide Till the storm of life is past. Safe into the haven guide, O, receive my soul at last." Rosie's hands drop from her hips as the song begins. The dancing impulse passes from her limbs. Even the muscles of her face harden convulsively. _Rosie (hysterically)._ Oh, I can't stand that, Murphy. For Gawd's sake, can't you stop it? She starts over toward the machine impulsively. Then something catches her, she pauses and is held a moment while a superstitious awe makes her eyes again the big roundness of childhood's wonder. She draws the back of her hand across her forehead in an endeavor to bring herself out of the daze. _Rosie (falling sobbing beside the bench)_. "O, receive my soul at last." Why did you leave your little Rosie? Mother, Oh, mother. I ain't fit to come to you no more, mother--I ain't fit, I ain't fit. One of the mothers reaches over and strokes her hair. _Old Moll's Daughter (opening the door and stepping out into the lonely street as she laughs madly)._ Old Murphy in cahoots with the minister. Oh, hell! The door slams shut. The glasses on the bar jangle harshly. A snatch of song boldly defiant rings in from the street: "Don't tell me that you've lost your dog." Murphy walks over and stands looking at the music box. It is still grinding out the music. "Other refuge have I none. Hangs my helpless soul on Thee. Leave, ah, leave me not alone. Still support and comfort me. All my trust on Thee is staid. All my help from Thee I bring. Cover my defenseless head With the shadow of Thy wing." The wives are all crying quietly. Rosie and Bett are sobbing with the wild abandon that such natures know. Tears are falling upon the idle hands at the card table. The men at the bar are strangely quiet. _Man at the Faro Table (lifting himself up on his elbow)._ I ushe shing--I ushe shing zhat--I ushe shing Jeshus--Jeshus--I ushe shing--(_He drops his head over on the table and weeps drunkenly._) _Little Child (pulling at her mother's shoulders and whining peevishly)._ Who is Jesus, mamma? Do we know Jesus? (_Happily._) Will he cover my head with a pretty birdie's wing? (_The mother shakes with sobs and the child speaks more caressingly._) Don't cry, mother. I like my hat with the posies on it. You can have the feathers, nice, good mamma. Don't cry. _Murphy (absently, looking at the minister)._ They sang that at the funeral. Sally didn't have no call to hide anything. She was that white and pure. I always felt her slippin'--slippin' away. She worried so them last days because of the little kid. "Take him back home, Murph," she kept sayin'. "A little child has got to have some raisin'. A kid has got to go to Sunday school, Tim, dear, and there ain't never no meetin's in God's Back Yard." _Man at the Bar (dejectedly, going over to the door)._ It's all right for the young-uns, but when a man has got a thirst and is down on his luck, I don't allow that God is going to help much. You got to get 'em young, parson, and keep 'em headed straight. It's hell turning back. I tried it, and I couldn't make it go. _Minister (gently, as if speaking to someone very near)._ Oh, Jesus, lover of all these misguided souls, come down to this little room to-night, for it is dark here, and, Oh, so cold and dreary. Speak to them, Jesus, as you did to me. Let them see the glory of Thy face. Will someone pray? _Murphy (looking across at the loafers and speaking half as an invitation, half as a command)._ Are you staying, boys? _One of the Men (doggedly, as they look at one another sheepishly and no one moves to go)._ Ain't we always stayin' till closin' time? _Murphy (warmly)._ You sure do, boys. (_He buries his head in his crossed arms over the music-box._) It's your lead, parson. The Wild Crab Apple _By Julia Ellen Rogers_ The wild, sweet-scented crab apple! The bare mention of its name is enough to make the heart leap up, though spring be months away, and barriers of brick hem us in. In the corner of the back pasture stands a clump of these trees, huddled together like cattle. Their flat, matted tops reach out sidewise until the stubby limbs of neighboring trees meet. It would not occur to anyone to call them handsome trees. But wait! The twigs silver over with young foliage, then coral buds appear, thickly sprinkling the green leaves. Now all their asperity is softened, and a great burst of rose-colored bloom overspreads the treetops and fills the air with perfume. It is not mere sweetness, but an exquisite, spicy, stimulating fragrance that belongs only to wild crab-apple flowers. Linnæus probably never saw more than a dried specimen, but he named this tree most worthily, _coronaria_, "fit for crowns and garlands." Break off an armful of these blossoming twigs and take them home. They will never be missed. Be thankful that your friends in distant parts of the country may share your pleasure, for though this particular species does not cover the whole United States, yet there is a wild crab apple for each region. In the fall the tree is covered with hard little yellow apples. They have a delightful fragrance, but they are neither sweet nor mellow. Take a few home and make them into jelly. Then you will understand why the early settlers gathered them for winter use. The jelly has a wild tang in it, an indescribable piquancy of flavor as different from common apple jelly as the flowers are in their way more charming than ordinary appleblossoms. It is the rare gamy taste of a primitive apple. Well-meaning horticulturists have tried what they could do toward domesticating this _Malus coronaria_. The effort has not been a success. The fruit remains acerb and hard; the tree declines to be "ameliorated" for the good of mankind. Isn't it, after all, a gratuitous office? Do we not need our wild crab apple just as it is, as much as we need more kinds of orchard trees? How spirited and fine is its resistance! It seems as if this wayward beauty of our woodside thickets considered that the best way to serve mankind was to keep inviolate those charms that set it apart from other trees and make its remotest haunt the Mecca of eager pilgrims every spring. The wild crab apple is not a tree to plant by itself in park or garden. Plant it in companies on the edge of woods, or in obscure and ugly fence corners, where there is a background, or where, at least, each tree can lose its individuality in the mass. Now, go away and let them alone. They do not need mulching nor pruning. Let them gang their ain gait, and in a few years you will have a crab-apple thicket. You will also have succeeded in bringing home with these trees something of the spirit of the wild woods where you found them. --From _The Tree Book_. A Ballad of the Corn _By S. H. M. Byers_ Oh, the undulating prairies, And the fields of yellow corn, Like a million soldiers waiting for the fray. Oh, the rustling of the corn leaves Like a distant fairy's horn And the notes the fairy bugles seem to play. "We have risen from the bosom Of the beauteous mother earth, Where the farmer plowed his furrow straight and long. There was gladness and rejoicing When the summer gave us birth, In the tumult and the dancing and the song. "When the sumach turns to scarlet, And the vines along the lane Are garmented in autumn's golden wine-- Then the land shall smile for plenty, And the toiler for his pain, When the soldiers of our army stand in line. "With our shining blades before us, And our banners flaming far, Want and hunger shall be slain forevermore. And the cornfield's lord of plenty In his golden-covered car Then shall stop at every happy toiler's door." Oh, the sunshine and the beauty On the fields of ripened corn, And the wigwams and the corn-rows where they stand. In the lanes I hear the music Of the faintly blowing horn And the blessed Indian summer's on the land. The Children's Blessing _By Virginia Roderick_ On the slope of a hill, beneath silvery olives, a group was gathered about the young stranger. He had entered the village only that morning, seeking the companionship of such Nazarenes as might be there. And they had brought him out here in the open to receive his message. But though he carried them greetings, and news from the distant groups of the Christ's followers, it was plain that he had not been sent to them on a mission. They waited until he should be ready to explain his quest. "You did not see Him, then?" Into the young man's eyes there came a great, yearning sadness. "No," he answered. "But you," he asked eagerly, "did none of you see Him?" They shook their heads, all of them. "We were too far away," one murmured. "But I had for spiritual father one who had seen Him," the traveler offered, his face lighting. "You know how He blessed a company of little children? How He put His hands upon them?" He paused and they nodded silently. "My teacher was one of those children," he said, his dark eyes aglow with reverent pride. A quick glance flashed about the group; but no one spoke and the traveler went on, the radiance of his face blotted out again in sadness. "It is because he is gone that I am a wanderer now. I was always with him, and we went about together, preaching the Kingdom. It was all so clear to my teacher because he had seen Him. He told me of His wonderful look." They fell silent, brooding and thoughtful. Then one asked: "What was it like--the blessing He gave your teacher? Did he gain goods and store?" The young traveler's eyes opened in amazement. "Why no! How could that be? My teacher was like Him," he explained simply. Again the quick look passed about the circle. At last one spoke, slowly: "There is a man here in the village who was also blessed with the children." The young traveler started up joyously. "Take me to him," he entreated. "Let me talk with him; that is what I have come here seeking--another teacher." "Nay, friend--" began one; but another hurriedly whispered: "Let us not tell him. Perhaps he can help." And so the first speaker finished: "I fear you will not find him like your teacher, but you shall go; it is only a step." And they guided him, all but impatient, to a mean hovel just within the town. There they left him. It was a man with a dark, bitter face that answered his knock. "May I speak with Nemuel?" the stranger asked courteously. "I am Nemuel," growled the man curtly. "But I mean Nemuel who was one of the children that Jesus blessed," persisted the young traveler, his face softly alight as the name passed his lips. "Come in; I am the man." He straightened proudly. "I was a child seven years old when I saw Him----" He stopped, for the young stranger, pale and gasping, broke in: "You saw Him! He touched you! You have seen His face, and yet your own--forgive me, friend. But my master was also one of the children blessed by the Christ, and he was ... different." He hesitated, still looking at the somber face in puzzled distress. The man caught the young stranger's arm. "You knew another of those He blessed? Tell me, did he have great wealth, palaces, honors? Did he wait long? Did the blessing tarry so long in the fulfilment as with me?" The young stranger shook his head in deep bewilderment. "I do not understand. No, he had no wealth, no palaces, no honors. He followed the Christ. He was blessed by His spirit. Why, how could one want goods and honors when one had seen His wonderful smile, when His arms--" He broke off, gazing at his host in appalled incomprehension. Nemuel's dark face grew darker, more bitter. "Then there _is_ no blessing, after all," he said slowly. "I have waited, believing, trusting. I have kept my life clean. I have kept myself holy--away from those He had not touched--" The stranger drew a quick breath and his eyes softened with pity. "I have never forgotten that I was blessed above others. And now there _is_ no blessing." And he covered his face with his hands. There was a silence and then the young stranger spoke very gently: "The blessing my master taught me, was for all children--for all childlike faith and trust and purity. It was a sanctification of the child spirit." Nemuel had lifted his head and was listening, his eyes fastened wonderingly on the stranger's face. "And it was not a blessing to be wrapped up in a napkin. It was not one to bring you good fortune, as if it had been a sorcerer's charm. It was a blessing for you to take and to make--to use it--to give it to others. Through you He blessed _all_ children.... And yet--" the stranger's voice deepened--"yet there _was_ something special too." "What was it?" Nemuel breathed. The stranger bent on him a gaze full of yearning. "Have you not remembered His face?" he asked. "His wonderful look--just for you?" There was a pleading note of reproach in his voice as he leaned toward Nemuel, but his face was all love and tenderness. Nemuel began to shake his head slowly, still fixing the stranger with his gaze. "No," he confessed. "I haven't been able to remember--not for years. At first I did. Afterward I _knew_ His face was wonderful, but I could not _see_ it. But now--now I begin to remember----" The young stranger waited for the halting words, his face lighting softly with a holy hope and joy. "Why, your face--" Nemuel still hesitated, groping, and then suddenly his voice rang out in triumph, and memory dawned clearly in his eyes--"why, _your face_--is--like--_His_! Oh, I do remember!--and--I begin to understand." Kitchener's Mob From The Atlantic Monthly _By James Norman Hall_ Trench-mortaring was more to our liking. That is an infantryman's game, and while extremely hazardous, the men in the trenches have a sporting chance. Everyone forgot breakfast when word was passed down the line that we were going to "mortarfy" Fritzie. Our projectiles were immense balls of hollow steel, filled with high explosive. Eagerly, expectantly, the boys gathered in the first-line trenches to watch the fun. First a dull boom from the reserve trench in rear where the mortar was operated. "There she is!" "See 'er?" "Goin' true as a die!" All the boys would be shouting at once. Up it goes, turning over and over, rising to a height of several hundred feet. Then, if well aimed, it reaches the end of its upward journey directly over the enemy's line, and falls straight into his trench. There is a moment of silence, followed by a terrific explosion which throws dirt and débris high in the air. By this time, the Tommies all along the line are standing on the firing benches, head and shoulders above the parapet, forgetting their danger in their excitement, and shouting at the top of their voices: "'Ow's that one, Fritzie boy?" "Guten morgen, you Proosian sausage wallopers!" "Tyke a bit o' that there 'ome to yer missus!" But Fritzie kept up his end of the game, always. He gave us just as good as we sent, and often he added something for good measure. His surprise packages were sausage-shaped missiles which came wobbling toward us, slowly, almost awkwardly; but they dropped with lightning speed. The explosion was terrible, and alas for any Tommy who misjudged the place of its fall! However, everyone had a chance. Trench-mortar projectiles are so large, and they describe so leisurely an arc before they fall, that men have time to run. I've always admired Tommy Atkins for his sense of fair play. He loved giving Fritz "a little bit of all right," but he never resented it when Fritz had his own fun at our expense. I used to believe, in the far-off days of peace, that men had lost their old primal love for dangerous sport, their native ignorance of fear. But on those trench-mortaring days, when I watched boys playing with death with right good zest, heard them shouting and laughing as they tumbled over one another in their eagerness to escape being killed, I was convinced that I was wrong. Daily I saw men going through the test of fire triumphantly, and at the last, what a fearful test it was, and how splendidly they met it! During six months, continuously in the firing line, I met less than a dozen natural-born cowards; and my experience was largely among clerks, barbers, plumbers, shopkeepers, men who had no fighting tradition to back them up, to make them heroic in spite of themselves. The better I knew Tommy, the better I liked him. He hasn't a shred of sentimentality in his make-up. There is plenty of sentiment, sincere feeling, but it is very well concealed. I had been a soldier of the King for many months before I realized that the men with whom I was living, sharing rations and hardships, were anything other than the healthy animals they looked. They seemed to live for their food. They talked of it, anticipated it with the zest of men who were experiencing for the first time the joy of being genuinely hungry. They watched their muscles harden with the satisfaction known to every normal man when he is becoming physically fit for the first time. But they said nothing about patriotism, or the duty of Englishmen in wartime. And if I tried to start a conversation on that line, they walked right over me with their boots on. This was a great disappointment at first. I would never have known, from anything that was said, that a man of them was stirred at the thought of fighting for old England. England was all right, but, "I ain't a-goin' balmy about the old flag and all that stuff." Many of them insisted that they were in the army for personal and selfish reasons alone. They went out of their way to ridicule any and every indication of sentiment. There was the matter of talk about mothers, for example. I can't imagine this being the case in a volunteer army of American boys; but never, during sixteen months of British army life, did I hear a discussion of mothers. When the weekly parcels post from England arrived, and the boys were sharing their cake and chocolate and tobacco, one of them would say, "Good old mum. She ain't a bad sort," to be answered with reluctant, mouth-filled grunts, or grudging nods of approval. As for fathers, I often thought to myself, "This is certainly a tremendous army of posthumous sons!" Months before I should have been astonished at this reticence. But I had learned to understand Tommy. His silences were as eloquent as any splendid outbursts or glowing tributes could have been. It was a matter of constant wonder to me that men living in the daily and hourly presence of death could so control and conceal their feelings. Their talk was of anything but home; and yet I knew that they thought of little else. One of our boys was killed, and there was a letter to be written to his parents. Three Tommies who knew him best were to attempt this. They made innumerable beginnings. Each of them was afraid of blundering, of causing unnecessary pain by an indelicate revelation of the facts. There was a feminine fineness about their concern which was beautiful to see. The final draft of the letter was a masterpiece, not of English, but of insight; such a letter as any one of us would have liked his own parents to receive under similar circumstances. Nothing was forgotten which could make the news in the slightest degree more endurable. Every trifling personal belonging was carefully saved up and packed in a little box to follow the letter. All this was done amid much boisterous jesting; and there was hilarious singing to the wheezing accompaniment of an old mouth-organ. But of reference to home, or mothers, or comradeship, not a word. Rarely a night passed without its burial parties. "Digging in the garden," Tommy calls the grave-making. The bodies, wrapped in blankets or water-proof ground-sheets, are lifted over the parados and carried back a convenient twenty yards or more. The desolation of that garden was indescribable. It was strewn with wreckage, gaping with shell-holes, billowing with numberless nameless graves, a waste land speechlessly pathetic. The poplars and willow hedges had been blasted and splintered by shell-fire. Tommy calls these "Kaiser Bill's flowers." Coming from England, he feels more deeply than he would care to admit the crimes done to trees in the name of war. Our chaplain was a devout man, but prudent to a fault. He never visited us in the trenches; therefore our burial parties proceeded without the rites of the church. This arrangement was highly satisfactory to Tommy. He liked to "get the planting done" with the least possible delay or fuss. His whispered conversations, while the graves were being scooped, were, to say the least, quite out of the spirit of the occasion. Once we were burying two boys with whom we had been having a supper a few hours before. There was an artillery duel in progress, the shells whistling high over our heads and bursting in great splotches of white fire, far in rear of the opposing lines of trenches. The grave-making went speedily on while the diggers argued in whispers as to the calibre of the guns. Some said they were six-inch, while others thought nine-inch. Discussion was momentarily suspended when trench-rockets went soaring up from the enemy's line. We crouched motionless until the welcome darkness spread again. And then, in loud whispers-- "'Ere! If they was nine-inch they would 'ave more screech." And one of different opinion would reply: "Don't talk so bloomin' silly! Ain't I a-tellin' you you can't always size 'em by the screech?" Not a prayer. Not a word either of censure or praise for the boys who had gone. Not an expression of opinion as to the meaning of the great change which had come to them and which might come as suddenly to any or all of us. And yet I knew that every man was thinking of these things. There were days when the front was really quiet. The thin trickle of rifle-fire only accentuated the stillness of an early summer morning. Far down the line many a Tommy could be heard singing to himself as he sat in the door of his dug-out, cleaning his rifle. There would be the pleasant crackle of burning pine sticks, the sizzle of frying bacon, the lazy buzzing of swarms of bluebottle flies. Occasionally, across a pool of noonday silence, we heard the birds singing; for they didn't desert us. When we gave them a hearing, they did their cheery little best to assure us that everything would come right in the end. Once we heard a skylark, an English skylark, and for a while it made the world beautiful again. It was a fine thing to watch the faces of those English lads as they listened. I was deeply touched when one of them said, "Ain't 'e a plucky little chap, singin' right in front of Fritzie's trenches fer us English blokes?" It was a sincere and beautiful tribute. The Professor _By Calista Halsey Patchin_ The professor had been dead two months. He had left the world very quietly, at that precise hour of the early evening when he was accustomed to say that his "spirit friends" came to him. The hospital nurse had noticed that there was always a time at twilight when the patient had a good hour; when pain and restlessness seemed to be charmed away, and he did not mind being left alone, and did not care whether or not there was a light in the room. Then it was that those who had gone came back to him with quiet, friendly ways and loving touch. He said nothing of this to the nurse. It was an old friend who told me that this had been his belief and solace for years. When the professor had first come to town he had spoken of the wife who would follow him shortly, from the East. He did not display her picture, he did not talk about her enough so that the town, though it made an honest effort, ever really visualized her. She would come--without a doubt she would come--but not just yet. It was only that the East still held her. Gradually, he spoke of her less and less often, with a dignified reserve that brooked no inquiry, and finally not at all. The town forgot. It was only when his illness became so serious that all felt someone should be written to, that it was discovered there was no one. The professor, when he was appealed to, said so. Then also, the hospital nurse noticed that at the twilight hour, when he talked quietly to his unseen friends, there was always One who stayed longer than the rest. But he had been dead two months now, and the undertaker was pressing his bill, and there were other expenses which had been cheerfully borne by friends at the time, and indeed if there had been no other reason, it remains that something must become of the personal possessions of a man who leaves neither will nor known heirs. So the professor's effects were appraised, and a brief local appeared in the daily paper until it had made a dent in the memory of the public, apprising them that his personal property would be offered at public auction at two p.m. of a Thursday, in his rooms on the third floor of the Eureka Block. It was the merest thread of curiosity that drew me to this sale. I did not want to buy anything. It was a sort of posthumous curiosity, and it concerned itself solely with the individuality of the dead man. Not having had the opportunity of knowing him well in life, and never having known until I read his obituary what I had missed, I took this last chance of trying to evolve the man from his belongings. All I did know was that he was a teacher of music of the past generation in a Western town which grew so fast that it made a man seem older than he was. More than this, he was a composer, a music master, who took crude young voices, shrill with the tension of the Western winds and the electric air, and tamed and trained them till they fell in love with harmony. When he heard a voice he knew it. One of his contraltos is singing now in grand opera across the sea. A tenor that he discovered has charmed the world with an "upper note." All the same, the professor had grown old--a new generation had arisen which knew not Joseph; he failed to advertise, and every young girl who "gave lessons" crowded him closer to the wall. Now and then there would appear in the daily paper--not the next morning, but a few days after the presentation of some opera--a column of musical criticism, keen, delicate, reminiscent--fragrant with the rosemary that is for remembrance. When "Elijah" was given by home talent with soloists imported from Chicago, it was the professor who kindly wrote, beforehand this time, luminous articles full of sympathetic interpretation of the great masters. And at rare intervals there would appear a communication from him on the beauty of the woods and the fields, the suburbs of the town and the country, as though he were some simple prophet of nature who stood by the wayside. And this was no affectation. Long, solitary walks were his recreation. It was a good deal of a rookery, up the flights of narrow, dirty stairs to the third floor of the Eureka Block. And here the professor had lived and taught. Two rooms were made from one by the sort of partition which does not reach to the ceiling--a ceiling which for some inexplicable reason was higher in some places than in others. The voice of the auctioneer came down that winding way in professional cadences. There were in the room about as many people as might come to a funeral where only friends of the family are invited. It was very still. The auctioneer took an easy conversational tone. There was a silent, forlorn sort of dignity about the five pianos standing in a row that put professional banter and cheap little jokes out of the question. The pianos went without much trouble--a big one of the best make, an old-fashioned cottage piano, a piano with an iron frame. One of the appraisers, himself a musician, became an assistant auctioneer, and kindly played a little--judiciously very little--on each instrument in turn. Then came the bric-a-brac of personal effects--all the flotsam and jetsam that had floated into these rooms for years. The walls were pockmarked with pictures, big and little. There was no attempt at high art; the professor had bought a picture as a child might buy one--because he thought it was pretty. It was a curious showing of how one artistic faculty may be dormant while another is cultivated to its highest point. But no matter how cheap the picture, it was always conscientiously framed. And this was a great help to the auctioneer. Indeed, it was difficult to see how he could have cried the pictures at all without the frames. By this time the rooms were fuller of people. There were ladies who had come in quietly, just to get some little thing for a remembrance of their old friend and teacher. These mostly went directly over to the corner where the music lay and began looking for something of "his." If it were manuscript music so much the better. But there was little of this. It appeared that with the professor, as with most of us, early and middle manhood had been his most productive time, and that was long enough ago for everything to have been duly published in sheet and book form--long enough, indeed, for the books themselves to have gone out of date. There they were--long, green notebooks, bearing the familiar names of well known publishers, and with such a hydra-head of title as "The Celestina, or New Sacred Minstrel; a Repository of Music adapted to every variety of taste and grade of capacity, from the million to the amateur or professor." There were four or five of these. There was sheet music by the pile. There was an opera, "Joseph," the production of which had been a musical event. Presently the auctioneer came that way. He had just sold a large oleograph, framed, one of those gorgeous historical pictures which are an apotheosis of good clothes. He approached an engraving of an old-fashioned lady in voluminous muslin draperies, with her hair looped away from her face in a "Book of Beauty" style. "_He_ liked that," murmured a lady. "What do I hear!" cries the auctioneer, softly. "Oh, such a little bid as that--I can't see it at all in this dark corner. Suppose we throw these peaches in--awfully pretty thing for dining room--and this flower piece--shall we group these three?--now, how much for all? Ah, there they go!" "Here, ladies and gentlemen, is a gold-headed cane which was presented to the deceased by his admiring friends. It is pure gold--you _know_ they would not give him anything else. How much for this? How much? No--his name is _not_ engraved on it--so much the better--what do I hear?" "Look at this telescope, gentlemen--a good one--you know the professor was quite an astronomer in his way--and this telescope is all right--sound and in good condition"--the auctioneer had officiated at a stock sale the day before. "You can look right into futurity through this tube. Five dollars' worth of futurity? Five--five and a half? Case and all complete." There was a pocketful of odds and ends; gold pens, lead pencils, some odd pocket knives; these inconsiderable trifles brought more in proportion than articles of greater intrinsic value. Evidently this was an auction of memories, of emotion, of sentiment. There was a bit of the beam of the barn that was burned down when the cow kicked over the historic lamp that inaugurated the Chicago fire--no less than three persons were ready to testify to their belief in the genuineness of the relic, had anyone been disposed to question it. But no one was. Nearly all the people in the room were the dead music teacher's personal friends; they had heard the story of all these things; they knew who had sent him the stuffed brown prairie chicken that perched like a raven above the door--the little old-fashioned decanter and wine glasses of gilded glass--the artificial begonias--that clever imitation that goes far toward making one forswear begonias forevermore. There were lamps of various shapes and sizes, there was a kit of burglarious looking tools for piano tuning, there was a little globe--"Who wants the earth?" said the auctioneer. "You all want it." There was a metronome, which, set to go, began to count time in a metallic whisper for some invisible pupil. Over in the corner just beyond the music were the professor's books. Now we shall find him out, for what a man reads he is, or wishes to be. There was a good deal of spiritualistic literature of the better sort. There was a "History of Christianity and Paganism by the Roman Emperor Julian," a copy of "She," a long shelf full of _North American Reviews_, a dozen or so of almanacs, a copy of Bluebeard. There were none of the "popular" magazines, and if there had been newspapers--those vagrants of literature--they had gone their way. There was a manuscript play for parlor presentation, with each part written out in legible script, entitled, "The Winning Card." All these and many more things which only the patient appraisers can fully know were sold or set aside as unsalable, until all was done. And then those who had known and loved him and those who had not known or cared for him came down the stairs together. Fate stood on the landing. As always, Fate ran true to form. She was a woman; a little tired, as a woman might well be who had come a thousand miles; a little out of breath from the two flights of stairs. Her old-fashioned draperies clung about her; her hair was looped away from her face in a "Book of Beauty" style. The man who stood aside to let her pass was talking. "Of course," he was saying, "he was a side-tracked man. But I believe he stands the biggest chance of being remembered of any man in Iowa." Swift protest at his first words clouded her face; sheer gratitude for his last words illumined it. She bent forward a little and went on up the stairs alone. She faltered in the doorway, her hand fumbling at her throat. One of the men who had been talking below hastened to her side. "It's all over," he said, then added, at the dumb misery that grayed her face: "--the auction." "I--I--didn't come for that," the apathy in her voice holding it steady. "I--I am his wife. His last letter--he sent for me." A sob broke her speech. "It came last week--two months too late." [Illustration: What the Iowa Boy Hears in the Wind in the Corn] My Baby's Horse _By Emilie Blackmore Stapp_ My baby's horse is Daddy's knee; When nighttime comes he rides away To Sleepytown by Dreamland Sea; I love to hear their laughter gay. Ride, baby, ride, the Sandman bold Is following close behind you, dear, But Daddy's arms will you enfold And so for you I have no fear. Your prancing steed is slowing down; The Sandman's riding very fast. Oh, here you are at Sleepytown; The Sandman's caught you, dear, at last. He'll tie your steed by Dreamland Sea, And on its shores all night you'll play, Then you'll come riding home to me To make life sweet another day. The Call of the Race _By Elizabeth Cooper_ It was the last day of September, the maple trees were turning to red and gold, the mist of purple haze was in the air, and all Japan was going to the parks and woods to revel in the colors they loved so well. Three men came out of the American Embassy, and looked for a moment over the roofs below them, half conscious of the beauty of this autumn time. They chatted for a few moments, then one of them motioned to a servant to put his mail bag in the jinrickshaw and slowly stepping into the tiny carriage he was whirled away. The other men watched him for a few moments in silence, then as they turned to go to the English club, the elder shook his head slowly as he rather viciously bit the end from his cigar. "Freeman's made a big fool of himself," he said. "Nice man, too." The younger man looked after the fast disappearing jinrickshaw and asked after a moment's hesitation: "He's married a Jap, hasn't he? I'm new here but I have heard something about him that's queer." "Yes," the Ambassador replied. "Married her, preacher, ring, the whole thing." "How did it happen? Why did he _marry_ her?" the younger man asked with a laugh. "We all talked to him. I talked to him like a father, but he wouldn't listen to reason. Saw her at the mission school, fell head and heels in love with her and wouldn't take anyone's advice. Even the missionary was against it. Told him that mixed marriages never came out right; that the girl always reverted to type," said the Ambassador a little bitterly. "Well, has it turned out as they predicted?" inquired the secretary interestedly. "Well, no," admitted the Ambassador. "It's been two years, and everything seems to be all right so far. No one ever sees much of either of them. You meet her with him once in a while in some garden admiring the wistaria, or the lotus. She's a beauty--a real beauty--and belongs to one of the old Samurai families up north somewhere." "How did the mission get her? I thought they went in more for the lower classes," asked the secretary. "Well, it seems that some missionary up north saw her and was attracted by her cleverness and her pretty face, and she persuaded the girl's parents to send her to school here. They're as poor as Job's turkey; but they live in a great old palace and observe all the old time Jap customs. Haven't changed a bit for centuries. The real thing in old-time aristocracy. But the missionary got past them some way and the girl came down--when was it?--six years ago, I think. Missionary says she's clever, has become a Christian, and evidently forgotten that she's a Jap." "It'll perhaps be the exception that proves that all mixed marriages are not failures," said the optimistic secretary. "No," said the older man, "I know Japan and the Japanese. There's something in them that never changes--the call of the blood or whatever it is. No matter how much education they have, change of religion, life in foreign countries--anything--they're Japanese, and in a crisis they go back to their gods and the instincts of their race. We all told Freeman this--the missionary, myself, everybody took a hit at him when we found he really meant business, but he only laughed. He said Yuki was as European as he was. Never thought of the gods, hardly remembered her people, and all that rot. He ought to know better: this is his second post in Japan. Was out here twelve years ago and got in some kind of trouble. I was surprised when the government sent him back; but I suppose they thought it had all blown over, and I presume it has, although the Japs don't forget." The Ambassador was quiet for a few moments, then he said: "No, I don't believe at all in intermarriage between the Oriental and the Occidental. Their traditions, customs, everything is different. They have no common meeting ground, and that racial instinct, that inherent something is stronger in the Oriental than in the Westerner. A woman here in this country, for example, is taught from babyhood that she must obey her parents, her clan, _absolutely_. Her family is first, and she must sacrifice her life if necessary for them, and they will go to any lengths in this obedience. I told this to Freeman, everyone did, but he just gave his happy laugh, and said that his wife-to-be was no more Japanese in feeling and sentiment than he was--that she had outgrown the old religion, the old beliefs. He laughed at the idea that her family would have any influence over her after she was his wife. Yet--I know these people--and have always been a little worried----" The two men chatted until they entered the doors of the English club. Morris Freeman with his fast runner was drawn swiftly through the modern streets of new Japan, then more slowly through the little alleys, where the shops were purely native. Finally he drew up at an entrance and stopped under the tiny roof of a gateway. He had been expected, evidently, because no sooner had he stopped than the great gate was swung open and a smiling servant stood in the entrance. Freeman handed him the mail bag and said: "Tell the Ok San that I will be back in about an hour," and was taken swiftly up the street. The coolie at the gate was still watching the disappearing jinrickshaw when a Japanese approached, and bowing to the servant asked: "Is your mistress within?" The servant answered in the affirmative, looking at him interestedly, as he was different from the average man one sees in Tokio. He was dressed in an old-time costume that immediately told the city-bred servant that the man was from some distant province. The visitor went to the veranda, dropped his clogs, and entered the doorway. A young girl was kneeling before a koto lightly strumming its strings and did not hear the entrance of the man. He stood for a moment looking around the room; then he saw Yuki and walking over to her sat down facing her. Yuki stared at him first in astonishment; then a look of fear came into her black eyes. He was silent for many minutes, then he coolly remarked: "You do not speak to your uncle. You do not care to make me welcome in this your home." He looked down at her contemptuously. She saluted him, touching her head to her folded hands upon the floor. After a few polite phrases she rose, went to the hibachi, fanned the flame a moment, poured water from the kettle into the teapot, and brought a tiny tray on which was a cup and the pot of tea. She poured out the tea, and, taking the cup in both hands, slid it across the floor to him; when he took it, she again touched her head to the floor, and inquired: "I trust my honorable Uncle is in the enjoyment of good health?" The man sipped the tea slowly, gazing around the room, taking in all its details. His eyes especially rested upon the shrine in the corner. Then he regarded her long and intently. "I see you have brought your family shrine to the house of the foreigner with whom you live--the man who has made you forget your people. Have you opened it; do you offer the daily incense; or is it simply an article of furniture for your foreign husband to admire?" Yuki said nothing; she could not explain to this old man that the shrine had meant nothing to her, but having come from her old home she had kept it simply as a remembrance of the past. Not receiving an answer the man continued: "The foreigner is kind to you?" Yuki smiled and said softly to herself: "Kind--kind--my Dana San." Then seeing her uncle expected an answer, she said in a quiet tone: "Most kind, my honorable Uncle." "You wonder why I come to you to-night?" he inquired. Yuki took the tea-things and put them behind her, then remarked: "My humble house is honored by your presence." "Honored, yes," sneered the uncle. "But still you wonder. I will tell you why I came to you to-night. Once upon a time there was a family in Japan--happy, honored--proud of their title, of their history--and, more than all, proud of their overlord. He was impetuous, and like many of the older Japanese, resentful of the foreigner's intrusion. Here, one day on a visit to his capital, he met a stranger, one of that hated race who spoke slightingly of his country, of his gods. There was the quick retort, the blow, and he our lord went to the Land of Shadows. The evil gods of the foreigner protected the man who gave the blow. His name was never discovered--it was claimed he did the cowardly act in self-defense and he got safely away." Yuki leaned forward eagerly. "Oh, it is of my honorable father you speak?" "Yes, it is of your father I speak," said the man in a low, bitter voice. "Since his death the gods have not favored our house; we have lost position, money, everything. But at last--at last our prayers to the gods have been answered. The enemy of our house is delivered into our hands--into _your_ hands." Yuki looked bewildered. "_My_ hands? What do you mean, my honorable Uncle?" "Yuki San, we have learned the name of the man who struck your father!" he exclaimed in a low, tense voice. Yuki looked at the tragic face before her a moment, then she said: "At last, at last you know?" "Yes," replied her uncle. "At last, after all these years of patience, revenge is in our hands. Oh, Yuki San, the foreigner, your husband, is the man who killed your father." Yuki drew back, her face pallid, her body trembling. "Morris, my Dana San?" "Yes, your Dana San." Yuki sat for a moment in bewilderment, then the color came back to her face and she leaned forward eagerly. "But, my lord, my lord, he could not have done it! He is so kind, so good, he never hurt a thing in all his life." The man leaned forward, gazing intently into her eyes. "Has this stranger made you forget your father? Have you forgotten your oath, _your_ oath? Have you forgotten why your father is now in the Land of Shadows?" He pointed to the shrine. "Look, there is his tablet within that shrine. But the doors are closed. In our home, in our family temple are tablets. The doors of the shrines have never been opened. His spirit has not had the incense to help him on the way. The morning offering has not been his. He has been compelled to travel alone on the way to the gods, because we, his family--you and I--have not avenged his death. "No, do not speak," he continued, as Yuki was about to interrupt. "He was murdered, and until the man who sent him on his way joins him in his journey, his spirit can have no peace. And you, his daughter, dare not, for fear of the gods, open the shrine to make the offering that the poorest peasant makes to his dead! But to-night I bring you the final word of the clan. To give you the honor of doing the deed that will wash the stain from our name. You know that a servant must avenge the death of his master, a son that of his father, a Samurai the death of his overlord, and I come to give you--a girl, an inheritance that will make you envied of men." "I do not understand--my lord, you mean----" "Yuki San, he killed your father, the head of our house, and he must die to-night." Yuki rose and went to the man. Taking him by the arms she looked up into his face piteously, with wide, frightened eyes. "My lord, my lord, you can not mean it--that he shall die--Morris die!" The old man looked down into the pale face, the searching, pitiful eyes; but there shone no mercy in the hard eyes that met the ones raised pleadingly to his. "Yes, and you, the only child of the man he killed, shall fulfill the sacred oath, and bring peace to your father's honorable soul." Yuki was utterly bewildered and said falteringly: "I do not understand--I do not understand." With the monotonous voice of the fatalist the uncle continued: "It would have been better if a man-child had been born to our lord, as his arm would not falter; but you will take as sure a way, if not as honorable as the sword. Here is the means." He drew a little bottle from the sleeve of his kimono. "A little of this and he sleeps instantly and well." Yuki held out her hands to the man sitting like fate before her. "My lord, how can I? We have been so happy! My Dana San has never given me an unkind look, never caused me a moment's sorrow. I love him, Uncle, not as a Japanese woman loves her lord, but as a foreign woman from over the seas loves the man whom she has chosen from all the world. For two years we have been in this little house, for two years he has been my every breath. My first thought in the morning was for Morris, my Dana San, my last thought at night was joy in the thought that I was his and that he loved me. Sometimes I waken and look at him, and wonder how such a great man can care for such a simple Japanese girl as I am. And now you ask me to hurt him?" She drew her head up proudly. "I can not and I will not. He is my husband, and no matter what he has done I will protect him--even from you." The man rose, and striding to her, grasped her roughly by the arm. "Woman, you will do as we say. You are a Japanese and you know even unto death you must obey. I have no fear. It will be done--and by you--to-night." He released her arm, and she, looking down upon the tatami, moved her foot silently to and fro, absorbed with this tragedy that had come into her happy life. Then she had a thought that brought hope to her, and she looked up eagerly. "Perhaps it is not true--perhaps it was not really Morris----" "Listen," said the man roughly. "It was he. We _know_. But you--if you do not believe--make him confess to-night. If it was not he, then you are free. If it is, you will know what to do--and it will be done to-night--remember." Yuki looked into the hard black eyes staring at her, fascinating her, taking all the life from her, and she said slowly as if under a spell: "Yes--if he confesses--if it was he--I know it will be done. But--if the gods take him, they will also take me." The uncle shook her roughly by the arm. "_No!_ Listen to me. Your work is not yet done. You must live. It would be too much happiness to have your spirit travel with him the lonely road. He must walk the path alone, without love to guide him. You will return to me to-night, return to your home and family who await you. Our vengeance would be only half complete if we allowed you to journey to the Land of Shadows with him. Come to me--" and he drew her to him. "Look at me. I will await you at the Willow Tea House." He took her face in his hands and gazed steadily into her eyes, saying in a low, tense voice: "I do not fear--you will obey. Are you not a Japanese? I expect--you--to--come--to--me--after your work is done--and the gods will be with you. Sayonara." He put on his clogs at the entrance and went away, his form scarcely distinguishable in the gloom as he went down the pathway. Yuki looked after him, then threw herself on her face on the floor with a little moan, beating her hands in the manner of an Eastern woman. It was absolutely quiet in the room, no noise coming from the street outside, except from a far distance a woman's voice chanting in a tone of singular sweetness words that sounded in their minor key like the soft tones of a flute: "_Amma Konitchi Wahyak Mo_," then between these sweet calls a plaintive whistle--one long-drawn note, then two shorter ones--the cry of the blind massage woman, making her rounds for her evening's toil. The cry died away, and only the low moan was heard within the little room. Morris opened the gate and came lightly up the pathway, whistling a few bars of the latest popular song. He came inside the room, and, hardly able to distinguish the objects, looked about wonderingly, then seeing Yuki lying where she had thrown herself, he went over to her and picked her up. "My sweetheart, what is it? What has happened?" He sat down upon the long chair and held her against him. "Tell me, dear one, tell me." Morris went over to the lamp after a few moments and lighted it, then came back and showed Yuki a little gift he had brought her. She took it and looked at it with eyes filled with tragic grief; then, pressing it against her face, put her head on his shoulder and began sobbing in a heart-broken way that amazed Morris. She lay with her face hidden, he softly caressing her hair. Finally she said: "Morris, we have been here two years. Tell me--have I made you happy?" Morris threw back his head and laughed happily. "Happy, Yuki, happy? Dear heart, I had a long time ago put aside the thought that love meant happiness and happiness meant love. Now you have taught me that one cannot exist without the other. I love you, I live with you, you are mine. That tells everything. When you came into my life, into my heart, I was soured and embittered. Life meant only work and duties done; after that, comfort and a cigar--that was all. But now, I love my work as well, I do it as thoroughly, but there is something more. I know when I shut the office-door, I can come here where no one can enter. I can be alone with the woman I love and who loves me. There is no question of society or dinners, but just us two alone, you and me--and," turning up her face, "you are happy with me, my Yuki San? You love me?" Yuki did not reply at once. Then in a low, sweet voice she replied: "Morris, we Japanese women never speak of love. It is to us a subject left to singing girls and geishas. Without it we marry, and without it we live, and it is, unless by chance, a closed book to us. I do not know if I love you as the women of your race love their Dana Sans--I know I think of you by day, and I dream of you by night. I live only for you--to be what you wish me to be--and when you take me in your arms and say, 'My Yuki San, my sweetheart,' it seems to me that my heart with its happiness will break! I do not know if that is love--but if it be--I love you, my Dana San, I love you." She lay quietly, and he rested his face against her hair, caressing it from time to time. After a silence, he inquired lightly: "What about supper, Yuki?" Yuki drew him to her again, for he moved as if he would rise. "Wait, dear, let us talk a little. Tell me, when you to Tokio came--the first time----" "Twelve years ago, when O Yuki San was a little girl." "Twelve years ago--there was much trouble then between foreigners and Japanese. You and your friends--had--had trouble." Morris looked at her quickly and his eyes darkened. "Where did you hear that?" he asked. Yuki, carelessly: "Oh, they gossip in the market-place." Morris rose and walked up and down the room. "I don't know what you have heard, but I might as well tell you the whole story. I did have trouble here in Japan. One night some of us got in a mix-up--a sort of quarrel with a Japanese, and I don't know how it happened--I never have known--but I struck and killed him. It was in the dark, and I could hardly see him." After a silence Yuki stammered: "You--killed him?" "In self-defense, O Yuki San," Morris defended eagerly; "it was in self-defense. But afterwards, what a time it was! Shall I ever forget that night getting back to my ship?" He passed his hand over his face, and then came back to his place beside her on the couch. "Don't speak of it any more; I don't want to think of it." Yuki slipped down to the floor and sat there with her head against his knee. She sat very quietly, then finally put her hand up to the flower in her dress and slowly took it out and let it fall to the floor, petal by petal, watching the leaves as they fell. Then, after a long silence, she rose and started towards the tea table, hesitated, went a little way, and then came back to him. She knelt by the couch and said, in a low voice: "Morris, no matter what happens, what you learn, what the gods may teach you soon--remember, I love you with all the love of my life. That I would give that life for you--oh, so willingly, if I only could! That through whatever you pass, I would gladly be with you; but I will come to you soon. I will not send you where I may not follow. I will come. I am yours, and the gods cannot let you go alone. You need me, and I would not be afraid. I love you--I want to go with you--but I am a Japanese--and I understand." She let her face fall upon her hands and knelt there quietly. Morris looked at her blankly, thinking she was worried about something. Finally he lifted her face and kissed her. "Never mind, dear one. I don't know what is troubling you, but of course you shall go with me wherever I go. I need you, and could not be without my Yuki San." He started to read the papers; she rose and stood by the couch a moment, then taking a step toward the tea-things: "Would my Dana San--like--a cup of tea?" Morris, absorbed in his papers, assented. "Why, yes, I don't mind if I do." She turned and walked slowly to the hibachi, knelt beside it, fanned the fire a moment, then poured the water from the iron kettle into the tiny teapot, let it stand a moment, looking over towards Morris. Then she took the bottle from her sleeve and poured a few drops into the cup, filling it with tea. She rose slowly and walked over to the long chair. She looked down at him as he lay half-reclining, hesitated, then handed him the cup. He took it, and looking up at her half laughing, exclaimed: "To you, sweetheart!" and drank. He fell back on the chair; the cup dropped from his hands. Yuki looked down at him in silence; then she bent over him, and lovingly crossed his hands upon his breast, touched his face caressingly with her fingers; then bent down and kissed him. She turned slowly, and, in turning, her eyes fell upon the shrine. She looked at it intently, slowly crossed the room and knelt in front of it, bowed her head to the floor; then opened the doors, and bowed her head again. She took out two candlesticks, two little jars of incense, a small bowl for rice, and another for water. She lighted the candles, lighted the incense, poured water in one bowl and rice in the other. Then she again touched her head to the floor, once--twice--thrice--rose, and walked backward to the open shojii. She stood a moment looking around the room that she had loved so well; then turned her face to her lover lying so quietly in the chair. She knelt down facing him, touched her head to the floor and rising in the kneeling position, said, stretching out her arms towards Morris: "Sayonara, my Dana San, good-bye, good-bye." One Wreath of Rue _By Cynthia Westover Alden_ The brawny lad in khaki clad, We rightly cheer. Alas, My eyes grow dim! I weigh with him, The boy Who failed To pass. A heart more brave no man could have, His soul as clear as glass. He faced with zest the doctor-test-- The boy Who failed To pass. And now the blow is hurting so, He sees the legions mass. They go to war. Be sorry for The boy Who failed To pass. The future grim is flouting him As in the weakling class. Though fine and true, his years are few-- The boy Who failed To pass. For warriors proud blow bugles loud, Of silver or of brass; One wreath of rue is due unto The boy Who failed To pass. Woodrow Wilson and Wells, War's Great Authors _An Interview with Honoré Willsie_ "The war has thus far produced two great pieces of literature. One of these is H. G. Wells' 'Mr. Britling Sees It Through.' The other is President Wilson's War Message. I was curiously moved by 'Mr. Britling Sees It Through.' The effect of that novel on me was to move me away from the war, to let me get a picture of the war as a great procession against the horizon. "Every code that I had--in government, in religion, in ethics--had been obliterated by the events of the last three years. But this novel showed me that there could be a code--that something coherent and true must come out of the chaos. Reading as many manuscripts as I do, I grow stale on ideas. I want to read out-and-out trash or else something that will give me a new philosophy of life. And Wells, at any rate, showed me that there could be a new philosophy. "The great task before our writers to-day is to do for the individual what President Wilson's Declaration of War did for the nations of the world. This is the most important thing a writer can do--to make a new code for mankind. I can't think of any American writer able to do it. But did any of us expect Wells to write such a book as 'Mr. Britling Sees It Through'? "One significant thing about President Wilson's message is that its author is absolutely sure of the hereafter. He is convinced that God is Eternal Goodness. All his utterances are the utterances of a man with a deep faith that never has been disturbed. And that sort of man is essentially the man for statesmanship. "Religious fervor was the driving force of the fathers of our country. For an agnostic like myself to witness an exhibition of this force is to look wistfully at a power that cannot be understood. It is the spirit of the little red schoolhouse, of the meeting-house, of the town meeting--the spirit of American statesmanship and of American democracy. "Human beings aren't big enough to get along without religion. Somehow or other we moderns have got to have some faith--as Lincoln had it, and Adams, and Washington--as Wilson has it. We need a new religion. For Wilson won't happen again very often. "President Wilson's message formulates a new philosophy of government. His message came on Europe like a flash of light in the darkness of battle. "President Wilson seems to have started his message with a definite conviction as to the existence of God. Mr. Wells must have started his novel with the hope of finding God through it. I size Wells up as a modern with the modern craving for God. Wells does not lead you to God, but he gives you the idea that God exists, and is just over beyond. "But then religion is a favorite theme of the novelist. Winston Churchill's 'The Inside of the Cup' indicated that social service would take the place of religion. Well, maybe it would for some people. But nowadays most people need a religion that says that there is a hereafter. "I think that I am the only human being in captivity who has read all of Holt's book on the cosmic relations. And what I got out of it was not a belief in spiritualism, but a realization of the fact that every one, high and low, rich and poor, educated and illiterate, has a craving for knowledge of life after death, has a craving for belief in life after death. And the war has raised this feeling to the nth power. We feel that we shall go mad if there is no hereafter. Mr. Wells leads us to believe that he will find that there is a hereafter. President Wilson shows us that he is sure there is one. "This craving for conviction of the hereafter, increased by the war, inevitably makes our literature more spiritual. So we are seeing the last for awhile of the sex novel and of sordid realism. We no longer find people who believe that since you are an artist you should describe the contents of a garbage can. The soul of man as well as the body of man is coming into its own as the theme of the novelist. "And the war is responsible. You can't stick out your tongue and make a face at God when a shell may momentarily hurl you from the earth. And who cares to read a sex novel now? What do the little bedroom scandals of the flimsy novels matter when the womanhood of Belgium has been despoiled? "I am asked if our writers have deteriorated of late years. I think that the rank and file of our serial writers are way below those of forty or fifty years ago. Then our novelists were fewer and better. Look at the files of the old magazines and you will find that the novels that appeared serially in those days were much better than those that are appearing to-day. But one or two of our best novelists are just as fine as any of our writers of a bygone generation--Margaret Deland and Gertrude Atherton, for instance. "And in other branches of literature I think we have improved on our forefathers. American poets have never before done such exquisite things as they are doing to-day, and one or two short story writers are doing better things than were ever done before in this country. If you compare the short stories in old issues of the magazines with those in the current issues you will find that the old short stories are as much inferior to the new short stories as the old novels--the serialized novels--are superior to the new ones." A Field _By Minnie Stichter_ Sometime I expect to turn a sharp corner and come face to face with myself, according to the ancient maxim, "extremes meet." For, did I not vow to the Four Great Walls that had imprisoned me for nine months, that I would fly to the uttermost parts of the earth so soon as vacation should open the doors? And did I not spend almost my entire summer within sight of my home, and in a field of a few acres dimension? I caught sight of some flowers, just inside the barbed wire fencing the track, that were fairer than any I had yet gathered for my vases. As the old song has it, "O, brighter the flowers on the other side seem!" No one saw me get under that six-stranded barbed-wire fence, and I am not going to tell how I did it. But when I got through I felt as well guarded as though attended by a retinue of soldiers. And I found myself in another world--a dream-world! It was a large field rosy with red clover and waving with tall timothy. A single tree glistened and rustled invitingly. In its shade I rested, refreshing myself with the field sights and sounds and fragrances. It was delightful to be the center of so much beauty as circled round about me. Then I had only to rest on the rosy clover-carpet at the foot of the tree, and the tall grass eclipsed all things earthly save the tree, and the sky overhead, and the round mat of clover under the tree which the grass ringed about. I had often wished for Siegfried's magic cloak. Well, here was something quite as good, which, if it did not render me invisible to the world, made the world invisible to me. Who of you would not be glad to have the old world with its "everyday endeavors and desires," its folly, its pride and its tears, drop out of sight for a while, leaving you in a flowery zone of perfect quiet and beauty, hedged in by a wall of grass! There were many "afterwards." And the marvel of it all was that, for all I could do, the field retained its virgin splendor and kept the secret of my goings-in and comings-out most completely. After the daisies, there came a season of black-eyed Susans. That was when the grasses were tallest and the feeling of mystery did most abound. I know I had been there many days before I discovered the myriads of wild roses near the crabtree thicket--those fairies' flowers so exquisite in their pink frailty that mortal breath is rude. Only when I reached the hedge, bounding the remote side of the field, did I enter into my full inheritance. Along a barbed-wire fence had grown up sumac, elderberry, crabtrees and nameless brambles, while over all trailed the wild grapevine, bearing the most perfect miniature clusters, fit to be sculptured by Trentanove into immortal beauty. And this hedge was the source of ever increasing wonder the whole summer long. I depended on it alone for sensational denouements after the grass was cut for hay. When the field lay shorn, like other fields about it far and wide, I could not have been lured hitherward but for the hedge. There the hard green berries of a peculiar bramble ripened into wax-white pellet-sized drops clustered together on a woody stem by the most coral-pink pedicles ever designed by sea-sprites. In its time came the elderberry bloom, and its purple fruit; the garnet fruit of the sumach and its flaming foliage; the lengths of vines and their purple clusters--all these and more also ministered to my delight. About goldenrod time, the school-bell rang me in from the field, but I managed to take recesses long enough to behold the kaleidoscopic views brought before me by the turning of nature's hand. The smooth velvety green of the field with its border of gold and lavender--great widths of thistle and goldenrod following the line of fence--was like the broidered mantle of some celestial Sir Walter Raleigh, spread for the queens of earth. I was no queen; but I did not envy royalty, since I doubted if it had any such cherished possessions as my field in its various phases. In the November days, the brightness of the fields seemed to be inverted and to be seen in the opalescent tints of the sky. Then, the clearness of the atmosphere, the wider horizon, the less hidden homes and doings of men, had this message for the children of men: "If there is any secret in your life, leave it out." When it is December and the fields are too snowy and wind-swept for pleasure-grounds, where the only bits of brightness are the embroideries of the scarlet pips of the wild-rose, it is good to nestle by the cozy fireside and conjure it all up again, and nourish a feeling of expectancy for the spring and summer that shall come. Again, the flowers and waving grass and drowsy warmth of the summer day; again, the songs of flitting birds, the scented sweets of the new-mown hay. Again the work of the fields goes on before me like a play in pantomime! Again, with my eyes, I follow home the boys with their cows, to the purple rim of the hill beyond which only my fancy has ever gone. Again I quit work with the tired laborer. Again I dream of the open, free, unfettered song that life might be if it were lived more simply, with less of artificiality. And again, for the sake of one patient toiler in the town, whose life-task admits of no holiday, I have the grace to return thither and begin where I left off--the life common to you and to me, the life ordained for us from the beginning. Your Lad, and My Lad _By Randall Parrish_ Down toward the deep blue water, marching to the throb of drum, From city street and country lane the lines of khaki come; The rumbling guns, the sturdy tread, are full of grim appeal, While rays of western sunshine flash back from burnished steel. With eager eyes and cheeks aflame the serried ranks advance; And your dear lad, and my dear lad, are on their way to France. A sob clings choking in the throat, as file on file sweep by, Between those cheering multitudes, to where the great ships lie; The batteries halt, the columns wheel, to clear-toned bugle call, With shoulders squared and faces front they stand a khaki wall. Tears shine on every watcher's cheek, love speaks in every glance; For your dear lad, and my dear lad, are on their way to France. Before them, through a mist of years, in soldier buff or blue, Brave comrades from a thousand fields watch now in proud review; The same old Flag, the same old Faith--the Freedom of the World-- Spells Duty in those flapping folds above long ranks unfurled. Strong are the hearts which bear along Democracy's advance, As your dear lad, and my dear lad, go on their way to France. Peace and Then--? _By Detlev Fredrik Tillisch_ _Suburb of London. Three months after declaration of peace. Time: Noon._ CAST Mrs. Claire Hamilton--about 35 years of age--portly--simply dressed. Master Hal Hamilton--her son--about 10 years of age--full of life--dressed in Boy Scout uniform. Mr. John Hamilton--soldier--botanist--about 39 years of age--tall--well built. Sergeant, soldiers and pedestrians. Claire Hamilton is seen fixing her corner flower stand and endeavoring to sell her plants to passers-by, but after three futile attempts she becomes tired of standing and takes seat on wooden bench in front of her stand. Takes letter from pocket--sighs and begins to read letter aloud. _Mrs. Hamilton (reading)._ "Dearest Love and Hal Boy--We are still in the bowels of hell--but even this would be nothing if I but knew my loved ones were well and happy. (_She wipes away a tear and continues reading._) Nothing but a miracle can end this terrible war. Give my own dear Hallie boy a kiss from his longing papa." (_She lays letter on her lap and meditates._) Peace (_shakes her head--looks at date of letter._) February 16th--six months past and now it's all over--three months ago--Oh, God, bring him back to me and my boy. (_She goes back of flower stand and brings out box of mignonettes. Hal comes running in with bundle of newspapers and very much excited--his sleeve is torn. He stands still and looks at mother rather proudly and defiantly._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ Hal Boy--what's the trouble? _Hal._ I licked Fritz. _Mrs. Hamilton._ What for? _Hal._ He said it took the whole world to lick the Germans. _Mrs. Hamilton._ But, Hal, my boy--the war is over--you mustn't be hateful--be kind and forgiving. _Hal._ Make them bring back my daddy then. _Mrs. Hamilton._ You still have your mother--(_Hal runs to mother and embraces her tenderly._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ Whose birthday is it to-day? (_He thinks--pause._) This is the 20th of August--now think hard. (_She awaits answer--silence--then takes box of mignonettes._) Whose favorite flower is the mignonette? _Hal._ Papa's! Papa's! (_Claps his hands boyishly._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ Yes, Hal--it's papa's birthday and mother is remembering the day by decorating our little stand with the flowers your papa has grown. (_He caresses the mignonettes tenderly._) _Hal._ Dear daddy--dear flowers--aren't they lovely, mother? _Mrs. Hamilton._ Yes, Hal. (_She wipes away a tear, trying to conceal her emotions from her son._) _Hal._ Maybe some day I'll be a famous botanist like papa and then you'll have two boxes. (_Mother is silent trying to keep back the tears and Hal notices it._) Papa is coming home soon, isn't he, mother? (_She just shakes her head._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ We must be brave. _Hal._ When I get big I'm going to be a soldier and be brave like daddy. _Mrs. Hamilton._ That won't be necessary any more--it isn't the people who want to fight. _Hal._ But daddy did and you bet if anybody makes me sore I'll fight too. _Mrs. Hamilton._ No, my boy--daddy didn't want to fight---- _Hal._ Then why did he go? _Mrs. Hamilton._ Hal, you're a little boy and wouldn't understand--but just remember what your mother tells you: Don't be selfish--be tolerant, honest and charitable to all the peoples of the world, the big and the small alike. (_Enter passer-by who stops to look over plants. After Mrs. Hamilton has shown several and given him prices, he picks up the box of mignonettes._) _Man._ I'll take this box. _Mrs. Hamilton (confused, not knowing whether to tell stranger about that particular box of flowers or sell it, as she sorely needs money. Then she picks up another plant to show it.)_ Here's a very sturdy plant, sir. _Man._ But I want this one. (_Pointing to box of mignonettes._) How much is it? I'm in a hurry. _Hal (goes to stranger and takes box from his hands)._ You can't have them--they're daddy's. _Man (pushing him to one side)._ Get away from here, you little ruffian. _Mrs. Hamilton._ That's my son, sir--he's not a ruffian. His father has not returned from the front and that---- _Man (interrupting)._ Oh, yes--yes--we hear those stories every day now on every corner--it's the beggar's capital. (_He walks away hurriedly, but Hal starts after with clenched fist._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ Hal! Hal! What did mother tell you a few moments ago? _Hal (coming back)._ But he made me sore. _Mrs. Hamilton._ What's the news--(_Hal hands her a paper, kisses her and starts up street._) _Hal._ Paper--extra--paper! (_He disappears._) _Mrs. Hamilton (is attracted by headlines in paper and begins to read aloud)._ "Fifty men return to-day from the front to be placed in the asylum." (_She buries her face in her hands._) Better that he were dead. (_Sound of footsteps is heard. Enter detachment of ten men in uniform in charge of a sergeant. They swing corner of flower stand and Mrs. Hamilton watches every man and there is a tense silence. Suddenly Mrs. Hamilton rushes toward them._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ John! John! My boy! (_They halt. Mrs. Hamilton swoons. Sergeant goes to her and assists her to bench in front of stand. She becomes calm and goes toward husband with out-stretched arms._) Don't you know me? Claire, your wife! (_He stares at her, but shows no signs of recognition._) You remember Hal--Hal, your own boy--our little boy--John! (_He just looks at her and smiles foolishly. Sergeant takes her gently by the arm to lead her away, thinking her hysterically mistaken as many others have been._) _Sergeant._ Are you quite sure, madam, that he is your husband? _Mrs. Hamilton._ Yes--John Hamilton--have you no record---- _Sergeant._ Not yet. But time will clear away any doubts---- _Mrs. Hamilton._ Time--time! I've waited long enough on time. He's mine and I want him. (_Turns toward husband._) You want to stay here with me and our boy--don't you, John? (_Pause._) Sergeant, let me have him. _Sergeant (trying to hide his emotion)._ You're quite sure, madam--(_Mrs. Hamilton nods and sergeant takes John from ranks. John just stares. Mrs. Hamilton leads him tenderly to seat. Sergeant starts others to march._) _Sergeant._ I'll return for him after delivering these men. (_Mrs. Hamilton takes no notice of his remarks and they march off._) _Mrs. Hamilton (kissing his hands tenderly and giving him all signs of love and affection)._ Doesn't it seem good to be with us again? (_He smiles foolishly._) And our boy Hal--He is so large now--You'll see him soon. Think of it--he's ten years old. (_Hal enters and without noticing father rushes toward his mother, holding a package in his hand. His father sees him and notices his uniform--rises quickly and rushes toward him but mother grabs his arm and holds him back. Hal remains standing._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ That's Hal--your own boy. Hal--your son. _Mr. Hamilton (looks at Hal fiercely)._ Attention! (_Hal looks perplexed._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ This is your own papa--my boy. (_Hal runs toward him but stops._) _Mr. Hamilton._ Attention! (_His hands grab his pocket for revolver but finds none._) You scullion--this is my girl! (_Turns and puts arms around Mrs. Hamilton._) Aren't you, Sissy? (_Mrs. Hamilton realizes situation and plays her part--leads him to seat--strokes his hair and caresses him._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ What have you, Hal? _Hal._ I sold all my papers and brought you a little cake for daddy's birthday. _Mrs. Hamilton (smiles and shakes her head. She takes box of mignonettes and shows them to Mr. Hamilton.)._ You surely remember these--your own mignonettes--your prize? (_She is silent. He smells flowers--she anxiously awaits any signs of recognition--long pause--a slight spark of intelligence comes over him as he fondles the flowers--Mrs. Hamilton very tense but says nothing. Hal remains standing as if rooted to the spot. Enter sergeant._) _Sergeant._ I must deliver him with the others, madam. (_No reply._) It's my duty. (_He goes to take Mr. Hamilton by the arm, but Mrs. Hamilton interferes._) _Mrs. Hamilton._ Duty! Duty! It has been my duty to slave and starve--my husband has done his duty--he volunteered his services--I willingly let him go--for what? For whom? (_Pause._) Now it's all over. This is the result to me--to thousands, but now--(_stands between Mr. Hamilton and sergeant_)--God has brought him back to me and God will keep him with me! _Mr. Hamilton (in a whisper)._ God--(_rubs hands over eyes_)--God---- (_Smells fragrance of the mignonettes. He takes Mrs. Hamilton's hand and Hal runs to him and kneels beside him._) My mignonette. (_Smiles to Mrs. Hamilton and Hal._) My mignonettes. Semper Fidelis _By Addie B. Billington_ When free from earthly toil and thrall of pain, Time's transient guest, One large of heart and finely quick of brain Found early rest. Kind friends ordained that on his coffin lid, Bedecked with flowers, His last Romance should lie, forever hid From sight of ours. Th' unfinished page no other hand might press, Where his had wrought, Nor Fancy weave strange threads--to match by guess The strands he sought. The motives worthy and the action grand, In faithful trust, To bury what they could not understand, With fleeting dust. And if within the years there treasured lies, 'Neath Memory's trance, Wreathed in forget-me-nots, my sacred prize-- A life's Romance-- Heav'n grant no ruthless hand the pages turn, When I am gone, Striving its inmost meaning to discern; 'Tis mine alone. Our Bird Friends _By Margaret Coulson Walker_ Lovers of birds will doubtless be pleased to know that some of the most agreeable and interesting legends of the past were centered about these guests of our groves, whose actions formed the basis of innumerable fancies and superstitions. An acquaintance with the literature as well as with the life history of our feathered friends will not only increase our interest in the bird life about us but it will broaden our sympathies as well. Birds exercised a strong influence on prehistoric religion, having been worshipped as gods in the earlier days and later looked upon as representatives of the higher powers. The Greeks went so far as to attribute the origin of the world itself to the egg of some mysterious bird. To others, these small creatures flitting about among our trees, represented the visible spirits of departed friends. The Aztecs believed that the good, as a reward of merit, were metamorphosed at the close of life into feathered songsters, and as such were permitted to pass a certain term in the beautiful groves of Paradise. To them, as to all North American Indians, thunder was the cloud bird flapping his mighty wings, while the lightning was the flash of his eye. The people of other countries believed that higher powers showed their displeasure by transforming wrong-doers into birds and animals as a punishment for their crimes. In all lands birds were invested with the power of prophecy. They were believed to possess superior intelligence through being twice-born, once as an egg, and again as an animal. Because of their wisdom, not only they, but their graven images also, were consulted on all important affairs of life. Many nations, notably the Japanese, are still believers in the direct communication between man and unseen beings, through birds and other agents. In their country, birds are regarded as sacred, and for this reason the agriculturist gladly shares with them the fruit of his toil. While we of to-day attach no supernatural significance to the presence of these feathered songsters, and even though to us they possess no powers of prophecy, we can find a great deal of pleasure in observing these beings whose boding cries were regarded as omens by the greatest of earth--beings whose actions in Vespasian's time were considered of vital national importance. Aside from their historic and literary interest, these multitudinous, and often contradictory, legends and superstitions are of interest to us as a part of the faith of our fathers, much of which, combined with other and higher things, is in us yet. These beliefs of theirs, like many of what we are pleased to think are original ideas and opinions to-day, were hereditary and largely a matter of geography. In ancient times the chief birds of portent were the raven or crow, the owl and the woodpecker, though there were a number of others on the prophetic list. As an example of interest let us consider our friend the raven and his congener the crow, who are so confused in literature, as well as in the minds of those not familiar with ornithological classification, that it is almost impossible to treat them separately. The raven is a larger bird and not quite so widely distributed as the crow, but in general appearance and habits they are practically the same. If tradition is to be credited, we are more indebted to this bird of ancient family than to any other feathered creature, for he has played an important part in history, sacred and profane, in literature, and in art. On the authority of the Koran we know that it was he who first taught man to bury his dead. When Cain did not know what disposition to make of the body of his slain brother, "God sent a raven, who killed another raven in his presence and then dug a pit with his beak and claws and buried him therein." It was the raven whom Noah sent forth to learn whether the waters had abated--one of the rare instances wherein he ever proved faithless to his trust--and it was he who gave sustenance to the prophet Elijah. In Norse mythology, Odin, the greatest of all the gods, the raven's God, had for his chief advisers two ravens, Hugin and Munin (Mind and Memory), who were sent out by him each morning on newsgathering journeys, and who returned to him at nightfall to perch on his shoulders and whisper into his ears intelligence of the day. When news of unusual importance was desired, Odin himself in raven guise went forth to seek it, and when the Norse armies went into battle they followed the raven standard, a banner under which William the Conqueror fought. When bellied by the breezes it betokened success, but when it hung limp, only defeat was expected. Norse navigators took with them a pair of ravens to be liberated and followed as guides; if the bird returned it was known that land did not lie in that direction; if they did not, they were followed. The discoveries of both Iceland and Greenland are attributed to their leadership. To the Romans and Greeks the raven was the chief bird of omen, whose effigy was borne on their banners, and whose auguries were followed with greatest confidence, while to the German mind he was his satanic majesty made manifest in feathers. In some parts of Germany these birds are believed to hold the souls of the damned, while in other European sections priests only are believed to be so reincarnated. In Sweden the ravens croaking at night in the swamps are said to be the ghosts of murdered persons who have been denied Christian burial, and whom on this account Charon has refused ferriage across the River Styx. As a companion of saints this bird has had too many experiences to mention. By some nations he was regarded as the bearer of propitious news from the gods--and sacrosanct, to others he was the precursor of evil and an object of dread. With divining power, which enabled him for ages to tell the farmer of coming rain, the maiden of the coming of her lover and the invalid of the coming of death, he was received with joy or sadness, according to the messages he bore. In England he was looked upon with greater favor; there the mere presence of the home of a raven in a tree-top was enough to insure the continuance in power of the family owning the estate. The wealth of raven literature bears indubitable testimony to the interest people of all times and all localities have felt in this remarkable bird--an interest certain to increase with acquaintance. To one with mind open to rural charm, this picturesque bird, solemnly stalking about the fields, or majestically flapping his way to the treetops, is as much a part of the landscape as the fields themselves, or the trees upon their borders; it possesses an interest different from that of any other creature of the feathered race. Though he no longer pursues the craft of the augur, his superior intelligence, great dignity and general air of mystery inspire confidence in his abilities in that line. What powers were his in the old days! Foolish maidens and ignorant sailors might put their faith in the divining powers of the flighty wren; others might consult the swallow and the kingfisher; but it was to the "many-wintered crow" that kings and the great ones of earth applied for advice, and it was he who never failed them. According to Pliny, he was the only bird capable of realizing the meaning of his portents. In the early morning light the worthy successors of the ancient Hugin and Munin go forth to-day in quest of news of interest to their clan, just as those historic messengers did in the days when the mighty Norse gods awaited their return, that they might act on the intelligence gathered by them during the daylight hours; and when slanting beams call forth the vesper songs of more tuneful birds, they return, followed by long lines of other crows, to their usual haunts on the borders of the marshes. Singly or in long lines, never in loose flocks like blackbirds, they arrive from all directions, till what must be the whole tribe is gathered together--a united family--for the night's repose. As there in the treetops in the early evening, in convention assembled, they discuss important affairs, who can doubt that certain ones of their number are recognized as leaders, and that they have some form of government among themselves? One after another delivers himself of a harangue, then the whole assemblage joins in noisy applause--or is it disapproval? At other times sociability seems to be the sole object of the gathering. As one old crow, more meditative than the rest, at the close of the conclave always betakes himself to the same perch, the lonely, up-thrust shaft of a lightning-shattered tree on the hillside, we decide that here is old Munin, who has selected this perch as one favorable to meditation--a place where he may ponder undisturbed over the occurrences of the day. Others among the group have habits as fixed and noticeable. Even though approaching his perch from the opposite direction, one will be seen to circle and draw near it from the accustomed side; some of the more decided ones will invariably remain just where they alight; others will turn around and arrange themselves on their perches indefinitely. In the fields it will be noticed that some are socially inclined and forage in groups, while others, either from personal choice or that of their neighbors, are more solitary. Like members of the human family, each has his own individual characteristic. While the chief charm of the crow is his intelligence, his dignity also claims our attention. Who ever saw one of his tribe do anything foolish or unbecoming to the funeral director he has been ever since the birth of time, and that he must ever be while time endures? The ancients believed him to be able to scent a funeral several days before death occurred, so sensitive was he to mortuary influences, and there is little doubt he still possesses the power to discern approaching death in many creatures smaller than himself--and to whom he expects to extend the rite of sepulchre. Inside and out he is clothed in deepest black; even his tongue and the inside of his mouth are in mourning. Seeming to think it incumbent on him to live up to his funeral garb and occupation, faithful to his trust, with clerical solemnity he goes about his everyday duties. Gazing on them from his watchtower in the tree tops, what does this grave creature think of the gayer birds that dwell in the meadows and groves round about? What thinks he of the clownish bobolink, in motley nuptial livery, pouring out his silly soul in gurgling, rollicking song, in his efforts to please a possible mate, then quarreling with both her and his rivals, who also have donned cap and bell to win her favor? What of the unpretentious home--a mere hollow in the ground--where the care-free pair go to housekeeping? What of the redwings building their nests among the reeds in the midst of the marsh--so low as almost to touch the water? Of the fitful wren, incessantly singing of love to his mate, yet who fails to assist her in nest-building, and who proves but an indifferent provider for his young family? Of the lonely phoebe, calling in plaintive, mysterious tones to a mate unresponsive to his sorrowful beseechings? Of the robin, who makes of the grove a sanctuary? He doubtless has his opinions concerning every one of them, for he views them all with interest. Hearing all the other birds singing their love and seeing them winning favor with their brilliant colors, does he envy them? On the theory of compensation, his sterling qualities render accomplishments and decorative raiment unnecessary. With no song in which to tell his story, and no garments gay to captivate the eye, the crow must needs live his love--and he does--to the end. Seriously he wins the mate to whom he remains true forever. To him the marital bond is not the mere tie of a season, but one that holds through life. He assists the dusky bride of his choice in establishing a commodious home in the most commanding situation available--the top of the tallest tree in the edge of the wood, and which may have been planted by one of his ancestors. He assists her in giving warmth to their eggs in the nest. He carries food to her while she broods over them. He braves every danger in protecting both her and them against predatory hawks and owls and frolicking squirrels, to whom he is known as the "warrior crow." With tenderest solicitude he relieves his mate as far as he can in ministering to their nestlings. And what of the young crows in the nest? When their elders are away on commissary tours, the young ones, bewailing the absence of parents almost constantly, are always found, on the return, in attitudes of expectancy. To them the approach of older crows, even though it be from the left, is never ominous of anything but good. And when after many excursions baby appetites have been satisfied, in their lofty cradles in the tree tops, the infant crows are rocked by the breezes, and though the tuneless throats of the parents yield no songs they are not without music, for soft æolian lullabies soothe them to sleep. On hearing farmers talk, one would think that the diet of the crow is entirely granivorous, while no bird has a more adaptable appetite; everything eatable is perfectly acceptable--harmful grubs, beetles, worms, young rats, mice, snakes and moles, as well as mollusks, acorns, nuts, wild fruit and berries are among his staple articles of diet. And, though it is no longer believed that "he shakes contagion from his ominous wing," he occasions a lamentable amount of infant mortality among rabbits, and squirrels, and even among weak-limbed lambs, depriving them of health, strength and happiness--but not through magic. These last he attacks in the eye, as the most vulnerable point. In the old days he is reputed to have met with great success as an oculist; in these his patients never recover. In winter, when cereal stores and acorns which supply the season's want lie buried in the snow, and when such animals as in youth were ready prey have grown to a more formidable majority, crows frequently suffer and perish from hunger, and when snows lie long on the ground many of them are found dead beneath their roosting places. The voice of the crow when heard distinctly has in it something of the winter's harshness and seems to harmonize best with winter sounds--creaking boughs and shrieking winds--but when modulated by distance it is not unmusical. In the twilight, when calling to his belated brethren across the marshes, his uncanny call might well be taken for the cry of a lost soul craving Christian burial. Yet this might depend on one's mood. To each he seems to speak a different language. To St. Athanasius he said: "Cras, cras!" (To-morrow, to-morrow). To the sympathetic Tennyson he always called, in tenderest accents, the name "Maud." Though this bird is said to have no tongue for expressing the happier emotions, the voice of the mother crow when soothing her nestlings, with gurgling notes of endearment, is tender as the robin's; and the head of the family, though croaking savagely when his mate is molested, and though able to send an exultant "caw" after a retreating enemy, never lowers himself by scolding as the jay does. Whatever his faults may be--and they are many--to anyone taking the trouble to study the crow, either in captivity or in his native environment, he will prove the most interesting example of his race, an agreeable companion, an ideal home-maker, a thrifty being, a liberal provider, an able defender of his family, a destroyer of harmful insect and animal life, a burier of the dead, a creature of dignity, a keen observer, and the intellectual marvel of the bird world. A Load of Hay _By James B. Weaver_ Hard paved streets and hurrying feet, Where it's oft but a nod when old friends meet, Rattle of cart and shriek of horn, Laughing Youth and Age forlorn, Bound for the office I speed away, When my auto brushes--a load of hay! Chauffeur curses, I scarcely hear, For things I loved as a boy seem near: Scent of meadows at early morn, Miles of waving fields of corn, Lowing cattle and colts at play-- Far have I drifted another way! Hark, the bell as it calls the noon! Boys at their chores, hear them whistle a tune! Barn doors creaking on rusty locks, Rattle of corn in the old feed-box, Answering nicker at toss of hay-- Old sweet sounds of a far-off day. There, my driver stops with a jerk; Then far aloft to the scene of my work; But all day long midst the city's roar My heart is the heart of a boy once more, My feet in old-time fields astray, Lured--by the scent from a load of hay! Iowa As a Literary Field _By Johnson Brigham_[1] LITERARY IOWA IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY Late in the last century readers of books awoke to the fact that the world-including, world-inviting prairies of the Mississippi Valley were no longer inarticulate; that in this great "Heart of the World's Heart," among the millions who have been drawn to these prairie states, there are lives as rich--in all that really enriches--as those immortalized in the literature of New England, or of the Pacific slope. It was not to be expected that the westward-moving impulse to create would cease on reaching the Mississippi River. [1] Editor of the "Midland Monthly" and author of "Life of James Harlan," "Iowa--Its History and Its Foremost Citizens," "An Old Man's Idyl," etc. In Iowa's pioneer days but little original matter found its way into print except contributions to the rough and ready journalism of the period. A few pioneer writers, possessed of the historiographer's instinct, performed a rare service to the young commonwealth by passing on to future generations their first-hand knowledge of the prominent men and events of the first half of the century. Chief among these are Theodore S. Parvin, William Salter, Alexander R. Fulton, Samuel S. Howe and Charles Aldrich. The two last named published several series of "The Annals of Iowa" which remain unfailing reservoirs of information to later historians and students of Iowa history. Iowa Masonry is specially indebted to Professor Parvin for his invaluable contributions to the history of the order in Iowa. Dr. Salter wrote the first notable Iowa biography, that of James W. Grimes, published in 1876. Fulton's "Red Men of Iowa" is as valuable as it is rare, for, though written as late as 1882, it is the first exhaustive attempt to describe the tribes originally inhabiting Iowa. The war period--1861-5--developed "Iowa in War Times," by S. H. M. Byers, and "Iowa Colonels and Regiments," by A. A. Stuart, also many valuable personal sketches and regimental histories. Long before the close of the century, the name of Samuel Hawkins Marshall Byers had grown familiar to the people of Iowa, because of the popularity of his song entitled "Sherman's March to the Sea," and because contemporary historians, attracted by its suggestive title, adapted it as especially appropriate for the most dramatic event in the history of the war for the Union. Major Byers' most lasting contribution to literature is his poem "The March to the Sea," epic in character and interspersed with lyrics of the war. Reading this, one can hear the thrilling bugle call, and "see once again the bivouacs in the wood." Looking again, one can see the army in motion-- "A sight it was! that sea of army blue, The sloping guns of the swift tramping host, Winding its way the fields and forests through, As winds some river slowly to the coast. The snow-white trains, the batteries grim, and then The steady tramp of sixty thousand men." Passing over pages filled with stories of the camp and march, and with moving pictures of the dusky throng of camp-followers who saw in the coming of Sherman's men "God's new exodus," we come to the dramatic climax: "But on a day, while tired and sore they went, Across some hills wherefrom the view was free, A sudden shouting down the lines was sent; They looked and cried, 'This is the sea! the sea!' And all at once a thousand cheers were heard And all the army shout the glorious word. "Bronzed soldiers stood and shook each other's hands; Some wept for joy, as for a brother found; And down the slopes, and from the far-off sands, They thought they heard already the glad sound Of the old ocean welcoming them on To that great goal they had so fairly won." I would not be unmindful of our Iowa poet's other contributions. Before the century's close, Mr. Byers had written "Switzerland and the Swiss," and "What I saw in Dixie," also a book of verse entitled "Happy Isles and Other Poems," besides much occasional verse in celebration of events in Iowa history. So many and excellent are Major Byers' contributions to such occasions that their author has fitly been styled the "uncrowned poet laureate of Iowa." The title is strengthened by two distinctively Iowa songs, one, "The Wild Rose of Iowa," a tribute to our State Flower; the other entitled "Iowa," sung to the air of "My Maryland." One of Iowa's pioneer poets was signally honored by public insistence that his "swan song" was the song of another and greater. In July, 1863, John L. McCreery, of Delhi, Iowa, published in _Arthur's Home Magazine_ a poem entitled "There Is No Death." The poem went the round of the press attributed to Bulwer Lytton. A newspaper controversy followed, the result of which was that the Iowa poet was generally awarded the palm of authorship. But error sometimes seems to possess more vitality than truth! Every few years thereafter, the McCreery poem would make another round of the press with Bulwer Lytton's name attached! Finally, in response to urgent request, the modest author published his story of the poem. It is interesting to note the circumstances under which the first and best stanza was conceived. The author was riding over the prairie on horseback when night overtook him. Orion was "riding in triumph down the western sky." The "subdued and tranquil radiance of the heavenly host" imparted a hopeful tinge to his somber meditations on life and death, and under the inspiration of the scene he composed the lines: "There is no death; the stars go down To rise upon some other shore; And bright in heaven's jeweled crown They shine forever more." The next morning he wrote other stanzas, the last of which reads: "And ever near us, though unseen, The dear, immortal spirits tread; For all the boundless universe Is life--there are no dead." One of the curiosities of literature is the fact that the substitution of Bulwer's name for that of the author arose from the inclusion of McCreery's poem (without credit) in an article on "Immortality" signed by one "E. Bulmer." An exchange copied the poem with the name Bulmer "corrected" to Bulwer--and thus it started on its rounds. As late as 1870, Harper's "Fifth Reader" credited the poem to Lord Lytton! The Granger "Index to Poetry" (1904) duly credits it to the Iowa author. It is interesting to recall, in passing, the fact that nowhere in or out of the state is there to be found a copy of McCreery's little volume of "Songs of Toil and Triumph," published by Putnam's Sons in 1883, the unsold copies of which the author says he bought, "thus acquiring a library of several hundred volumes." It seems to have been the fate of Iowa's pioneer poets to find their verse attributed to others. So it was with Belle E. Smith's well-known poem, "If I Should Die To-night." Under the reflex action of Ben King's clever parody, it has been the habit of newspaper critics to smile at Miss Smith's poem. But when we recall the fact that several poets thought well enough of it to stake their reputation on it; and that, in the course of its odyssey to all parts of the English-reading world, it was variously attributed to Henry Ward Beecher, F. K. Crosby, Robert C. V. Myers, Lucy Hooper, Letitia E. Landon, and others, and that Rider Haggard used it, in a mutilated form, in "Jess," leaving the reader to infer that it was part of his own literary creation, may we not conclude that the verse is a real poem worthy of its place in the anthologies? In the Granger Index (1904) it is credited to Robert C. V. Myers,--the credit followed by the words: "Attributed to Arabella E. Smith"! If support of Miss Smith's unasserted but now indisputable claim to the poem be desired, it can be found in Professor W. W. Gist's contribution on the subject entitled "Is It Unconscious Assimilation?"[2] Miss Smith--long a resident of Newton, Iowa, and later a sojourner in California until her recent death--was of a singularly retiring nature. She lived much within herself and thought profoundly, as her poetical contributions to the _Midland Monthly_ reveal. In none of her other poems did she reveal herself quite as clearly as in the poem under consideration. It is in four stanzas. In the first is this fine line referring to her own face, calm in death: "And deem that death had left it almost fair." [2] Midland Monthly, March, 1894. The poem concludes with the pathetic word to the living: "Oh! friends, I pray to-night, Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow-- The way is lonely, let me feel them now. Think gently of me; I am travel-worn; My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn. Forgive, O hearts estranged; forgive, I plead! When dreamless rest is mine I shall not need The tenderness for which I long to-night!" I like to think of the veteran Tacitus Hussey, of Des Moines, as that octogenarian with the heart of youth. This genial poet and quaint philosopher made a substantial contribution to the century's output of literature, a collection of poems of humor and sentiment entitled "The River Bend and Other Poems." This author has contributed the words of a song which is reasonably sure of immortality. I refer to "Iowa, Beautiful Land," set to music by Congressman H. M. Towner. It fairly sings itself into the melody. "The corn-fields of billowy gold, In Iowa, 'Beautiful Land,' Are smiling with treasure untold, In Iowa,'Beautiful Land.'" The next stanza, though including one prosaic line, has taken on a new poetic significance since the war-stricken nations of the old world are turning to America for food. The stanza concludes: "The food hope of nations is she-- With love overflowing and free And her rivers which run to the sea, In Iowa, 'Beautiful Land.'" Among Iowans in middle-life and older, the name of Robert J. Burdette, or "Bob" Burdette as he was familiarly called, brings vividly to mind a genial, sunny little man from Burlington, who went about doing good, making people forget their woes by accepting his philosophy--a simple philosophy, that of looking upon the sunny side of life. The "Chimes from a Jester's Bells" still ring in our ears, though the jester has passed on. Reference has been made to the pioneer magazine of Iowa, the _Midland Monthly_, of Des Moines. As its eleven volumes include the first contributions of a considerable number of Iowa authors who have since become famous, this publication may be said to have inaugurated an era of intellectual activity in Iowa. Its first number contained an original story, "The Canada Thistle," by "Octave Thanet" (Miss French), a group of poems by Hamlin Garland from advance proofs of his "Prairie Songs," an original story by S. H. M. Byers, and other inviting contributions. Looking back over the Iowa field from the viewpoint of 1894, when the _Iowa Magazine_ entered upon its short-lived career (1894-99), I find, in addition to the authors and works already mentioned, a nationally interesting episode of the John Brown raid, by Governor B. F. Gue. Maud Meredith (Mrs. Dwight Smith), Calista Halsey Patchin and Alice Ilgenfritz Jones, the three pioneer novelists of Iowa, were among the magazine's contributors. In 1879, the Lippincotts published "High-water Mark" by Mrs. Jones. In 1881 appeared Maud Meredith's "Rivulet and Clover Blossoms," and two years later her "St. Julien's Daughter." Mrs. Patchin's "Two of Us" appeared at about the same time. Miss Alice French, "Octave Thanet" to the literary world, has been a known quantity since 1887, when her fine group of short stories, "Knitters in the Sun," put Iowa on the literary map. "Expiation," "We All," a book for boys, "Stories of a Western Town" and "An Adventure in Photography" followed. Miss French has continued to write novels and short stories well on into the new century. In fact some of her strongest creations bear the twentieth century stamp. Hamlin Garland was also known and read by many as early as the eighties. His, too, was the short-story route to fame, and Iowa was his field. From his literary vantage ground in Boston, the young author wrote in the guise of fiction his vivid memories of boy life and the life of youth in northeastern Iowa and southwestern Wisconsin. His "Main Traveled Roads," the first of many editions appearing in 1891, made him famous. Though the stories contained flashes of humor, the dominant note was serious, as befitted the West in the Seventies in which the author as boy and man struggled with adverse conditions. But the joy of youth would rise superior to circumstance, as is evidenced in the charming sketch of "Boy Life in the West."[3] I like to recall the prose-poem with which it concludes: [3] Midland Monthly, February, 1894. "I wonder if, far out in Iowa, the boys are still playing 'Hi Spy' around the straw-piles.... That runic chant, with its endless repetitions, doubtless is heard on any moonlight night in far-off Iowa. I wish I might join once more in the game--I fear I could not enjoy 'Hi Spy' even were I invited to join. But I sigh with a curious longing for something that was mine in those days on the snowy Iowa plains. What was it? Was it sparkle of winter days? Was it stately march of moon? Was it the presence of dear friends? Yes; all these and more--it was Youth!" Before the century closed, this transplanted Iowan had also written "Jason Edwards," a story of Iowa politics, "Wayside Courtships," "Prairie Folks," "Spirit of Sweetwater," "Trail of the Gold-seekers," and scores of short stories first published in the magazines. Mr. Garland's twentieth century output has been prolific of popular novels and short stories. His latest book, "A Son of the Middle Border," is pronounced by William Dean Howells a unique achievement and ranking well up with the world's best autobiographies. A new name associated with Iowa at the close of the last century was that of Emerson Hough. "The Story of the Cowboy" (1897) can hardly be classed as fiction, and yet it "reads like a romance." Mr. Hough, long a roving correspondent of _Forest and Stream_, first tried "his 'prentice han'" as a story-writer in "Belle's Roses," a tense story of army life on the plains.[4] This was followed by several promising short stories and, in 1902, by "The Mississippi Bubble," a historical romance of quality founded upon the adventurous career of John Law, pioneer in the fields of frenzied finance. Three years later came his "Heart's Desire," a beautiful love story of the Southwest. In 1907 appeared his "Way of a Man" and "Story of the Outlaw." Several other novels have come from his facile pen. The most severely criticized and best seller of the series is his "54-40 or Fight," a historical novel based on the diplomatic controversy over Oregon in 1845-6. Mr. Hough is the most successful alumnus of Iowa State University in the difficult field of fiction. [4] Midland Monthly, June-July, 1895. Lingering over the index to the eleven volumes of Iowa's pioneer magazine, I am tempted to mention in passing several other names that stand out prominently in the memory of _Midland_ readers. Mrs. Virginia H. Reichard contributed an interesting paper, "A Glimpse of Arcadia." Mrs. Caroline M. Hawley gave a valuable illustrated paper on "American Pottery." Mrs. Addie B. Billington, Mrs. Virginia K. Berryhill, Mrs. Clara Adele Neidig, and other Iowans contributed to the poetry in the magazine's columns. Hon. Jonathan P. Dolliver, Hon. William B. Allison, Gen. James B. Weaver, and many other men prominent in the public life of Iowa contributed articles of permanent value. Mrs. Cora Bussey Hillis was the author of "Madame Deserée's Spirit Rival." Editor Ingham, of the _Register_, then of Algona, Editor Moorhead, then of Keokuk, now a Des Moines journalist, Minnie Stichter (Mrs. C. J. Fulton of Fairfield), Mrs. Harriet C. Towner, of Corning, Charles Eugene Banks, born in Clinton County, now a prominent journalist and _litterateur_ in Seattle, Dr. J. Foster Bain, then assistant state geologist, now a resident of London, and one of the world's most famous consulting geologists, Barthinius L. Wick, of Cedar Rapids, a voluminous historiographer, are among the many who, during the last five years of the old century, did their bit toward putting Iowa on the literary map. Irving Berdine Richman, of Muscatine, had already written "Appenzell," a study of the Swiss, with whom, as consul-general, he had lived for several years. His _Midland_ sketch, "The Battle of the Stoss," was followed by a little volume, "John Brown Among the Quakers, and Other Sketches." But the two great historical works to which he gave years of enthusiastic research were not published until well on in the twentieth century. The first of these, "Rhode Island; a Study of Separation," was honored with an introduction by John Bryce. It was so well received that the "study" was amplified into a two-volume work, "Rhode Island; Its Making and Meaning." The second, a work compelling years of research in old Mexico and Spain, is entitled "California Under Spain and Mexico." These alone give the Iowa historian an enviable world-reputation. LITERARY IOWA IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY Our study of the high places in Iowa literature has already been somewhat extended into the new century. The transfer of the Iowa magazine to St. Louis, in 1898, and its speedy suspension thereafter did not deter many Iowans from continuing to write. Difficult as it was for our unknowns to find a market for their wares in Eastern magazines and publishing houses, the persistent few, who knew they had what the public should want, "knocked" again and again "at the golden gates of the morning," and in due time the gates were opened unto them. Edwin Legrange Sabin's first essay in _Midland_ fiction was "A Ghostly Carouse,"--full of promise. His first book, "The Magic Mashie and other Golfish Stories," in common with all his other works, throbs with the heart of youth. His magazine verse, mainly humorous, has the same quality. Latterly he has been illuminating history, and especially the fast-dissolving wild life of the West, with stories closely adhering to fact and yet rampant with adventure--the kind of books our outdoor boys take to bed with them! To his readers Kit Carson, Fremont, Buffalo Bill, are as much alive as are the heroes of the stadium, the tennis court and the links. But underneath this delightfully light literature there is well-nigh concealed a poet of the Swinburne type, as witness this bit of verse: "Upon the purple hillside, vintage-stained, In drowsy langour brown October lies, Like one who has the banquet goblet drained, And looks abroad with dream enchanted eyes."[5] [5] Country Life in America, October, 1902. Mrs. Bertha M. Shambaugh's _Midland_ sketch of "Amana Colony; a Glimpse of the Community of True Inspiration,"[6] suggested something more than "a glimpse," and in 1908 appeared an exhaustive study of that "peculiar people," entitled "Amana, the Community of True Inspiration," a valuable contribution to Iowa history. [6] In the Midland Monthly, v. 6, p. 27. Professor Selden L. Whitcomb, of Grinnell, had previously published several outlines for the study of literature, but his first volume of "Lyrical Verse" appeared in 1898. Two other books of poems followed, one in 1912, the other in 1914. His verse is marked by delicacy of poetical suggestion and perfection of rhyme and rhythm. George Meason Whicher, of New York, whose name is now often seen in _The Continent_ of Chicago, is the author of "From Muscatine and Other Poems" and of recent prose with Italian and Latin background. Mr. Whicher is the author of four poems in the _Midland_, all harking back to the poet's boyhood days in Muscatine, Iowa. Dr. Frank Irving Herriott, dean of sociology at Drake University, a voluminous writer on historical and sociological themes, has a long list of works to his credit, all bearing twentieth century dates except one published by the American Academy which appeared in 1892. He wrote for the _Midland_ a strong plea for public libraries, a plea which, doubtless, had its influence in inaugurating the library movement in Iowa beginning with the new century. Another scholar in the sociological field who has made his impression upon thousands of students and adult readers is Dr. Frank L. McVey, president of the University of North Dakota. His historical sketch in the _Midland_, "The Contest in the Maumee Valley," was followed by other published papers and these by several books on sociological themes, among them "Modern Industrialism" and "The Making of a Town." There are few more scholarly literary critics than Welker Given, of Clinton, Iowa. His Shakespearean and classical studies have won for him an enviable place among students of the classics. Mrs. Anna Howell Clarkson, of New York, wife of Hon. J. S. Clarkson, long prominent in Iowa journalism and in national politics, followed up her _Midland_ article on "The Evolution of Iowa Politics" with a book entitled "A Beautiful Life and Its Associations," a tribute of loving regard to a former teacher and friend, Mrs. Drusilla Alden Stoddard. A _critique_ on "Our Later Literature and Robert Browning" in the Iowa magazine in April, 1897, may, or may not, have turned the current of Lewis Worthington Smith's whole life; but its critical power made friends for the Nebraska professor and warmed the welcome given him when, in 1902, he took up his work in the English department of Drake University of Des Moines. While Professor Smith has published several works on language and literature and an acting drama entitled "The Art of Life," his literary reputation rests mainly upon his poetry. Since the opening of the new century, volume has followed volume; first "God's Sunlight," then "In the Furrow," and, in 1916, "The English Tongue," and "Ships in Port." Many of the poems in the two last named evince the impact of the World War upon a soul of strong sensibilities. Tempted to quote whole poems, as showing the wide range of this poet's vision, I will limit myself to the first stanza of "The English Tongue": "Words that have tumbled and tossed from the Avon and Clyde On to where Indus and Ganges pour down to the tide. Words that have lived, that have felt, that have gathered and grown. Words! Is it nothing that no other people have known Speech of such myriad voices, so full and so free, Song by the fireside and crash of the thunders at sea?" Jessie Welborn Smith, wife of Professor Smith, is a frequent contributor of short stories and sketches to popular magazines. The late Henry Wallace, though for many years an agricultural editor in Iowa, modestly began his contribution to general literature in the _Midland_ with a pen-picture of the Scotch-Irish in America. Subsequently he wrote his "Uncle Henry's Letters to a Farm Boy," which has run through many editions; also "Trusts and How to Deal With Them" and "Letters to the Farm-Folk." Eugene Secor, of Forest City, published poems in the _Midland_ which were followed by "Verses for Little Folk and Others," "A Glimpse of Elysium" and "Voices of the Trees." Helen Hoyt Sherman's modest "Village Romance" led to a long list of popular books, published since her marriage and under her married name, Helen Sherman Griffiths. Born in Des Moines, her present home is in Cincinnati. Herbert Bashford, born in Sioux City, now living in Washington and California, contributed to the _Midland_ a half-dozen poems of much promise. Mr. Bashford is now literary editor of the _San Francisco Bulletin_ and has several books of poems and several popular dramas to his credit. Mrs. Ella Hamilton Durley, of Los Angeles, formerly of Des Moines, a pioneer president of our Press and Authors' Club, and a prolific writer for the press, followed her journal and magazine successes with two novels, "My Soldier Lady" and "Standpatter," a novel of Southern California love and politics. Caroline M. Sheldon, Professor of Romance Languages in Grinnell College, has followed up her _Midland_ study of American poetry with "Princess and Pilgrim in England," and a translation and study of Echegary's play, "The Great Galeoto." Many still recall with interest the realistic serial which ran in the _Midland_, entitled "The Young Homesteaders," also a number of short sketches and stories of pioneer life in the West, by Frank Welles Calkins, then of Spencer, Iowa, now a Minnesotan. Mr. Calkins has since become a frequent contributor to magazines, and a writer of books of outdoor life and adventure. His latest novel, "The Wooing of Takala," appeared in 1907. One of the marked successes in the world of books and periodicals is Julia Ellen Rogers, long a teacher of science in Iowa high schools. While a resident of Des Moines she contributed to the _Midland_ a descriptive article, "Camping and Climbing in the Big Horn," which evinced her love of "all outdoors" and her ability to describe what she saw. Her editorial connection with _Country Life in America_ and her popular series of nature studies, "Among Green Trees," "Trees Every Child Should Know," "Earth and Sky," "Wild Animals Every Child Should Know," have given their author and her books a warm welcome from Maine to California. One of the bright particular stars in our firmament, remaining almost undiscovered until near the close of the century's first decade, is Arthur Davison Ficke, of Davenport. Circumstances--his father's eminence at the bar--conspired to make the young poet a lawyer; but he could not--long at a time--close his ears to the wooing of the muse, and off he went, at frequent intervals, in hot pursuit of the elusive Euterpe. Though still a lawyer of record, the inward call of the soul must soon become too strong to be resisted. _Poeta nascitur._ I can see the young lawyer-poet in his own "Dream Harbor," and can feel his glad response to the call from the dream-world: "Winds of the South from the sunny beaches Under the headland call to me; And I am sick for the purple reaches, Olive-fringed, by an idle sea. "Where low waves of the South are calling Out of the silent sapphire bay, And slow tides are rising, falling, Under the cliffs where the ripples play." It was natural that the sons of the late Henry Sabin should write acceptably. Though slightly older in years, Elbridge H. Sabin is younger in literature than his brother "Ed." The first decade of the new century was well advanced before Elbridge turned his attention from law to literature. The brief touch of life in the open given him while soldiering during the Spanish-American war may have suggested the change in his career. His first essay in authorship was "Early American History for Young Americans" (1904). He then turned his gaze skyward and in 1907 appeared "Stella's Adventures in Starland." Fairyland next invited him and in 1910 appeared "The Magical Man of Mirth," soon followed by "The Queen of the City of Mirth." In 1913 appeared his "Prince Trixie." James B. Weaver, son of General Weaver, another lawyer with the poet soul, but with a somewhat firmer hold on "the things that are," has written much prose which only requires the touch of the _vers libre_ editor to turn it into poetry. His appreciation of Kipling and other poets and his fine character-sketches, as for example that of Martin Burke, pioneer stage-driver and farmer, are remembered with delight. Just once, many years ago, when, a happy father, he looked for the first time upon his "Baby Boy," the poet in his nature obtained the upper hand of the lawyer and he wrote: "O golden head! O sunny heart! Forever joyous be thy part In this fair world; and may no care Cut short thy youth, and may no snare Entrap thy feet! I pray thee, God, For smoother paths than I have trod."[7] [7] Midland Monthly, March, 1897. Mr. Weaver was president of the Iowa Press and Authors Club in 1914-15 and the success of the famous Iowa Authors' Homecoming in October, 1914, was in large measure due to his untiring efforts. In that Great American Desert of "free verse," the Chicago magazine, _Poetry_, the persistent seeker can find here and there an oasis that will well repay his search. One of these surprises is a poem entitled "The Wife,"[8] by Mrs. Helen Cowles LeCron, of Des Moines. It is the plea of a longing soul for relief from the "sullen silence," and the "great gaunt shadows" of the "shaggy mountains," and for a return to "the gentle land," and to "the careless hours when life was very sweet." Mrs. LeCron is a prolific writer of clever and timely verse for the press, and is a poet of many possibilities. [8] Poetry, Chicago, June, 1913. Honoré Willsie (whose maiden name is Dunbar) was born in Ottumwa, Iowa, is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin, and is a resident of New York City. To her able editorship may be attributed the new literary quality of _The Delineator_. It was Mrs. Willsie's varied successes as a writer of papers on social problems, sketches, short stories and serials which won for her the literary editorship of that popular periodical. Her success as a novelist mainly rests upon "Heart of the Desert," "Still Jim," and "Lydia of the Pines," all published within the last four years, and each stronger than its predecessor. A successful art publisher and an enthusiastic traveler, Thomas D. Murphy, a native Iowan, long a resident of Red Oak, is the author of a group of well-written and profusely illustrated books of travel, all written within the last decade, as follows: "British Highways and Byways"; "In Unfamiliar England"; "Three Wonderlands of the American West"; "On Old-World Highways"; and "On Sunset Highways." Allan Updegraff is a born Iowan whose fame has come early in life. His "Second Youth" (1917) is winning praise from the critics as "an agreeable contrast with the stuffy bedroom atmosphere" of many books of the period, as refreshingly "modest humor," and as having "touches of characterization and serious feeling" which keep up the interest to the close. Among the native Iowans who have distinguished themselves in literature is Willis George Emerson, of Denver, born near Blakesburg, Iowa. Mr. Emerson is author of "Buell Hampton," and a half-dozen other novels, the latest, "The Treasure of Hidden Mountain," also a hundred or more sketches and stories of travel. Of the well-known authors who, during the impressionable years of their youth resided for a time in Iowa, the most famous is "Mark Twain" (Samuel L. Clemens) who, after his _wanderjahr_, in the late summer of 1854, took the "Keokuk Packet" and landed in Muscatine, Iowa, and there became the guest of his brother, Orrin, and his sister, Jane. Early in the spring of '55, his brother meantime having married and removed to Keokuk, Iowa, he paid his brother another visit. Orrin offered him five dollars a week and board to remain and help him in his printing office. The offer was promptly accepted. The Keokuk episode extended over a period of nearly two years, "two vital years, no doubt, if all the bearings could be known." Here he made his first after-dinner speech, which delighted his audience. Here he made a record in a debating society. Unable to pay his brother his wages, Orrin took him in as a partner! A lucky find of a fifty-dollar bill enabled Twain to start on his travels. Meanwhile he contracted to write travel sketches for the Keokuk _Saturday Post_. His first letter was dated "Cincinnati, November 14, 1856." "It was written in the exaggerated dialect then considered humorous. The genius that a little more than ten years later would delight the world flickered feebly enough at twenty-one."[9] A second letter concluded the series! Years later, just before he joined the Holy Land excursion out of which grew his "Innocents Abroad," he visited Keokuk and delivered a lecture. He came again after his return from the trip, on his triumphal lecture tour across the continent. Years later he and Cable gave readings in Keokuk, and while there he arranged a permanent residence for his mother. In 1886, with his wife and daughter, he paid his mother a visit, renewing old acquaintances and making new friends. In August, 1890, he was called to Keokuk by the last illness of his mother. It will thus be seen that, next to his home in Elmira, New York, his "heart's home" was Keokuk. [9] Paine--Life of "Mark Twain." Nixon Waterman, author, journalist and lecturer, born in Newark, Illinois, and long a resident of Boston, was for several years an attaché of a small daily paper in Creston, Iowa. Among his published works is a comedy entitled "Io, from Iowa." In his several books of verse are many poems evidently inspired by memories of old times on the prairies of southwestern Iowa. Here is an echo from the poet's lost youth: "Strange how Memory will fling her Arms about some scenes we bring her, And the fleeting years but make them fonder grow; Though I wander far and sadly From that dear old home, how gladly I recall the cherished scenes of long ago!"[10] [10] "Memories" from "A Book of Verses," by Nixon Waterman, 1900. William Otis Lillibridge, of Sioux Falls, whose brilliant career as a novelist was closed by death in 1909, was graduated from the College of Dentistry, State University of Iowa, in 1898. His "Ben Blair" and "Where the Trail Divides," gave abundant promise. Randall Parish, though born in Illinois, was admitted to the bar in Iowa, and for a time was engaged in newspaper work in Sioux City. Since 1904, when he leaped into fame by his historical novel, "When Wilderness Was King," volume after volume has come from the press and every one has met with quick response from the public. It is hard to account for Herbert Quick. Born on a farm in Grundy County, Iowa, a teacher in Mason City and elsewhere in Iowa, a lawyer in Sioux City, mayor of Sioux City for three terms, a telephone manager, editor of _La Follette's Weekly_, editor of _Farm and Fireside_, democratic politician, at present an active member of the Federal Farm Loan Board--with all this record of service, Mr. Quick has somehow found time, since 1904, to make for himself a name and fame as a magazine contributor, and, too, as a novelist who writes novels so novel that they find thousands of readers! Among his best known books are "Aladdin & Co," "Virginia of the Air Lanes," and "On Board the Good Ship Earth." Mr. Quick is preeminently a twentieth century man of affairs. Immersed as he now is in farm loans, it would not surprise his friends at any time if he were to issue another compelling novel! Rupert Hughes, eminently successful as a novelist and dramatist, though Missouri-born, was for years a resident of Keokuk, Iowa, and his Iowa associations were so strong that he dropped everything to come halfway across the continent that he might participate in the reunion of Iowa authors in 1914. Mr. Hughes' books are among the best-selling and his plays among the best-drawing. This popular author has turned soldier. He was an officer of the New York National Guards in Mexico and again when war against Germany was declared he was among the first to respond to the call for troops. Dr. Edward A. Steiner, of Grinnell, Iowa, a sociologist with a vision, has done more than any other man to bring together in friendly working relationship our native-born and foreign-born Americans. He has not only gone up and down the earth preaching an applied Christianity, but he has also written into nearly a dozen books, all of which have had many readers, his own experiences in the old world and the new, and his valuable observations--those of a trained sociologist bent upon righting the wrongs of ignorance and selfishness as he has found them embedded in customs and laws. The World War has opened a large field of usefulness for the Grinnell preacher of national and international righteousness. Newell Dwight Hillis, the popular Brooklyn preacher, lecturer and author, was born in Maquoketa, Iowa, but has spent most of his life outside the state. A new name in fictional literature is that of Ethel Powelson Hueston. Mrs. Hueston was reared in a family of eleven children, and her popular first book, "Prudence of the Parsonage," written on a claim in Idaho while caring for her invalid husband--who died in 1915--is the story of her own experience in a parsonage in Mt. Pleasant, Iowa. "Prudence Says So" is a continuation of the story. Mrs. Hueston was recently married to Lieutenant Edward J. Best, at Golden, Colorado. Margaret Coulson Walker and Ida M. Huntington, both of Des Moines, have added to the information and delight of children by a number of illustrated books. Miss Walker's "Bird Legends and Life," and "Lady Hollyhock and Her Friends," and Miss Huntington's "Garden of Heart's Delight," and "Peter Pumpkin in Wonderland" are favorites with many. Miss Emilie Blackmore Stapp, literary editor of the _Des Moines Capital_, has written a number of popular stories for children. Her "Squaw Lady," "Uncle Peter Heathen," and "The Trail of the Go-Hawks" have found many readers. She has done more than write stories. She has organized a national club called the "Go-Hawks Happy Tribe," and the Tribe has undertaken to raise a million pennies to help buy food for starving children in France and Belgium. The grand total of pennies reported September, 1917, was 255,000! Edna Ferber, of "Emma McChesney" fame, and the author of a half-dozen clever novels, the latest of which is "Fanny Herself," was born in Wisconsin, but spent much of her youth in Ottumwa, Iowa, where her father was a successful merchant. Oney Fred Sweet, born in Hampton, Iowa, and sometime a journalist in Des Moines, has made a national reputation as a feature writer on the _Chicago Tribune_ and as a contributor of verse and sketches to the magazines. Laura L. Hinckley, of Mount Vernon, Iowa, is a frequent contributor to the leading magazines. Recent stories in the _Saturday Evening Post_ and in the _Woman's Home Companion_ attest her ability in a difficult field. A promising young claimant for literary honors is (Lotta) Allen Meachem, of New York, born in Washington County, Iowa. Following several good stories in the magazines, comes her "Belle Jones--A Story of Fulfilment," published by Dutton. Eleanor Hoyt Brainerd, born in Iowa City, now a resident of New York, was in early life a teacher, but since 1898 has been on the staff of the _New York Sun_. Her "Misdemeanors of Nancy," in 1892, was the beginning of a successful career in authorship. Her "Nancy," "Bettina" and "Belinda" are better known to many than are their own next door neighbors. Men who have not learned to deny the eternal boy in their nature find as much enjoyment as boys themselves in reading "Widow O'Callahan's Boys," and everybody enjoys "Maggie McLanehan," both creations of Gulielma Zollinger, of Newton, Iowa. Three other books, not so well known, are added to the list of Miss Zollinger's achievements in literature. Mrs. Elizabeth (Eslick) Cooper, born in Homer, Iowa, has spent most of her adult life in the Orient and is an authority on the status of women in Oriental lands. She is the author of "Sayonara," a play produced by Maxine Elliot, of many magazine articles, and of a half dozen books, all published since 1910. Her books are vivid pictures of life in China, Egypt, Turkey and Japan. Among the most prominent magazine writers and journalists of the period is Judson Welliver. He several years ago graduated from Iowa journalism to the larger field, the national capital, and has latterly become one of the regular contributors to _Munsey's_, and a frequent contributor to other periodicals. Another prominent magazine writer is Joe Mitchell Chapple, early in life editor of a La Porte, Iowa, weekly. Mr. Chapple is the founder, publisher and editor of the _National Magazine_, Boston, and the author of "Boss Bart," a novel, and editor of a popular collection of verse. One of the youngest magazine writers forging to the front is Horace M. Towner, Jr., of Corning, Iowa, son of Congressman Towner. A long list might be made of his recent contributions to the leading magazines. A group of new writers, some of them Iowans, have happily been given a medium for reaching the public through the new _Midland_, of Iowa City. Mr. Frederick, the editor, has in the main evinced excellent judgment in the selection of stories, sketches and verse, and has won commendation from our severest Eastern critics. The new _Midland_ has, doubtless, started not a few middle-western authors on their way to the front in the field of literature. The World War has already added the names of several Iowans to the literature of the great struggle. The best known is James Norman Hall, of Colfax, Iowa, whose "Kitchener's Mob" and articles in the _Atlantic_ have added greatly to popular knowledge of conditions at the front. Already twice wounded, the first time in the trenches; the latest--may it be the last!--in the air, this brave young American can well say with Virgil, "all of which I saw and part of which I was." After his discharge from the English army, Mr. Hall went abroad commissioned to do literary work for Houghton, Mifflin & Company; but his zeal for the cause of the Allies, combined possibly with a young man's love of adventure, led him to re-enter the service, this time in the Aviation Corps. He is now (in September, 1917) slowly recovering from a shot which penetrated his left lung. The Gleasons, Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Gleason, of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and of New York City, have both won honors in the Red Cross work in Belgium and incidentally have made valuable contributions to the "human interest" story of the World War. Mrs. Helen Hayes Gleason was the first American woman knighted by King Albert for meritorious service at the front. Mr. Gleason in his "Young Hilda at the Wars" begins his charming story of Hilda with this tribute to the state in which his wife first saw the light: "She was an American girl from the very prosperous State of Iowa, which if not as yet the mother of presidents, is at least the parent of many exuberant and useful persons. Will power is grown out yonder as one of the crops." "Golden Lads," by Mr. and Mrs. Gleason, is a vivid recital of experiences with the Hector Munro Ambulance Corps at the front in Belgium. Though the evaluations in this review are confined chiefly to _belles lettres_, it would not be fair to the reader to omit the state's large indebtedness to Dr. B. F. Shambaugh and his scholarly associates of the State Historical Society, of Iowa City, for their many valuable contributions to the general, social and economic history of Iowa; to Dr. Jesse Macy, of Grinnell, for his valuable studies in the science of government; to the late Samuel Calvin, also to Dr. Thomas H. McBride, of the State University, Dr. Louis H. Pammel, of the State College, and Dr. Charles Keyes, of Des Moines, for their contributions to science; to Dr. Charles H. Weller, of the State University, for his "Athens and Its Monuments," and other works throwing light upon an ancient civilization; to George E. Roberts, of New York, a native Iowan, for his clear elucidation of national and world problems; to the late Judges Kinne, Deemer and MacLean, and other jurists for standard works on jurisprudence; to Carl Snyder, Woods Hutchinson and a host of other Iowans who are contributing to the current literature of our time. This review, incomplete at best, would be unfair to the president of the Iowa Press and Authors Club were it to conclude without mention of the inspiration of her leadership. Mrs. Alice Wilson Weitz began life as a journalist at the Iowa State Capital. In the course of her busy and successful later career as wife, mother and public-spirited citizen, she has somehow found time to write on literary and timely themes. Her latest contribution to the state of her birth is a scenario entitled "The Wild Rose of Iowa" which was to have been produced on the screen in all the cities of the state; but, unfortunately, the film, prepared with great labor and expense, and with the aid of some of the best dramatic talent in Iowa, was destroyed or lost on the way from Chicago to Des Moines. It is to be hoped that this may soon be reproduced, for Mrs. Weitz' scenario admirably presented in symbol the whole story of Iowa's wonderful development from savagery to twentieth-century civilization. A list of Iowa State University publications--a pamphlet of forty-one pages--includes hundreds of monographs, dissertations, etc., covering a wide range of original research. It must have become evident from this incomplete review that Iowa is literarily, to say the least, no longer inarticulate. It is equally apparent, to those who really know their Iowa, that, far from being a dead level of uninteresting prosperity, our state is rich in suggestive literary material, ready and waiting for the authors of the future. Topographically, Iowa abounds in surprises. In the midst of her empire of rich rolling prairie are lakes and rivers, rugged cliffs and wooded hills, villages and cities set upon hills overlooking beautiful valleys through which streams wind their way seaward, her east and west borders defended by castellated rocks overlooking our two great rivers. Ethnologically, within these borders are communities of blanket Indians still living in wigwams, surrounded by communities in which are practiced all the arts of an advanced civilization. Sociologically, side by side with her native-born and native-bred citizens, are communities of Christian Socialists, also remnants of a French experiment in Communism, Quakers, Mennonites, anti-polygamous Mormons, and whole regions in which emigrants from Holland, Germany and Scandinavia are slowly and surely acquiring American habits of thought and life. Historically speaking, we have the early and late pioneer period with its rapid adjustment to new conditions, with its multiform perils developing latent heroism, its opportunities for character-building and for public service. Later the heroic period, during which a peace-loving people quit the plow, the workshop, the country store, the office and even the pulpit, to rally to the defence of the Union. Then, the reconstruction and the new-construction period, in which Iowa prospered under the leadership of _men_--men who knew their duties as well as their rights, men who recognized, and insisted upon recognition of, that "sovereign law, the state's collected will." And now, an epoch of reviving patriotism coupled with a world-embracing passion for democracy, in which the youths and young men of the state are consecrating their strength, their talents and their lives to a great cause. 
31335	----	[Transcribers notes] This text is derived from a raw txt file in the Internet Archive. Obvious misspellings have been corrected but quotations and contemporary spellings are unchanged. The St. Peters river is mentioned as a proposed northern border for the new state of Iowa. It is now named the Minnesota river; it runs from western Minnesota (about 120 miles north of the final Iowa border at 43.5 degrees North) southeast to Mankato (about 45 miles north of the Iowa border), then to the Twin Cities (about 120 miles north of the Iowa border). Had the St. Peters been adopted about 15,000 square miles of what is now Minnesota would have been Iowa. Another proposal to extend the border to the 45th parallel would have put most of the Twin Cities in Iowa. [End Transcriber's note] HISTORY OF THE CONSTITUTIONS OF IOWA BY BENJAMIN F. SHAMBAUGH, PH. D. PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL SCIENCE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF IOWA PUBLISHED BY THE HISTORICAL DEPARTMENT OF IOWA DES MOINES, IOWA 1902 TO HIS FRIEND CHARLES ALDRICH FOUNDER AND CURATOR OF THE HISTORICAL DEPARTMENT OF IOWA THIS VOLUME IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR PREFACE To recur occasionally to the history and ideals of our pioneer forefathers will give us a more generous appreciation of the worth of our Commonwealth and a firmer faith in our own provincial character. It is believed that a more intimate knowledge of the political history of our own Commonwealth will not only inspire local patriotism, but give us a better perspective of the political life of the Nation. This little volume was written for publication by the Historical Department of Iowa upon the request of Mr. Charles Aldrich. Since the work is intended as a narrative essay, it has been thought best to omit all foot-note citations to authorities. For the original sources upon which the essay is largely based the reader is referred to the author's collections of documentary materials which have been published by the Iowa State Historical Society. Quotations used in the body of the text have been reprinted _literatim_ without editing. The Convention of 1857 and the Constitution of 1857 have been little more than noticed in chapters XIX and XX. An adequate discussion of these subjects would have transcended the limits set for this volume by several hundred pages. The author wishes to express his obligations to his friend and colleague, Professor W. C. Wilcox, of the University of Iowa, who has carefully read the proof-sheets of the whole volume. BENJ. F. SHAMBAUGH. UNIVERSITY OF IOWA JULY, 1902 CONTENTS I. INTRODUCTION II. A DEFINITION III. THE CONSTITUTION MAKERS IV. SQUATTER CONSTITUTIONS V. THE TERRITORY OF WISCONSIN VI. THE TERRITORY OF IOWA VII. THE CONSTITUTION OF THE TERRITORY VIII. THE CONSTITUTION OF THE TERRITORY AMENDED XI. AGITATION FOR A STATE CONSTITUTION X. THE CONVENTION OF 1844 XI. THE CONSTITUTION OF 1844 XII. THE CONSTITUTION OF 1844 SUBMITTED TO CONGRESS XIII. THE CONSTITUTION OF 1844 DEBATED AND DEFEATED BY THE PEOPLE XIV. THE CONSTITUTION OF 1844 REJECTED A SECOND TIME XV. THE CONVENTION OF 1846 XVI. THE CONSTITUTION OF 1846 XVII. THE NEW BOUNDARIES XVIII. THE ADMISSION OF IOWA INTO THE UNION XIX. THE CONVENTION OF 1857 XX. THE CONSTITUTION OF 1857 _AN HISTORICAL ESSAY_ I INTRODUCTION Three score years and ten after the declaration went forth from Independence Hall that "all men are created equal," and fifteen years before the great struggle that was to test whether a nation dedicated to that proposition can long endure, Iowa, "the only free child of the Missouri Compromise," was admitted into the Union on an equal footing with the original States. Profoundly significant in our political evolution are events such as these. They are milestones in the progressive history of American Democracy. To search out the origin, to note the progress, to point to the causes, and to declare the results of this marvelous popular political development in the New World has been the ambition of our historians. Nay more, the "American experiment" has interested the talent of Europe; and our political literature is already enriched by De Tocqueville's "_Democracy in America_," by von Holst's "_Constitutional and Political History of the United States_," and by Bryce's "_American Commonwealth_." Ever since its adoption the Constitution of the "Fathers" has been the most popular text-book of constitution drafters the world over. At the same time it is strangely true that the real meaning, the philosophical import, of this interesting political drama has scarcely anywhere been more than suggested. A closer view reveals the fact that all of the documents themselves have not yet been edited, nor the narrative fully told. At present there is not a chapter of our history that is wholly written, though the manuscript is worn with erasures. To be sure, Bancroft has written exhaustively of the Colonies; Fiske has illuminated the Revolution and portrayed the "Critical Period;" Frothingham has narrated the "Rise of the Republic;" Parkman has vividly pictured events in the Northwest; McMaster has depicted the life of the people; von Holst has emphasized the importance of slavery; Rhodes has outlined more recent events; and a host of others have added paragraphs, chapters, monographs, and volumes to the fascinating story of the birth and development of a Democratic Nation. But where are the classics of our local history? Who are the historians of the Commonwealths? These questions reveal great gaps in our historical literature on the side of the Commonwealths. Nor have the omissions passed unnoticed. Bryce likens the history of the Commonwealths to "a primeval forest, where the vegetation is rank and through which scarcely a trail has been cut." And yet it is clearly evident that before the real import of American Democracy can be divined the forest must be explored and the underbrush cleared away. This is not a plea for localism or particularism. On the contrary, it suggests the possibility of a broader view of our National life. It points to the source of our political ideals. For nothing is more misleading than the inference that the life of our people is summed up in the Census Reports, the Journals of Congress, and the Archives of the Departments at Washington. The real life of the American Nation spreads throughout forty-five Commonwealths. It is lived in the commonplaces of the shop, the factory, the office, the mine, and the farm. Through the Commonwealths the spirit of the Nation is expressed. Every American community, however humble, participates in the formation and expression of that spirit. Thus the real significance of the Commonwealth in any philosophical consideration depends not so much upon its own peculiar local color as upon the place which it occupies in the life and development of the larger National whole. It is so with Iowa. Here within the memory of men still living a new Commonwealth has grown to maturity, has been admitted into the Union, and now by common consent occupies a commanding position in National Politics. It is, moreover, from the view-point of these larger relations that the political and constitutional history of Iowa will ultimately be interpreted. No amount of interest in merely local incident or narration of personal episode will suffice to indicate the import of Iowa's political existence. He who essays to write the history of this Commonwealth must ascend to loftier heights. To narrate briefly the history of the Constitutions of Iowa, and therein to suggest, perhaps, somewhat of the political ideals of the people and the place which this Commonwealth occupies politically in the progressive history of the larger Commonwealth of America, is the purpose of these pages. II A DEFINITION Definition is always difficult; it may be tiresome. But when a term has come to have many different meanings, then no one who seriously desires to be understood can use it in the title of a text without at least attempting a definition. This is true of the word "Constitution," which in the literature of Political Science alone has at least three distinct meanings corresponding to the three points of view, that is, the philosophical, the historical, and the legal. From the view-point of Political Philosophy the word "Constitution," stands for the fundamental principles of government. It is the sum (1) of the general and basic principles of all political organization by which the form, competence, and limitations of governmental authorities are fixed and determined, and (2) of the general and basic principles of liberty, in accordance with which the rights of men living in a social state are ascertained and guaranteed. In short, it is the sum of the ultimate principles of government. But from the view-point of Historical Politics this word has a different connotation. Consider, for example, the political literature that appears under such headlines as "Constitutional History" or the "History of Constitutional Government." Here Constitution means not abstract philosophic principles of Government, but concrete political phenomena, that is, political facts. Our constitutional historians do not as a rule deal directly with the ultimate principles of government; but they are concerned rather with their progressive phenomenal manifestations in the assembly, the court, the office, the caucus, the convention, the platform, the election, and the like. Thus Constitutional History is simply a record of concrete political facts. It is, however, in the literature of Jurisprudence that the term "Constitution" is used in accordance with an exact definition. Constitutional Law, or the Law of the Constitution, means a very definite thing to the Jurist. It stands (at least in America) for a written instrument which is looked upon "as the absolute rule of action and decision for all departments and officers of government . . . and in opposition to which any act or regulation of any such department or officer, or even of the people themselves, will be altogether void." In this sense a Constitution is a code of that which is fundamental in the Law. To be sure, this code or text, as everybody knows, does not provide for all that is fundamental in government. It usually contains much that is temporary and unimportant. But to the American Jurist all that finds expression in the written document labeled "Constitution" is Constitutional Law. Accordingly, he defines the Constitution as the written or codified body of fundamental law in accordance with which government is instituted and administered. It is as a code or text of fundamental law that the word "Constitution" is used in the title of these pages. This is not a philosophical discussion of the ultimate principles of our government, nor an outline of our constitutional history, but simply a narrative touching the written texts or codes that have served the people of Iowa as fundamental law during the past sixty years. III THE CONSTITUTION MAKERS Constitutions are not made; they grow. This thought has become a commonplace in current political literature. And yet the growth of which men speak with such assurance is directed, that is, determined by the ideals of the people. Members of constituent assemblies and constitutional conventions neither manufacture nor grow Constitutions--they simply formulate current political morality. It is in the social mind back of the convention, back of the government, and back of the Law that the ideals of human right and justice are conceived, born, and evolved. A Constitution is a social product. It is the embodiment of popular ideals. And so the real makers of the Constitutions of Iowa were not the men who first in 1844, then in 1846, and then again in 1857 assembled in the Old Stone Capitol on the banks of the Iowa River. The true "Fathers" were the people who, in those early times from 1830 to 1860, took possession of the fields and forests and founded a new Commonwealth. They were the pioneers, the frontiersmen, the squatters--the pathfinders in our political history. Aye, they were the real makers of our fundamental law. The first of the Iowa pioneers crossed the Mississippi in the early thirties. They were preceded by the bold explorer and the intrepid fur-trader, who in their day dared much, endured much, and through the wildernesses lighted the way for a westward-moving civilization. Scarcely had their camp-fires gone out when the pioneer appeared with ax and ox and plow. He came to cultivate the soil and establish a home--he came to stay. The rapidity with which the pioneer population of Iowa increased after the Black-Hawk war was phenomenal. It grew literally by leaps and bounds. Men came in from all parts of the Union--from the North-west, from the East, from the South, and from the South-east. They came from Maine and Massachusetts, from New York and Pennsylvania, from Virginia and the Carolinas, from Georgia, Kentucky and Tennessee, and from the newer States of Ohio and Indiana. It is said that whole neighborhoods came over from Illinois. In 1835 Lieutenant Albert Lea thought that the population had reached at least sixteen thousand souls. But the census reports give a more modest number--ten thousand five hundred. When the Territory of Iowa was established in 1838 there were within its limits twenty-two thousand eight hundred and fifty-nine people. Eight years later, when the Commonwealth was admitted into the Union, this number had increased to one hundred and two thousand three hundred and eighty-eight. Thus in less than a score of years the pioneers had founded a new Empire west of the Mississippi. And such an Empire! A land of inexhaustible fertility! A hundred thousand pioneers with energy, courage, and perseverance scarcely less exhaustible than the soil they cultivated! In the location of a home the pioneer was usually discriminating. His was not a chance "squatting" here or there on the prairie or among the trees. The necessities--water and fuel--led him as a rule to settle near a stream or river, and never far from timber. The pioneers settled in groups. One, two, three, or more families constituted the original nucleus of such groups. The groups were known as "communities" or "neighborhoods." They were the original social and political units out of the integration of which the Commonwealth was later formed. But the vital facts touching the pioneers of Iowa are not of migration and settlement. In political and constitutional evolution the emphasis rests rather upon the facts of character. What the pioneers were is vastly more important than where they came from, or when and where and how they settled; for all law and government rests upon the character of the people, Constitutions being simply the formulated expressions of political Ethics. It is in this broad catholic sense that the ideals of pioneer character became the determining factors in Iowa's political evolution and the pioneers themselves the real makers of our fundamental law. Two opinions have been expressed respecting the early settlers of Iowa. Calhoun stated on the floor of Congress that he had been informed that "the Iowa country had been seized upon by a lawless body of armed men." Clay had received information of the same nature. And about the same time Senator Ewing (from Ohio) declared that he would not object to giving each rascal who crossed the Mississippi one thousand dollars in order to get rid of him. Nor was the view expressed by these statesmen uncommon in that day. It was entertained by a very considerable number of men throughout the East and South, who looked upon the pioneers in general as renegades and vagabonds forming a "lawless rabble" on the outskirts of civilization. To them the first settlers were "lawless intruders" on the public domain, "land robbers," "fugitives from justice," and "idle and profligate characters." Squatters, they held, were those "who had gone beyond the settlement and were wholly reckless of the laws either of God or man." Nay more, they were "non-consumers of the country, performing no duties either civil or military." In short, gentlemen who had never even visited the Iowa frontier talked glibly about frontier lawlessness, anarchy, and crime. Such wholesale defamation when applied to the early settlers of Iowa ought not to be dismissed with a shrug. The men who made these harsh charges were doubtless honest and sincere. But were they mistaken? All testimony based upon direct personal observation is overwhelmingly against the opinions they expressed. Lieutenant Albert Lea who had spent several years in the Iowa District writes in 1836 that "the character of this population is such as is rarely to be found in our newly acquired territories. With very few exceptions there is not a more orderly, industrious, active, painstaking population, west of the Alleghanies, than is this of the Iowa District. Those who have used the name 'squatters' with the idea of idleness and recklessness, would be quite surprised to see the systematic manner in which everything is here conducted . . . . It is a matter of surprise that about the Mining Region there should be so little of the recklessness that is usual in that sort of life." In 1838 Peter H. Engle, writing from Dubuque, says: "The people are all squatters; but he who supposes that settlers . . . . who are now building upon, fencing and cultivating the lands of the government are lawless depredators, devoid of the sense of moral honesty, or that they are not in every sense as estimable citizens, with as much intelligence, regard for law and social order, for public justice and private rights . . . . as the farmers and yeomen of New York and Pennsylvania, . . . . has been led astray by vague and unfounded notions, or by positively false information." The statements of Lea and Engle fairly represent the views of those who from actual personal contact were familiar with the life and character of the pioneers. We may then rest assured that the squatters of Iowa were as a class neither idle, nor ignorant, nor vicious. They were representative pioneers of their day, than whom, Benton declared, "there was not a better population on the face of the earth." They were of the best blood and ranked as the best sons of the whole country. They were young, strong, and energetic men--hardy, courageous, and adventurous. Caring little for the dangers of the frontier, they extended civilization and reclaimed for the industry of the world vast prairies and forests and deserts. They made roads, built bridges and mills, cleared the forests, broke the prairies, erected houses and barns, and defended the settled country against hostile Indians. They were distinguished especially for their general intelligence, their hospitality, their independence and bold enterprise. They had schools and schoolhouses, erected churches, and observed the sabbath. A law abiding people, the pioneers made laws and obeyed them. They were loyal American citizens and strongly attached to the National government. The pioneers were religious, but not ecclesiastical. They lived in the open and looked upon the relations of man to nature with an open mind. To be sure their thoughts were more on "getting along" in this world than upon the "immortal crown" of the Puritan. And yet in the silent forest, in the broad prairie, in the deep blue sky, in the sentinels of the night, in the sunshine and in the storm, in the rosy dawn, in the golden sunset, and in the daily trials and battles of frontier life, they too must have seen and felt the Infinite. Nor is it a matter of surprise that the pioneers of Iowa possessed the elements of character above attributed to them. In the first place, only strong and independent souls ventured to the frontier. A weaker class could not have hoped to endure the toils, the labors, the pains, and withal the loneliness of pioneer life; for the hardest and at the same time the most significant battles of the 19th century were fought with axes and plows in the winning of the West. The frontier called for men with large capacity for adaptation--men with flexible and dynamic natures. Especially did it require men who could break with the past, forget traditions, and easily discard inherited political and social ideas. The key to the character of the pioneer is the law of the adaptation of life to environment. The pioneers of Iowa were what they were largely because the conditions of frontier life made them such. They were sincere because their environment called for an honest attitude. Having left the comforts of their old homes, traveled hundreds and thousands of miles, entered the wilderness, and endured the privations of the frontier, they were serious-minded. They came for a purpose and, therefore, were always _about_, doing something. Even to this day, their ideals of thrift and "push" and frugality pervade the Commonwealth. And so the strong external factors of the West brought into American civilization elements distinctively American--liberal ideas and democratic ideals. The broad rich prairies of Iowa and Illinois seem to have broadened men's views and fertilized their ideas. Said Stephen A. Douglas: "I found my mind liberalized and my opinions enlarged when I got out on these broad prairies, with only the heavens to bound my vision, instead of having them circumscribed by the narrow ridges that surrounded the valley [in Vermont] where I was born." Speaking to an Iowa audience, Governor Kirkwood once said: "We are rearing the typical Americans, the Western Yankee if you choose to call him so, the man of grit, the man of nerve, the man of broad and liberal views, the man of tolerance of opinion, the man of energy, the man who will some day dominate this empire of ours." How prophetic! Nowhere did the West exert a more marked influence than in the domain of Politics. It freed men from traditions. It gave them a new and a more progressive view of political life. Henceforth they turned with impatience from historical arguments and legal theories to a philosophy of expediency. Government, they concluded, was after all a relative affair. "Claim Rights" were more important to the pioneer of Iowa than "States Rights." The Nation was endeared to him; and he freely gave his first allegiance to the government that sold him land for $1.25 an acre. He was always _for the Union_, so that in after years men said of the Commonwealth he founded: "Her affections, like the rivers of her borders, flow to an inseparable Union." But above all the frontier was a great leveler. The conditions of life there were such as to make men plain, common, unpretentious--genuine. The frontier fostered the sympathetic attitude. It made men really democratic and in matters political led to the three-fold ideal of Equality which constitutes the essence of American Democracy in the 19th century, namely: Equality before the Law, Equality in the Law, Equality in making the Law. The pioneer of the West may not have originated these ideals. The first, Equality before the Law, is claimed emphatically as the contribution of the Puritan. But the vitalizing of these ideals--this came from the frontier, as the great contribution of the pioneer. IV SQUATTER CONSTITUTIONS It may seem strange to class the customs of the pioneers among the early laws of Iowa. But to refer to the "Resolutions" and "By-Laws" of the squatters as political Constitutions is more than strange; it is unorthodox. At the same time History teaches that in the evolution of political institutions, customs precede statutes; written laws follow unwritten conventions; the legal is the outgrowth of the extra-legal; and constitutional government is developed out of extra-constitutional government. One need not search the records of antiquity nor decipher the monuments for illustrations of these truths; for in the early political history of Iowa there is a recurrence of the process of institutional evolution including the stage of customary law. Here in our own annals one may read plainly writ the extra-legal origin of laws and constitutional government. Absence of legislative statutes and administrative ordinances on the frontier did not mean anarchy and disorder. The early settlers of Iowa were literally, and in that good old Anglo-Saxon sense, "lawful men of the neighborhood," who from the beginning observed the usages and customs of the community. Well and truly did they observe the customs relative to the making and holding of claims. And as occasion demanded they codified these customs and usages into "Constitutions," "Resolutions," and "By-Laws." Crude, fragmentary, and extra-legal as were their codes, they nevertheless stand as the first written Constitutions in the history of the Commonwealth. They were the fundamental laws of the pioneers, or, better still, they were Squatter Constitutions. The Squatter Constitutions of Iowa, since they were a distinctive product of frontier life, are understood and their significance appreciated only when interpreted through the conditions of Western life and character. It was through cession and purchase that the United States came into possession of the vast public domain of which the fertile farming fields of Iowa formed a part. Title to the land vested absolutely in the Government of the United States. But the right of the Indians to occupy the country was not disputed. Until such right had been extinguished by formal agreement, entered into between the United States and the Indians, no white citizen was competent to make legal settlement therein. As early as 1785 Congress provided that no settlement should be made on any part of the public domain until the Indian title thereto had been extinguished and the land surveyed. Again, in 1807, Congress provided: "That if any person or persons shall, after the passing of this act, take possession of, or make a settlement on any lands ceded or secured to the United States by any treaty made with a foreign nation, or by a cession of any State to the United States, which lands shall not have been previously sold, ceded, or leased by the United States, or the claim to which lands, by such person or persons, shall not have been previously recognized and confirmed by the United States; or if any person or persons shall cause such lands to be thus occupied, taken possession of, or settled; or shall survey, or attempt to survey, or cause to be surveyed, any such lands; or designate any boundaries thereon, by marking trees, or otherwise, until thereto duly authorized by law; such offender or offenders shall forfeit all his or their right, title, and claim, if any he hath, or they have, of whatsoever nature or kind the same shall or may be to the lands aforesaid, which he or they shall have taken possession of, or settled, or caused to be occupied, taken possession of, or settled, or which he or they shall have surveyed, or attempt to survey, or the boundaries thereof he or they shall have designated, or cause to be designated, by marking trees or otherwise. And it shall moreover be lawful for the President of the United States to direct the marshal, or the officer acting as marshal, in the manner hereinafter directed, and also to take such other measures, and to employ such military force as he may judge necessary and proper, to remove from land ceded, or secured to the United States, by treaty, or cession, as aforesaid, any person or persons who shall hereafter take possession of the same, or make, or attempt to make a settlement thereon, until thereunto authorized by law. And every right, title, or claim forfeited under this act shall be taken and deemed to be vested in the United States, without any other or further proceedings." In March, 1833, the act of 1807 was revived with special reference to the Iowa country to which the Indian title was, in accordance with the Black-Hawk treaty of 1832, to be extinguished in June. It was made "lawful for the President of the United States to direct the Indian agents at Prairie du Chien and Rock Island, or either of them, when offenses against the said act shall be committed on lands recently acquired by treaty from the Sac and Fox Indians, to execute and perform all the duties required by the said act to be performed by the marshals in such mode as to give full effect to the said act, in and over the lands acquired as aforesaid." Thus it is plain that the early settlers of Iowa had no legal right to advance beyond the surveyed country, mark off claims, and occupy and cultivate lands which had not been surveyed and to which the United States had not issued a warrant, patent, or certificate of purchase. But the pioneers on their way to the trans-Mississippi prairies did not pause to read the United States Statutes at Large. They outran the public surveyors. They ignored the act of 1807. And it is doubtful if they ever heard of the act of March 2, 1833. Some were bold enough to cross the Mississippi and put in crops even before the Indian title had expired; some squatted on unsurveyed lands; and others, late comers, settled on surveyed territory. The Government made some successful effort to keep them off Indian soil. But whenever and wherever the Indian title had been extinguished, there the hardy pioneers of Iowa pressed forward determining for themselves and in their own way the bounds and limits of the frontier. Hundreds and thousands of claims were thus located! Hundreds and thousands of farms were thus formed! Hundreds and thousands of homesteads were thus established! Hundreds and thousands of improvements were thus begun! Hundreds and thousands of settlers from all parts of the Union thus "squatted" on the National commons! All without the least vestige of legal right or title! In 1836, when the surveys were first begun, over 10,000 of these squatters had settled in the Iowa country. It was not until 1838 that the first of the public land sales were held at Dubuque and Burlington. These marginal or frontier settlers (squatters, as they were called) were beyond the pale of constitutional government. No statute of Congress protected them in their rights to the claims they had staked out and the improvements they had made. In _law_ they were trespassers; in _fact_ they were honest farmers. Now, it was to meet the peculiar conditions of frontier life, and especially to secure themselves in what they were pleased to call their rights in making and holding claims, that the pioneers of Iowa established land clubs or claim associations. Nearly every community in early Iowa had its local club or association. It is impossible to give definite figures, but it is safe to say that over one hundred of these extra-legal organizations existed in Territorial Iowa. Some, like the Claim Club of Fort Dodge, were organized and flourished after the Commonwealth had been admitted into the Union. In the "Recollections" and "Reminiscences" of pioneers many references are made to these early land clubs or claim associations, and Constitutions, By-laws, or Resolutions are sometimes reproduced therewith in whole or in part. But _complete and adequate manuscript records_ of but two Iowa organizations have thus far come to light. The "Constitution and Records of the Claim Association of Johnson County," preserved by the Iowa State Historical Society, were published in full in 1894. The materials of this now famous manuscript, which are clear and complete, were arranged as follows: I. Constitution and Laws; II. Minutes of Meetings; III. Recorded Claims; IV. Recorded Quit Claim Deeds. The Constitution of the Johnson County Association is perhaps the most elaborate Squatter Constitution in the annals of early Iowa. It was adopted March 9th, 1839, and consists of three articles, twenty-three sections, and over twenty-five hundred words. Article I. fixes the name of the Association, and declares that "the officers of this association shall be one President, one Vice President, One Clerk or Recorder of claims, deeds or transfers of Claims, seven Judges or adjusters of claims or boundary . . . and two Marshalls." All of the officers were elected annually. Article II. relates to "sallerys." It provides that "the Clerk or Recorder shall receive Twenty-five cents for recording each and everry claim, and fifty cents for everry deed or conveyance . . . . and Twelve & a half cents for the privalege of examining his Books." The Judges and Marshals were allowed one dollar and fifty cents each for every day spent in the discharge of the duties of their respective offices. Article III. contains ten sections bearing upon a variety of subjects. Section 1 indicates in detail how claims are to be made and recorded and the boundaries thereof designated. No person was allowed to hold more than four hundred and eighty acres. Section 2 provides that "any white male person over the age of eighteen can become a member of this association by signing the laws rules and regulations governing the association," that "actual citizens of the County over the age of seventeen who are acting for themselves and dependent on their own exertions, and labour, for a lively hood, and whose parents doe not reside within the limits of the Territory can become members of this association and entitled to all the privalages of members," but that "no member of the association shall have the privalege of voting on a question to change any article of the constitution or laws of the association unless he is a resident citizen of the county and a claimholder, nor shall any member be entitled to vote for officers of this association unless they are claim holders." The same section provides that "any law or article of the constitution of this association may be altered at the semianual meetings and at no other meetings provided, however, that three fifths of the members presant who are resident citizens of the county and actual claim holders shall be in favour of such change or amendment, _except that section fixing the quantity of land that everry member is entitled to hold by claim and that section shall remain unaltered_." By the same article semi-annual meetings of the Association are provided for in section 3. Section 5 declares that "all persons who have resided within the limits of the County for Two months, shall be recognized and considered as citizens of the County." Another section stipulates that "members of the association who are not citizens of the County shall be required in making claims to expend in improvements on each claim he or they may have made or may make the amount of fifty Dollars within six months of the date of making such claim or claims and fifty Dollars every six months there after until such person or persons becomes citizens of the county or forfeit the same." The 10th section relates to the procedure of the Claim Court. Finally, in section 11 the members pledge their "honours" for the "faithful observance and mantanance" of the Constitution by subscribing their names to the written document. In addition to the Constitution, Resolutions were, from time to time, adopted with the force of laws. It is here that the real spirit and purpose of the pioneer squatters is best expressed. With characteristic frankness they resolved to "discountenance any attempts on the part of any and every person to intrude in any way upon the rightful claims of another," since "the presumption is that a person thus attempting to take away a portion of the hard earnings of the enterprising and industrious setler is dishonest & no Gentlemen." That they insisted upon equity rather than upon refined technicalities in the administration of their law is seen in the following: "Resolved that to avoid difficulty growing out of the circumstance of persons extending their improvements accidentaly on the claims of others before the Lines were run thereby giving the first setlr an opportunity or advantage of Preemption over the rightful owner that any person who hold such advantages shall immediately relinquish all claim thereto to the proper owner and any one refusing so to do shall forfeit all claim to the right of protection of the association." For the speculator who sometimes attended the land sales the squatters had little respect; so they "Resolved that for the purpose of garding our rights against the speculator we hereby pledge ourselves to stand by each other and to remain on the ground until all sales are over if it becomes necessary in order that each and every setler may be secured in the claim or claims to which he is justly entitled by the Laws of this association." And remarkable as it may seem, the same protection which was pledged "before the sale" was guaranteed to "all such members as may be unable to enter their claims at the sale after such sale and until the same may be entered by them." The following are typical records of claims as recorded in the claim book of the Johnson County Association: "The following is a decription of my claim made about the 15 of January 1838, that I wish recorded. Situated on Rapid Creek About Two Miles above Felkners & Myers mill Johnson County Iowa Territory Commencing about 20 Rods South of Rapid Creek at a double white Oak Tree Blazed & 3 notches on one side and 4 on the other and then running West three fourths of a mile to a double white Oak on the east side of a small branch Blazed and marked as before described then running North about three fourths of a mile to a white Oak tree Blazed and marked as before then running East about three fourths of a mile to a small Bur Oak tree on the west side of Rapid Creek marked and blazed as before mentioned then running South crossing Rapid Creek to the place of beginning March 20th 1839. GRIFFITH SHRECK" "The following claim I purchased of John Kight in February 1839, & I wish it registered to me as a claim made as I have not got his deed with me the same being the S W qr of S 14, & that part of the S 1/2 of S 15, that Lyes East of the Iowa River--T 79 N. R. 6 W. July 3rd 1840 handed in July 3, 1840 ROBERT LUCAS" An illustrative quitclaim deed from the same records reads as follows: "This bargen made and entered into by the following parties Viz this day I James Williams has bargened and sold to Philo Costly a certain claim lying on the E side of Rapid Creek boundrys of said claim as follows commencing at a white Oak tree standing about 80 Rods below the upper forks of Rapid Creek thence running south 1/2 mile thence E 1 mile to a stake standing on the Prairie near 2 Trees. thence N 1/2 mile to a stake thence W. 1 mile to the starting place--I the said Williams agree and bind myself to defend all rights & claims excepting the claim of the general Government and also singular all rights claims & Interests to said claim for and in concideration of the sum of one hundred Dollars the receipt thereof I here in acknowledge said Williams agrees to put up a House and finish Except putting up the Chimney & dobing and also said Williams is to Haul out Eight or Ten hundred rails all included for the receipt above mentioned. Receipt. Johnson County. I. T. January 25, 1841 JAMES WILLIAMS [SEAL] Witness CORNELIUS HENYAN Handed in Februrary 3rd 1841" The manuscript records of the Claim Club of Fort Dodge, discovered several years ago among the papers of Governor Carpenter, are now carefully preserved by the Historical Department at Des Moines. From these records it appears that the first meeting of the Claim Club of Fort Dodge was held on the 22d day of July, 1854. At this meeting a committee was chosen to draft a "code of laws," and the following motions were passed: "First. That 320 Acres shall constitute a claim. 2d. A claim may be held one month by sticking stakes and after that 10 dollars monthly improvements is necessary in order to hold a claim. Also that a cabin 16 x 16 feet shingled and enclosed so as to live in is valued at $30.00." Of the same date are the following By-laws or Resolutions: "Whereas the land in this vicinity is not in market and may not be soon, We, the undersigned claimants deem it necessary in order to secure our lands to form ourselves into a Club for the purpose of assisting each other in holding claims, do, hereby form and adopt the following byelaws: _Resolved_ 1st. That every person that is an Actual claimant is entitled to hold 320 Acres of land until such time as it comes into market. _Resolved_ 2d. That any person who lives on their claim or is continually improving the same is an actual Claimant. _Resolved_ 3d. That stakeing out a claim and entering the same on our Claim Book shall hold for one month. _Resolved_ 4th. That $10, Monthly shall hold a claim thereafter. _Resolved_ 5th. That no mans claim is valid unless he is an actual settler here, or, has a family and has gone after them, in which case he can have one month to go and back. _Resolved_ 6th. That any person not living up to the requirements of these laws shall forfeit their claim, and, any Actual Settler who has no claim may settle on the same. _Resolved_ 7th. That any person going on anothers claim that is valid, shall be visited by a Com. of 3 from our club and informed of the facts & and if such person persist in their pursuits regardless of the Com or claimant they shall be put off the Claim by this Club. _Resolved_ 8th. That the boundaries of these laws shall be 12 miles each way from this place. _Resolved_ 9th. That this club shall hold its meetings at least once in each month. _Resolved_ 10th. That the officers of this club shall consist of a Chairman & Secty. _Resolved_ 11th. That the duty of the Chairman is to call to order, put all questions, give the casting vote when there is a tie, &c. &c. _Resolved_ 12th. That the duty of the sec. is to keep the minutes of the meetings and read the same at the opening of each meeting and have the book and papers in his charge. _Resolved_ 13th. That any or all of the bye laws may be altered or abolished by a majority vote at a regular meeting." On the offense of "claim-jumping" the records of the Fort Dodge Club contain this suggestive entry: "On Motion of Wm. R. Miller that if any member of this Club finds his or any of his friends Clames has been Jumpt that they inform this Club of the fact and that this Club forthwith put them off of said clame without trobling the Sivel Law." In the _Iowa News_ of March 28, 1838, was printed "The Constitution of the Citizens of the North Fork of the Maquoketa, made and adopted this 17th day of February, A. D. 1838." It is a typical Squatter Constitution of the Territorial period. "Whereas, conflicting claims have arisen between some of the settlers residing upon Government Lands, and whereas many individuals have much larger claims than are necessary for common farming purposes, Therefore, we, the subscribers, to preserve order, peace and harmony, deem it expedient to form an association, and adopt some certain rules, by which those difficulties may be settled, and others prevented. Therefore, we do covenant, and agree to adopt and support the following articles. Art. 1. This association shall be called the North Fork of Maquoketa Association, for the mutual protection of settlers' claims on Government Lands. Art. 2. That there shall be elected by the subscribers, a President, whose duty it shall be to call meetings to order, and preside as Chairman, and to receive complaint and to appoint a Committee of three from the Great Committee, to settle all difficulties that arise from conflicting claims, and also to fill vacancies. Art. 3. There shall be a Vice President elected, whose duty it shall be to fill the office of President in his absence. Art. 4. There shall be chosen a Secretary, whose duty it shall be to keep a correct Journal of the acts and proceedings of each and every meeting, and register all claims in a book kept by him for that purpose, who shall receive the sum of 25 cents for the registering of each and every claim. Art. 5. There shall be elected a committee of nine men, to be called the Grand Committee. Art. 6. No settler shall be entitled to hold more than three quarter sections of land. Each settler shall give in the numbers of the quarter sections that he may claim. Each and every settler shall make an improvement on his, her, or their claim, sufficient to show that the same is claimed, previous to having the same recorded. Art. 7. All minors under sixteen shall not be considered as holding claims, either by themselves, parents, or otherwise. Art. 8. The Secretary, at the request of eight subscribers, shall call a meeting of the settlers, by advertising the same in three different places, not less than ten days previous to the meeting. Art. 9. No person shall have any attention paid to his, her, or their complaint until they first subscribe to this Constitution. Art. 10. All committees that shall sit or act under this constitution, shall determine in their decision and declare which party shall pay the costs, and each declaration shall be binding and be collected according to the laws of this Territory. Art. 11. When complaints shall be made to the President, he shall immediately notify the sitting committee of three to meet at some convenient place. Then if said committee be satisfied that the opposing party has been timely notified, shall then proceed to investigate and try the case in dispute, receive evidence, and give their decision according to justice and equity, which decision shall be final: Provided, always, That either party considering injustice has been done, shall have a right to appeal to the Grand Committee, together with the President, who shall investigate the same, and shall give their decision in writing, from which there shall be no appeal. All appeals shall be made within ten days, or forever excluded. Art. 12. There shall be held an annual meeting on the 1st Monday of November for the election of officers and committees. Art. 13. The fees of each committee man with the President, shall not exceed one dollar per day. Art. 14. This constitution may be altered and amended by a vote of two thirds of the members. Art. 15. All committees made under this constitution shall be the judges of its meaning and spirit, and the resolutions of its meeting shall be governed according to their decisions. Art. 16. All persons not settlers, having claims not settled before the 1st of May, 1838, shall be forfeited." A hundred pages could easily be devoted to this interesting phase of our political history, but the details already given will suffice to indicate the nature, scope, and purpose of the Squatter Constitutions of Iowa. Their influence is clearly seen in a fourfold direction. First, they made it possible and practicable for the settlers to go upon the public domain (surveyed or unsurveyed) and establish homes without the immediate inconvenience of paying for the land. Secondly, they secured to the bona fide settlers the right to make improvements on the public lands and to dispose of the same for a reasonable consideration, or to purchase their improved land from the Government at the minimum price of $1.25 an acre. Thirdly, they afforded bona fide settlers adequate protection in the peaceable possession and enjoyment of their homes without fear of being molested or ousted, either by the Government, or the newcomer, or the land speculator, until the land was offered for sale, or opened for entry, or until they were able to enter or purchase the same for themselves and their families. Fourthly, they fostered natural Justice, Equality, and Democracy on the frontier (_a_) by establishing order under a Government founded upon the wishes of the people and in harmony with the peculiar conditions, social and economic, of the community, (_b_) by giving security alike to all bona fide settlers, (_c_) by limiting the amount of land any one settler could rightfully hold, (_d_) by requiring all disputes to be settled in regularly constituted courts, and (_e_) by conducting all public affairs in and through mass meetings, with the full knowledge and consent of all the people. In their Constitutions and Resolutions the squatters suggested, and in a measure definitely determined, the manner of disposing of the public lands. The principles of the most important legislation of Congress relative to the public domain came from the frontier. A comparison of the customs of the squatters with the provisions of the pre-emption and homestead acts reveals the truth that the latter are largely compilations of the former. These American principles of agrarian polity are products of frontier experience. One is even justified in suggesting that herein we have, perhaps, come across the origin of the American principle of homestead exemptions. Is it not reasonable to suggest that the emphasis which frontier life and customs placed upon the importance and value of the homestead gave birth to the laws that are "based upon the idea that as a matter of public policy for the promotion of the property of the State and to render independent and above want each citizen of the Government, it is proper he should have a home--a homestead--where his family may be sheltered and live beyond the reach of financial misfortune?" The Squatter Constitutions stand for the beginnings of local political institutions in Iowa. They were the fundamental law of the first governments of the pioneers. They were the fullest embodiment of the theory of "Squatter Sovereignty." They were, indeed, fountains of that spirit of Western Democracy which permeated the social and political life of America during the 19th century. But above all they expressed and, in places and under conditions where temptations to recklessness and lawlessness were greatest, they effectively upheld the foremost civilizing principle of Anglo-Saxon polity--the Rule of Law. V THE TERRITORY OF WISCONSIN The year one thousand eight hundred and thirty-six is memorable in the constitutional annals of Iowa, since it marks the beginning of the Territorial epoch and the advent of our first general code or text of fundamental law. To be sure, the Iowa country had had a certain constitutional status ever since the acquisition of the Province of Louisiana in 1803. In 1804, it formed a part of the District of Louisiana, which was placed. under the jurisdiction of the Governor and Judges of the Territory of Indiana; in 1805, it remained a part of that district known henceforth as the Territory of Louisiana; in 1812, it was included within the newly created Territory of Missouri; in 1821, it was reserved for freedom by the Missouri Compromise; and finally, after being without a local constitutional status for more than thirteen years, it was "attached to, and made a part of, the territory of Michigan" for "the purpose of temporary government." Nevertheless, it would be sheer antiquarianism to catalogue the treaty and conventions of 1803 and the several acts of Congress establishing the District of Louisiana, the Territory of Louisiana, the Territory of Missouri, and the Territory of Michigan as Constitutions of Iowa. Furthermore, a Constitution is the fundamental law of a _people_, not of a _geographical area_; and since the Iowa country was practically uninhabited prior to 1830, the earlier Territorial governments, which have been mentioned, had for Iowa only a nominal political significance. This is not to deny that Iowa has a history prior to 1830: it simply points out that this earlier history is largely a record of changes in subordinate jurisdiction over a geographical area, and in no sense the annals of a political society. Even after the permanent settlement of the Iowa country in the early thirties and its union with the Territory of Michigan in 1834, constitutional government west of the Mississippi continued to be more nominal than real. This is true notwithstanding the fact that the archives of the Territory of Michigan show that the Governor and the Legislative Council made a serious attempt to provide for and put into operation local constitutional government. In his message of September 1, 1834, addressed to the Legislative Council, Governor Mason referred to the inhabitants as "an intelligent, industrious and enterprising people," who, being "without the limits of any regularly organized government, depend alone upon their own virtue, intelligence and good sense as a guaranty of their mutual and individual rights and interests." He suggested and urged "the immediate organization for them of one or two counties with one or more townships in each county." The suggestions of the Governor were referred to the committee on the Judiciary, and incorporated into "An Act to lay off and organize counties west of the Mississippi River." This act, which was approved September 6th, to go into effect October 1st, organized the Iowa country to which the Indian title had been extinguished in June, 1833, into the counties of Dubuque and Demoine. It also provided that each county should constitute a township, and that the first election for township officers should take place on the first Monday of November, 1834. The laws operative in the county of Iowa, and not locally inapplicable, were to have full force in the country west of the Mississippi. Furthermore, the archives show that the offices of the newly created counties were duly filled by the Governor of the Territory of Michigan "by and with the consent of the Legislative Council." Letters and petitions addressed to the Governor are evidence that the people did not hesitate to recommend candidates or ask for removals. In Dubuque County they forced the resignation of the Chief Justice of the County Court and secured the appointment of a candidate of their own choice. And when a vacancy occurred in the office of Sheriff, the inhabitants of the same County, thinking that "the best method of recommending a suitable person for that office was to elect one at their annual township meeting," voted for Mr. David Gillilan as their choice. The Clerk of the County Court, who was authorized to notify the Governor of the results of the election, expressed the "hope that a commission will be prepared and sent as early as practicable." The records show that Mr. Gillilan was subsequently appointed by the Governor. So much for the public archives of the Territory of Michigan respecting the political status of the Iowa country. In a memorial to Congress drawn up and adopted by a delegate convention of of the people west of the Mississippi assembled at Burlington in November, 1837, this statement is made in reference to the two years from 1834 to 1836: "During the whole of this time the whole country, sufficient of itself for a respectable State, was included in the counties Dubuque and Demoine. In each of these two counties there were holden, during the said term of two years, two terms of a county court, as the only source of judicial relief up to the passage of the act of Congress creating the Territory of Wisconsin." The Legislative Council of the Michigan Territory, in a memorial which bears the date of March 1, 1836, went on record to this effect: "According to the decision of our Federal Court, the population west of the Mississippi are not within its jurisdiction, a decision which is presumed to be in accordance with the delegated power of the court and the acknowledged laws of the land; but that ten or twelve thousand free-men, citizens of the United States, living in its territory, should be unprotected in their lives and property, by its courts of civil and criminal jurisdiction, is an anomaly unparalleled in the annals of republican legislation. The immediate attention of Congress to this subject is of vital importance to the people west of the Mississippi." On the floor of Congress, Mr. Patton of Virginia "adverted to the peculiar situation of the inhabitants of that Territory [the Territory which was soon afterwards organized as Wisconsin] they being without government and without laws." This was in April, 1836. On the same day Mr. George W. Jones, the delegate from Michigan, declared that the people of western Wisconsin "are now, and have ever been, without the pale of judicial tribunals." He "stated that he did not know of a single set of the laws of the United States within the bounds of the contemplated Territory." The position of the Iowa country for several months immediately preceding the organization of the Territory of Wisconsin was indeed peculiar. In the eastern part of what had been the Territory of Michigan the people had framed and adopted a State Constitution. As early as October, 1835, they elected State officers. But on account of a dispute with Ohio over boundary lines, Congress was in no hurry to recognize the new State. Then for a time there were two governments--the Government of the State of Michigan and the Government of the Territory of Michigan--each claiming to be the only rightful and legitimate authority. It was not until January, 1837, that the existence of Michigan as a State was recognized at Washington. Lieutenant Albert M. Lea, a United States army officer, who had spent some time in the country west of the Mississippi did not fail to observe the anomalous condition of the people. Writing early in 1836, he said: "It is a matter of some doubt, in fact, whether there be any law at all among these people; but this question will soon be put to rest by the organization of the Territory of Wisconsin within which the Iowa District is by law included." But a general conclusion concerning the actual political status of the Iowa country prior to the organization of the Territory of Wisconsin is no longer doubtful when to these documentary evidences are added the sweeping testimony of the early squatters who declare that the only government and laws they knew or cared anything about in those days were the organization and rules of the claim club. It is substantially correct to say; (1) that the Territorial epoch in our history dates from the fourth day of July, 1836, when Wisconsin was constituted "a separate Territory," for the purposes of temporary government, and (2) that our first code or text of fundamental law, that is to say, the first Constitution of Iowa was "An Act establishing the Territorial Government of Wisconsin." As regards this conclusion two criticisms are anticipated. First, it will be said that since the Territory of Iowa was organized in 1838, the Territorial epoch in our history could not have begun in 1836. Secondly, it will be said that an act of Congress providing for and establishing a Territory is not a Constitution. The answer to the first criticism lies in the fact that the Iowa country was not an outlying district attached to the Territory of Wisconsin, but really formed a constituent part thereof. The area of Wisconsin Territory west of the Mississippi was far more extensive than the area of the same Territory east of the river. In population the two areas were nearly equal; but the west tended to increase more rapidly than the east. The importance of the west is further evidenced by the removal of the Capital after the first session of the Legislative Assembly from Belmont in eastern Wisconsin to Burlington in western Wisconsin. The constitutional history of Wisconsin up to the division of the Territory in 1838 is, therefore, clearly a part of the Territorial history of Iowa. The assignment of the old name "Wisconsin" to the country east of the Mississippi and of the new name "Iowa" to the country west of that river in 1838, when the Territory of Wisconsin was divided, did _not give rise_ to Territorial government among our people. The act of Congress of June 12, 1838, provided for the division of an existing Territory and the _continuation_ of Territorial government in the western part thereof under the name Iowa. When, however, all this is conceded, the propriety of referring to the Organic Act of a Territory as a Constitution is questioned. It is true that the act establishing the Territorial government of Wisconsin was not drawn up by the people of the Territory. It was not even submitted to them for ratification. Handed down to them by Congress, in the form of an ordinary statute, it was a pure product of legislation. It did not even have the label "Constitution," or "Fundamental Compact," or "Organic Law." Nevertheless, this instrument was a veritable Constitution, since it was a written body of fundamental law in accordance with which the government of the Territory was instituted and administered. It was supreme, serving as the absolute rule of action for all departments and officers of the Territorial government. The courts always took this view of the Organic Act, and refused to enforce acts which were clearly in opposition to its provisions. VI THE TERRITORY OF IOWA In the year 1836 there was printed and published at Philadelphia a small book bearing on its title-page these words: NOTES ON WISCONSIN TERRITORY, WITH A MAP. BY LIEUTENANT ALBERT M. LEA, UNITED STATES DRAGOONS. PHILADELPHIA. HENRY S. TANNER--SHAKESPEAR BUILDING. 1836. The significance of this little volume lies in the fact that through it the country destined to give birth to "the only free child of the Missouri Compromise" was christened IOWA. Lieutenant Lea was familiar with the country described in his "Notes." He had traveled through it, had seen its beautiful prairies, had met its inhabitants face to face, and had enjoyed their frontier hospitality. He must have been deeply impressed by the Iowa river and its name. Referring to the country west of the Mississippi river he says: "The District under review has been often called 'Scott's Purchase,' and it is sometimes called the 'Black-Hawk Purchase'; but from the extent and beauty of the Iowa river which runs centrally through the District, and gives character to most of it, the name of that stream, being both euphonous and appropriate, has been given to the District itself." The Iowa District was likely to become a separate Territory at an early day, since all indications pointed in the direction of a division of the Territory of Wisconsin. First, the geographical area of the Territory as designated in the Organic Act was sufficient for three or four ordinary Commonwealths. Secondly, this area did not possess geographical unity. Thirdly, historical traditions and considerations favored the establishment of a separate Territory east of the Mississippi, which at the proper time should be admitted as the fifth State born of the Ordinance of 1787 within the limits of the old Territory of the Northwest. Fourthly, the population of the Territory, which was increasing with unparalleled rapidity, was so widely scattered as to make it practically impossible to give equal force to the laws and equal efficiency to the administration of government in all of the frontier communities. That the "Father of Waters" should serve as the natural line of division was generally conceded. Scarcely had the act organizing the Territory of Wisconsin gone into effect, when the agitation for division was launched. By the fall of 1837 it had captured the public mind. The burden of the movement was taken up with enthusiasm by the inhabitants of the Iowa District. They realized that the proposition to remove the seat of the Territorial government from Burlington to some point east of the Mississippi was likely to rob them of much political influence and some distinction. They felt that a Territorial government located somewhere "in the vicinity of the Four Lakes" could not successfully administer constitutional government in the Iowa District. The people of Des Moines county were among the first to take formal action on what may well be called the first vital question in the history of the Constitutions of Iowa. At a meeting held in the town of Burlington on Saturday, September 16, 1837, they resolved "That while we have the utmost confidence in the ability, integrity and patriotism of those who control the destinies of our present Territorial Government, and of our delegate in the Congress of the U. States, we do, nevertheless, look to a division of the Territory, and the organization of a separate Territorial Government, by Congress, west of the Mississippi river, as the only means of immediately and fully securing to the citizens thereof, the benefits and immunities of a government of laws." In another resolution they "respectfully and earnestly recommend to the people of the Territory west of the Mississippi river, immediately to hold county meetings in their respective counties, and appoint three delegates from each county, to meet in Convention at this place, on the first Monday in November next." Pursuant to this call of the people of the county of Des Moines for an Iowa District convention, delegates from seven organized counties west of the Mississippi met at the Capitol in Burlington on Monday, November 6, 1837, and organized themselves into a "Territorial Convention." As such they continued in session for three successive days. On the second day a resolution was adopted inviting the Governor, members of the Legislative Council, Judges, and members of the bar of Burlington "to take seats within the bar." Committees were then appointed to prepare memorials on the several subjects before the delegates for consideration. On the third day three separate memorials to Congress were unanimously adopted. These related to (1) pre-emptions, (2) the northern boundary line of Missouri, and (3) the division of the Territory. In the memorial relative to the proposed division of the Territory, it was represented, "That the citizens of that part of the Territory west of the Mississippi River, taking into consideration their remote and isolated position, and the vast extent of country included within the limits of the present Territory, and the utter impracticability of the same being governed as an entire whole, by the wisest and best administration of our municipal affairs, in such manner as to fully secure individual right and the rights of property, as well as to maintain domestic tranquillity, and the good order of society, have by their respective Representatives, convened in general convention as aforesaid, for the purpose of availing themselves of their right of petition as free citizens, by representing their situation and wishes to your honorable body, and asking for the organization of a separate Territorial Government over that part of the Territory west of the Mississippi River. "Without, in the least, designing to question the official conduct of those in whose hands the fate of our infant Territory has been confided, and in whose patriotism and wisdom we have the utmost confidence, your memorialists cannot refrain from the frank expression of their belief that, taking into consideration the geographical extent of her country, in connection with the probable population of western Wisconsin, perhaps no Territory of the United States has been so much neglected by the parent Government, so illy protected in the political and individual rights of her citizens . . . . It will appear that we have existed as a portion of an organized Territory for sixteen months, with but one term of court. Your memorialists look upon those evils as growing exclusively out of the immense extent of country included within the present boundaries of the Territory, and express their conviction and belief, that nothing would so effectually remedy the evil as the organization of Western Wisconsin into a separate territorial Government. To this your memorialists conceive themselves entitled by principles of moral right, by the sacred obligation that rests upon the present government to protect them in the free enjoyment of their rights, until such time as they shall be permitted to provide protection for themselves; as well as from the uniform practice and policy of the Government in relation to her other Territories . . . . Your memorialists therefore pray for the organization of a separate territorial government over that part of the Territory of Wisconsin west of the Mississippi river." The time and place of the meeting of this remarkable "Territorial Convention" were certainly most opportune. Meeting in the halls of the Legislative Assembly at the Capital of the Territory and in the very presence of the members of the Assembly, the delegates declared it to be the wish and will of the people that the Territory be divided. The members of the Assembly were impressed with the fact that the people west of the Mississippi were in earnest, and, as representatives of the whole Territory, they too drew up a memorial which was approved by the Governor within three weeks after the Convention had adjourned. In this memorial the Legislative Assembly stated the case as follows: "That owing to the great extent of country embraced in the limits of Wisconsin Territory, and that vast extent of Territory being separated by a natural division, (the Mississippi river,) which renders the application of the same laws oppressive or unequal to one section or the other; the true policy of the two sections of the Territory being as widely different as their locations; and the impracticability of the officers of the General Government to administer the laws; render it highly important in the opinion of your memorialists that that portion of the Territory lying west of the Mississippi river be formed into a separate Territorial Government. "The Territory of Wisconsin now contains fifty thousand inhabitants; one-half of which, at least, reside on the west side of the Mississippi river. "Without any intention of censuring the official conduct of the officers in whose hands the administration of our infant Territory has been intrusted . . . . your memorialists would respectfully represent, that the western portion of Wisconsin, with a population of twenty-five thousand souls, reaps but a small portion of the benefits and advantages of the fostering care and protection of the mother Government. Your memorialists would further represent, that the population of Wisconsin is increasing with a rapidity unparalleled in the history of the settlement of our country; that, by a division of the Territory, and the formation of a separate Territorial Government west of the Mississippi river, your honorable body would greatly advance the political and individual interests of her citizens." By January 1, 1838, the people had expressed their views. They had formulated their convictions into a definite request which called for immediate division of the Territory. The scene of debate and discussion now shifts from the prairies to the halls of Congress. Here on February 6, 1838, the Committee on the Territories, to whom had been referred the memorials of the Territorial Convention and Legislative Assembly along with petitions from sundry citizens, and who by a resolution of December 14, 1837, had been instructed "to inquire into the expediency of establishing a separate Territorial Government for that section of the present Territory of Wisconsin which lies west of the Mississippi river and north of the State of Missouri," reported a bill to divide the Territory of Wisconsin, and establish the Territorial government of Iowa. In the report which accompanied this bill the Committee stated that they had become "satisfied that the present Territory of Wisconsin is altogether too large and unwieldy for the perfect and prompt administration of justice or for the convenient administration of the civil government thereof." They were more specific in saying that "the judges of the Territory, as it now is, and also the Governor, district attorney, and marshal, are entirely unable to perform their respective duties in all parts of the Territory." They also pointed out that of the fifty thousand inhabitants in the Territory more than half resided west of the Mississippi river, that the population was rapidly increasing, that the natural line of division was the Mississippi river, that the Capital would soon be removed to eastern Wisconsin, and that "so much of the Territory of Wisconsin as is east of the Mississippi river must necessarily form one State." It was not, however, until early in the month of June that "An act to divide the Territory of Wisconsin and to establish the Territorial Government of Iowa" passed both the Senate and the House of Representatives. On June 12, 1838, it received the approval of President Van Buren. As the Constitution of the Territory of Iowa it took effect on the sixty-second anniversary of the Independence of the American Nation. In the chronology of our Constitutions it stands as the second code or text of fundamental law. But the Territory of Iowa was not established without opposition in Congress. The discussion in the House of Representatives on the fifth and sixth days of June, and immediately preceding the passage of the act dividing the Territory of Wisconsin, brought out something of the broader significance of the proposition to create a new Territory in the country west of the Mississippi and north of the State of Missouri. From the records it appears that the sympathies of the Representatives were not all with the men on the frontier. Mr. Mason of Ohio, who moved to strike out the enacting clause, said that he desired to obtain information relative to the assertion "that the people had settled there in a manner contrary to law." "Mr. Waddy Thompson opposed the bill and the creation of a Territorial Government in the Northwest." He went at great length into "a consideration of the balance of power between the Northern and Western, and Southern States, as far as related to the questions of slavery, and the annexation of Texas." He declared that "he would never consent to the coming in of these Territories or States into the Union, when the fanatical spirit of the North was pouring into the House memorials against the annexation of Texas, simply because it was cursed with the peculiar institution of the South." To preserve the balance of power between the two sections of the Union, was the substance of Mr. Thompson's plea. If by the creation of the Territory of Iowa the North is promised a new State, the demand of the South for the annexation of Texas should, in accordance with the principle of the balance of power, be recognized. Thus it was proposed to meet the problem of admitting States at the time of the formation of new Territories. In the course of the debate it was suggested by Mr. Mercer "that Iowa be organized as a Territory when Wisconsin was admitted as a State." It remained for Mr. Shepard of North Carolina to make emphatic objections all along the line. He opened his speech by intimating that the bill had been introduced to the end that "a fresh rich field might be opened to those who speculate in public lands, and a batch of new offices created for such as seek Executive favor." He had no sympathy with the squatters. "Who are these that . . . . pray for the establishment of a new Territory? Individuals who have left their own homes and seized on the public land . . . . These men pounced on the choicest spots, cut down the timber, built houses, and cultivated the soil as if it were their own property . . . . Without the authority of law and in defiance of the Government, they have taken possession of what belongs to the whole nation, and appropriated to a private use that which was intended for the public welfare. These are they who require a governor and council, judges, and marshals, when every act of their lives is contrary to justice, and every petition which they make is an evidence of their guilt and violence. We, who are insulted, whose authority is trampled under foot, are asked for new favors and privileges; the guardians of the law are approached by its open contemners, and begged to erect these modest gentlemen into a dignified Government . . . . I cannot sanction their conduct; if they would not move peaceably, they should go at the point of the bayonet; if they forget what is due to their country and their distant fellow-citizens, they ought to be punished. The majesty of the laws should be vindicated." The Representative from North Carolina was jealous of the growth and development of the West, and he objected to the liberal land policy of the United States since it encouraged the young men to leave their southern homes. He declared that "if the Territory of Iowa be now established, it will soon become a State; and if we now cross the Mississippi, under the beautiful patronage of this Government, the cupidity and enterprise of our people will carry the system still further, and ere long the Rocky Mountains will be scaled, and the valley of the Columbia be embraced in our domain. This then is the time to pause . . . . "If happiness depended entirely on the number of hogs raised, or the quantity of corn gathered, then the citizens should be dispersed, so as to occupy the most fertile spots in our whole territory . . . . But whatever may be the effect of this land policy on the general welfare, it has been deeply injurious to the Southern portion of the Confederacy . . . . If all of the people born in North Carolina had remained in its limits, our swamps and low grounds would have rivalled the valley of the Nile in production, and our pine barrens would have been flourishing with the vine, the olive, and the mulberry. We have, therefore, reason to complain of the policy of this Government . . . . Others may act as pleases them, but I will never sustain a policy so detrimental to the people with whom I am connected . . . . If these remarks be unavailing, the patriot should fear for the permanence of the Republic." The spirited debate, which took place in the House of Representatives, on the question of the establishment of the Territorial government of Iowa disclosed the fact that the creation of a new Territory at this time west of the Mississippi and north of Missouri was of more than local interest; it was, indeed, an event in the larger history of America. Some few men were beginning to realize that the rapid settlement of the Iowa country was not an isolated provincial episode but the surface manifestation of a current that was of National depth. Far-sighted statesmen whose eyes were neither blinded by the lights of the moment nor yet always riveted upon that which for the time was most brilliant, saw that a plain, common-looking pioneer farmer from across the Mississippi had come upon the stage of National Politics and had already begun to play a role in the great drama of American Democracy. But even the prophets did not so much as dream that, within the memory of men then living, the awkward amateur would take the part of a leading actor in the play. VII THE CONSTITUTION OF THE TERRITORY The Territorial epoch in our history began in 1836, when the Territory of Wisconsin was established; it came to a close in 1846, when the State of Iowa was organized and admitted into the Union. Two Constitutions belong to this decade--the Organic Act of the Territory of Wisconsin, and the Organic Act of the Territory of Iowa. These Constitutions are very much alike both in form and content. Indeed, the latter was copied from or modeled upon the former. An outline of either would fairly indicate the content of the fundamental law for the whole Territorial epoch. But to avoid unnecessary repetition on the one hand and confusion on the other, the title of the present chapter will be taken to mean the Organic Act of 1838. The Constitution of the Territory of Iowa is clearly an outgrowth of American political development. In its provisions is summed up the final product of that most interesting series of evolutionistic transformations in Territorial government that took place throughout the North and West. The first in the long line of American Territorial Constitutions, and the starting point of subsequent development, was the ordinance of the Congress of the Confederation now familiarly known as "The Ordinance of 1787." Nor was this famous ordinance itself a code of _new_ political principles. Consciously or unconsciously its framers drew largely from the principles, forms, and practices of American government prior to the Revolution. The analogy between the Colonial and Territorial governments of America is too striking to be dismissed as accidental. The relation of the United States to the Territories has always been of a Colonial character. In the history of Territorial government the Ordinance of 1787 stands as the Magna Charta of the West. But the Great Ordinance like the Great Charter was in many respects crude, incomplete, and un-American. Place it by the side of the Constitution of the Territory of Iowa, and it is plain to see that in the course of fifty years marked changes had taken place--especially in the direction of democratization. The Constitution of the Territory is a written instrument of twenty sections or articles, containing in all about four thousand words. It has no preamble, but is simply introduced by the enacting clause. As a pure product of Congressional legislation it was promulgated upon the legislative authority of Congress with the approval of the President of the United States. In its origin, therefore, it resembles the Royal Charters of Europe more than the written Constitutions of America. The Constitution of the Territory was literally handed down to the people who were governed under its provisions _without their own consent_ directly given. The first section purports to create a new Territory, by fixing the boundaries thereof and declaring that from and "after the third day of July next, all power and authority of the Government of Wisconsin, in and over the Territory hereby constituted shall cease." On reading this section one is almost startled by the matter-of-fact way in which a body of legislators _seem_ to have made a Constitution and established a new political society. In providing for the executive department in the very next section the logical order of the Constitution of the United States was reversed by placing the executive "power and authority" before that of the legislative. This, however, was altogether natural, since the Governor had been the central figure in Territorial government ever since the days of the great St. Clair. He was no figure-head, but the real Government, influencing legislation as well as directing the administration. Robert Lucas, the first of the Territorial Governors of Iowa, seems to have fully apprehended this fact, for from the very outset he made himself the real power in public affairs. The influence of the Governor was dominant in Territorial government chiefly because, like his prototype in the Colonies, he represented the majesty and the supreme authority of the National government. "The executive power and authority in and over the said Territory of Iowa," runs the Organic Act, "shall be vested in a Governor, who shall hold his office for three years, unless sooner removed by the President of the United States." The Governor was appointed by the President, but must reside in the Territory and "shall take care that the laws be faithfully executed." He was commander-in-chief of the militia and commissioned all officers appointed under the laws of the Territory. It was his to grant pardons for offenses against the laws of the Territory and provisional reprieves for offenses against the laws of the United States. Besides all this, he was Superintendent of Indian affairs for the National government. In the government of the Territory of Iowa the Governor was something more than chief of the militia and author of commissions and pardons. Like the King of England, he was a constituent branch of the law-making body. Not only did the Organic Act declare "that the legislative power shall be vested in the Governor and a Legislative Assembly," but it gave to the Governor the power of an absolute veto over all acts of the Assembly. Indeed, it was this extraordinary power to participate in legislation along with the power to appoint all inferior judicial officers, justices of the peace, sheriffs, militia officers, and county surveyors that gave our first Governor a real power and prestige not since enjoyed by any executive--State or Territorial. A Secretary of the Territory was provided for in the third section. This officer stood next to the Governor in importance; and in case of the death, removal, resignation, or necessary absence from the Territory of the latter he was authorized and required to execute and perform the gubernatorial powers and duties. The Secretary was appointed by the President for a term of four years, but was subject to removal at any time. His chief duty was to record and preserve the laws, acts, and proceedings of both the Legislative Assembly and the Governor, and yearly transmit copies thereof to the President of the United States and to the Speaker of the House of Representatives. The legislative power was, by the fourth section of the Constitution, "vested in the Governor and a Legislative Assembly." The Assembly was a representative body organized on the bicameral plan into a "Council" and a "House of Representatives." The Council consisted of thirteen members, elected biennially; while the House of Representatives had just double that number, elected annually. The members of both houses were chosen directly by the qualified voters of the Territory. They were elected by districts, and apportioned on the basis of population. The Assembly was to meet annually; "but no session in any year shall exceed the term of seventy-five days." A lavish delegation of power was granted to the Legislative Assembly by the sixth section of the Constitution which provided "that the Legislative power of the Territory shall extend to all rightful subjects of legislation." Just what is meant by "rightful subjects of legislation" is nowhere stated. But from the pages of the Territorial statutes it is manifest that the important subjects of legislation were in general the establishment of local government, the creation of business and public corporations, the maintenance of the institution of private property, the fulfilment of contracts, and the guarantee of personal security. The sphere of legislation granted to the Territory was larger than that reserved to the Commonwealth of Iowa. It would, however, be a grave mistake to view the powers of the Legislative Assembly as unlimited, since the Constitution of the Territory contains (_a_) certain specific prohibitions, (_b_) a general limitation, and (_c_) a Bill of Rights. The specific prohibitions are: "no law shall be passed, interfering with the primary disposal of the soil; no tax shall be imposed upon the property of the United States; nor shall the lands or other property of non-residents be taxed higher than the lands or other property of residents." These specific prohibitions are followed in the same section by the general limitation which reads: "All the laws of the Governor and Legislative Assembly shall be submitted to, and if disapproved by, the Congress of the United States, the same shall be null and of no effect." The Territorial Bill of Rights as set forth in the Constitution is exceedingly brief--perhaps the shortest Bill of Rights on record. It consists of a single sentence and reads as follows: "The inhabitants of the said Territory shall be entitled to all the rights, privileges and immunities heretofore granted and secured to the Territory of Wisconsin and to its inhabitants." On its face this guarantee of the fundamental rights of man and of the citizen seems vague and unsatisfactory. But it is, nevertheless, large in implication. If we turn to the Constitution of the Territory of Wisconsin to see what rights, privileges, and immunities were therein guaranteed, we find "that the inhabitants of the said Territory shall be entitled to, and enjoy, all and singular the rights, privileges, and advantages, granted and secured to the people of the Territory of the United States northwest of the river Ohio, by the articles of the compact contained in the ordinance for the Government of the said Territory, passed on the thirteenth day of July, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-seven; and shall be subject to all the conditions and restrictions and prohibitions in said articles of compact imposed upon the people of the said Territory." In other words, the provisions of the Ordinance of 1787 are by implication made a part of the Constitution of the Territory of Iowa. Thus the people of Iowa inherited through the Territorial Constitutions of 1836 and 1838 the political principles of the great Ordinance of 1787 as a Bill of Rights. Great was the legacy. Mark the classical expression of that instrument in enumerating the immemorial rights, privileges, and principles of Anglo-Saxon polity. "No person demeaning himself in a peaceable and orderly manner, shall ever be molested on account of his mode of worship or religious sentiments . . . . The inhabitants of the said Territory shall always be entitled to the benefits of the writ of _habeas corpus_, and of the trial by jury; of a proportionate representation of the people in the legislature, and of judicial proceedings according to the course of the common law. All persons shall be bailable, unless for capital offences, where the proof shall be evident, or the presumption great. All fines shall be moderate; and no cruel or unusual punishments shall be inflicted. No man shall be deprived of his liberty or property, but by the judgment of his peers, or the law of the land, and should the public exigencies make it necessary, for the common preservation, to take any person's property, or to demand his particular services, full compensation shall be made for the same. And in the just preservation of rights and property, it is understood and declared, that no law ought ever to be made, or have force in the said territory, that shall, in any manner whatever, interfere with, or affect private contracts or engagements, _bona fide_, and without fraud previously formed." These words are more than formal expressions of great principles; they are ennobling. But to read farther, that religion, morality, and knowledge are necessary to good government and the happiness of mankind, and that there shall be neither slavery nor involuntary servitude in the said Territory, is to inspire reverence. Such, indeed, are the "liberties we prize" and the "rights we will maintain." The judicial power of the Territory was vested by the Constitution in "a Supreme Court, district courts, probate courts, and in justices of the peace." The Supreme Court consisted of a Chief Justice and two associate justices. They were appointed by the President for a period of four years, and were required to hold a term of court annually at the seat of government. The Constitution further directed (_a_) that the Territory be divided into three judicial districts, (_b_) that a district court or courts be held in each of the three districts by one of the judges of the Supreme Court, and (_c_) that the said judges reside in the districts respectively assigned to them. The courts of the Territory of Iowa were "legislative courts," that is, courts created by Congressional legislation. The extent of their jurisdiction was much greater than that of State courts, since by the Organic Act they were empowered to exercise the customary jurisdiction of both State and Federal courts. In addition to those already mentioned, the Constitution provided for two other prominent Territorial officers, namely, a Marshal and an Attorney. Both were appointed by the President of the United States for a term of four years. At the National Capital the Territory was represented by a Delegate who was elected by the people for a term of two years. The Delegate was entitled to a seat in the House of Representatives where he could participate in debate but was not allowed a vote. One of the most significant sections of the Constitution is the fifth. It provides "that every free white male citizen of the United States, above the age of twenty-one years, who shall have been an inhabitant of said Territory at the time of its organization, shall be entitled to vote at the first election, and shall be eligible to any office within the said Territory." Thereafter the suffrage qualifications were to be determined by the Legislative Assembly; "_Provided_, That the right of suffrage shall be exercised only by citizens of the United States." Although the Organic Act of 1838 was almost a literal copy of the Organic Act of 1836, the following differences are worthy of observation: First, the term of the members of the Council was changed from four years in 1836 to two years in 1838. Secondly, the term of Representatives was changed from two years in 1836 to one year in 1838. Thirdly, the term of the judges of the Supreme Court was changed from "good behavior" in 1836 to four years in 1838. Fourthly, by the Organic Act of 1838 the judges of the Supreme Court were required to reside in their respective districts. Fifthly, the salary of the judges of the Supreme Court was reduced from eighteen hundred dollars in 1836 to fifteen hundred dollars in 1838. Reflection upon the history and provisions of the Constitution of the Territory leads to a few general conclusions. First, this Constitution was written i. e. codified. In the second place, it was an act of Congress. Again, its provisions represent political evolution in Territorial government up to the year 1838. Furthermore, government in the Territory, though subordinate, had a wider sphere of activity under the Organic Act than has ever since been enjoyed by government under a State Constitution. This is true, since the Legislative Assembly and the Territorial courts exercised to a considerable extent the customary functions of both National and State governments. Still further, the President of the United States was in theory the head of Territorial administration, since he had the power to appoint and remove the chief administrative officers in the Territory. Finally, there existed in the machinery of Territorial government a nice balance between administration on the one hand and legislation on the other, that is, between the part which was responsible directly to the President of the United States and the part which was responsible directly to the people of the Territory. VIII THE CONSTITUTION OF THE TERRITORY AMENDED No provision for its amendment is contained in the Organic Act of 1838; but by inference and implication it is clear that the power to change, alter, or amend the Constitution of the Territory resided in Congress. The process of amendment, therefore, was that of ordinary legislation. Congress was not long in exercising this extraordinary power. On March 3, 1839, within eight months of the organization of the Territory, the President approved two acts amending the Constitution. These were: (1) "An act to alter and amend the organic law of the Territories of Wisconsin and Iowa;" and (2) "An Act to authorize the election or appointment of certain officers in the Territory of Iowa, and for other purposes." The first limited the veto power of the Governor by providing that bills not approved by him might, nevertheless, become laws if passed a second time by two-thirds of both houses of the Legislative Assembly. The second likewise aimed at curtailing the powers of the Governor by authorizing the Legislative Assembly to "provide by law for the election or appointment of sheriffs, judges of probate, justices of the peace, and county surveyors." The history of a quarrel between the Governor and the first Legislative Assembly, which in a great measure occasioned these amendments, is significant in throwing light upon the political ideas and the democratic frankness and determination of the people of the Territory. On July 7, 1838, President Van Buren issued a commission to Robert Lucas of Ohio, appointing him Governor of the new Territory of Iowa. The position was a difficult one to fill; but the President's selection promised to be the very best. Lucas was neither young, obscure, nor inexperienced. Born in Virginia, he had served with distinction in the War of 1812. He had served in the Legislature of Ohio, and had twice been elected to the office of Governor by the people of that State. In 1832 he acted as Chairman of the first National Convention of the Democratic Party. Upon receiving his commission as Governor of Iowa, Robert Lucas repaired with all possible haste to the West. Venerable with years and political experience, he arrived at Burlington in August, 1838. Here he found that Wm. B. Conway, the Secretary of the Territory, "had _assumed_ the Executive prerogative, had issued a proclamation dividing the Territory into Judicial Districts, and was about issuing a proclamation apportioning the Representatives and ordering an election." The conduct of the Secretary provoked the Governor; and Robert Lucas was not the man to conceal his feelings or hesitate to express his mind. From that time to the death of the Secretary in November, 1839, the two men were enemies. Lucas, in a letter to John Forsyth, Secretary of State, declared that Conway "has not only done nothing to render me assistance, but _is generally believed to be the prime mover of the opposition to my proceedings, and the author_ of the documents forwarded to Washington by the members of the Legislature." The first Legislative Assembly of the Territory of Iowa did not meet until November 12, 1838. On the first day of the session each house proceeded to organize _pro tempore_. Then they assembled jointly in the hall of the House of Representatives to be sworn in by the Governor, and to receive any communication which his "Excellency" might have to make to them. Governor Lucas delivered his first message in person. He took pains to emphasize the fact that the Organic Act had vested the legislative power in "the Governor and a Legislative Assembly," which meant that "the Executive is vested with advisory and restraining powers, and the Legislative Assembly with deliberative and enacting powers." "In no place," he declared later in a communication to the Secretary of the Territory, "is there any power vested in the Legislative Assembly independent of the Governor." Throughout the message, which when printed covered ten pages of the journal, the Governor freely advised and recommended such measures as he deemed most expedient. Then near the close he boldly added: "I shall at all times take pleasure in concurring with you in acts that tend to advance the general interests of the Territory, and the prosperity of the people;--but at the same time will be compelled to withhold my assent to such acts, or proceedings, as I may conscientiously for the time being believe to be prejudicial to the public good." Robert Lucas lived up to the spirit and the letter of his declaration. In the matter of appointments the Governor's policy was courageously set forth in these words: "I shall at all times pay a due respect to recommendations; but cannot conscientiously nominate to office any individual of _bad moral character_, or, that may be addicted to _intemperance or gambling_, if known to me. These vices are so contaminating in their character, that all public officers in my opinion should be clear of even a suspicion of being addicted to them." Lucas, writing some years later, was of the opinion that this declaration was one of the potent causes of opposition to his administration. After the election of permanent officers, which followed the Governor's speech, the Legislative Assembly proceeded with energy and enthusiasm to the business of legislation. But not a few of its measures met with the disapproval of the Governor. It soon became evident that the relations between the Executive and the Assembly were not altogether cordial. The situation was made still more embarrassing by the ill feeling which existed between the Governor and the Secretary of the Territory. Indeed it is clear that Mr. Conway was instrumental in stirring up much of the opposition to Governor Lucas by confiding his private grievances to members of the Assembly, by deferring to the Assembly to the point of servility, and by affecting to set up an administrative department distinct and separate from that of the Governor. On November 14, he submitted to the Council and House of Representatives the first of a series of communications bearing directly upon his own position and powers as Secretary and his relations to the Legislative Assembly, and indirectly upon his relations to the Governor and the relations of the latter to the Assembly. It was early in the session that the Council and House of Representatives resolved "That when an act is presented to the Governor for his approval, he shall, within a reasonable time thereafter, make known to the House in which said act may have originated of his approval thereof; or if not approved of, the act shall be returned, with his objections thereto." For some weeks after its passage, this resolution seems to have received no attention. Either there was delay in presenting it to the Governor, or the Governor did not give it his immediate attention. It was not until January 4, 1839, that the resolution was returned to the House of Representatives with this observation from the Governor: "I see no place in the organic law, that vests the Council and House of Representatives with the right to dictate to the Executive in the discharge of his official duties." In the meantime the Council had taken steps looking toward the regulation by statute of all official intercourse between the legislative and executive departments of the government. On December 4, 1838, a committee of two was appointed to confer with the Governor and report a bill. The committee held the conference and reported a bill on the day following. After some discussion the bill passed the Council on December 11, but not without important amendments. On the day following, the bill as amended passed the House of Representatives. It was presented to the Governor on the 18th. On December 19, Lucas returned the bill to the Council with his veto. He objected to the changes which had been made in the bill as originally reported by the committee. At the same time he took occasion to state, for the information of the Assembly, the course he intended to pursue in the future. He said: "All bills, resolutions, or memorials, submitted to me, will be carefully examined, and if approved, will be signed and deposited in the office of the Secretary of the Territory. If special objections are found, but not sufficient to induce me to withhold my assent from the bill, resolution, or memorial, a special note of explanation will be endorsed with my approval. Bills, resolutions, or memorials, that may be considered entirely objectionable, or of doubtful policy, will be _retained under advisement_ or returned to the Legislative Assembly, with my objections, at such time, and in such way and manner as I may, for the time being, deem to be most advisable." In reply to all this it was "Resolved, By the Council and House of Representatives of the Territory of Iowa, That his Excellency Gov. Lucas, is hereby respectfully requested to inform each House of the Legislative Assembly, of all acts by him approved during the present session; and that he is further requested hereafter to inform the House in which a bill originated of his approval thereof immediately after the same has been given." With a brief message, Lucas returned this resolution to the House of Representatives on January 5, 1839. He would at all times be pleased to comply with requests from the Assembly, provided it "could be done with some propriety and conscience; but having neither secretary, clerk, messenger, assistant or other attendant, in public employ, at the Executive office, . . . . I must respectfully decline a compliance with your respectful request, and most respectfully invite your attention to my communication of the 19th December last." Two days later a committee of the House of Representatives headed by James W. Grimes reported on the Governor's vetoes. They held that the "various Executive vetoes" were not only uncalled for, but were unwarranted by the Organic Act of the Territory. The phrase in the Constitution which reads, "shall approve of all laws," is mandatory and leaves the Executive without discretion. The committee took the whole matter very seriously, believing that great principles were at stake. "As representatives of the people," they declared, "we conceive that we should be recreant to their rights and true interests, if we should acquiesce in the 'veto power' as used by the Executive . . . . We believe the people should be heard through those who represent them and are responsible to them. That their wishes should be regarded, and not the wishes of the Federal Government or a federal officer. We believe the principle claimed by the Governor is a most dangerous and pernicious principle, and as the representatives of freemen we cannot acquiesce in it." A week later the House "Resolved, That Robert Lucas is unfit to be the ruler of a free people," and appointed a select committee to prepare a memorial to the President of the United States praying for his immediate removal. The Council committee on Territorial Affairs was no less emphatic in its condemnation of the "Executive Vetoes." They did not believe that Congress in framing the Organic Act intended to confer the power of an absolute veto upon the Governor. In their report of January 22, 1839, upon the bill regulating the intercourse between the executive and legislative departments, they exclaimed: "It is time to remonstrate. The liberty of the people should be dear to their representatives, and he who DARES not defend their sacred rights, who would not, in the hour of peril, stand as a sentinel to guard their privileges, is unworthy the name of a freeman." In the meantime the Legislative Assembly had prepared a memorial to Congress requesting an amendment to the Organic Act which would limit the Governor's veto power. The Governor remained firm and unmoved to the end of the session. Notwithstanding all the resolutions, reports, and memorials of the Assembly, he continued to approve some measures, veto others, and endorse still others with special notes of explanation. Nor did the indignation of the members of the Legislative Assembly subside as the session neared its close. They now hoped to get rid of the Governor. So they addressed a memorial to "His Excellency Martin Van Buren, President of the United States," in which they enumerated at length "the faults of Governor Lucas' administration," and asked for his immediate removal from the office of Chief Executive. In the House of Representatives the minority offered a preamble and resolution praying that they be allowed to forward a counter memorial to the President, but on the motion of James W. Grimes their preamble and resolution were rejected. This remarkable memorial concerning Robert Lucas reads much like the arraignment of King George III in the Declaration of Independence. In the political history of Iowa it stands as the declaration of the independence of the will of the representatives of the people as over against the will of the administration. It stands as the protest of Democracy against the exercise of arbitrary power. Its significance lies not in any statement or misstatement of historical facts, but in the spirit of independence, courage, and democracy which pervades its lines. When the Legislative Assembly met in November, 1839, the storm had passed. The Constitution of the Territory had been amended. Robert Lucas was still in office. But, reflecting upon the situation, he could truthfully say in his message: "It is with heartfelt gratitude to Almighty God . . . . that I am, through His _special Providence_, permitted again to address the Legislative Assembly." IX AGITATION FOR A STATE CONSTITUTION The early agitation for the establishment of a State government cannot justly be interpreted as opposition to the Constitution of the Territory, or as disaffection with the Territorial government. On the contrary, it was altogether natural for the people who settled in the new Territory west of the Mississippi to look forward to the early establishment of a State government. Never in the history of the United States had Territories been viewed as permanent. In fact it was everywhere understood that the Territorial organization was at most a temporary arrangement which in time would give way to the more perfect Constitution of the Commonwealth. Then, too, in the case of Iowa there was such a rapid growth of population that admission into the Union could not be long delayed under any circumstance. Mr. Shepard was right when in 1838 he said: "If the Territory of Iowa be now established, it will soon become a State." The movement for the establishment of a State government was inaugurated by Robert Lucas in his message to the second Legislative Assembly which met at Burlington on November 4, 1839. The Governor was of the opinion that in view of the "rapidly increasing population, and advancing prosperity of the Territory" the Assembly might "with propriety proceed to measures preparatory to the formation of a Constitution and State government." He knew that some would object to such measures as premature, "inasmuch as our expenses are defrayed by the United States," while the financial burdens of a State government would all have to be borne by the people. But, argued the Governor, did not prosperity and improvement within the States of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Michigan languish during the Territorial period, and then advance "with rapid strides from the moment of their several admissions into the Union as independent States?" To his Excellency these historical "facts" were conclusive. The inference was clear in his mind. Prosperity and improvement result from the establishment of State government. So he earnestly recommended to the Legislative Assembly "the early passage of a memorial to Congress, respectfully asking of that body the passage of an Act, at their ensuing session, granting to the inhabitants of Iowa Territory the right to form a Constitution and State Government, and to provide for their admission into the Union upon an equal footing with the original States." Furthermore, he recommended "the passage of a law to provide for the calling of a convention to form a state constitution, so soon as Congress may grant by law the privilege to do so." The Governor was seriously in earnest. He even went so far as to recommend definite boundaries for the proposed Commonwealth. Lucas was not alone in these advanced views. The newly elected President of the Council, Stephen Hempstead, thought that, notwithstanding the fact that the "Territory is yet in the bloom of infancy," only a "short period will elapse before Iowa will become a State." "You, gentlemen," he said, addressing the members of the Council, "are placed here for the purpose of maintaining her rights as a territory, to enact salutary laws for her government and to prepare her for an admission into the Union, under the great principles of civil liberty." But the Legislative Assembly was more conservative. At the regular session of 1839-40 it neither memorialized Congress on admission into the Union nor passed a law providing for the calling of a Convention to form a Constitution. In opposition to the recommendations of the Governor and the views of a minority in the Assembly, it was argued (1) that the establishment of State Government would increase the burdens of taxation "which must render the new State government burdensome as well as odious to the people," (2) that "it could not add to the prosperity of the agriculturalist, the merchant, the miner, or the mechanic; nor could it render any more fruitful the sources of profit which are open to honest industry and application," and (3) that the people of the Territory enjoy under the acts of Congress ample liberty and freedom in self-government. The second Legislative Assembly of the Territory was not willing to assume the responsibility of measures looking toward so radical a change in the political status of the people of Iowa. On January 17, 1840, it adjourned only to meet again in extra session later in the year. In the meantime the Committee on Territories in the House of Representatives had reported a bill enabling the people of Iowa to form a Constitution and State government. This gave Lucas an opportunity of directing attention again to the matter in which he was so deeply interested. When the Assembly met in extra session July 13, 1840, he was prepared with a suggestion that was as reasonable as it was democratic. He would have the whole question referred to the people for decision. Presuming that the bill before Congress would pass, Lucas ventured to "suggest to the Legislative Assembly the expediency of providing by law for taking the sense of the people of this Territory on the subject of a convention at the next ensuing annual election." "It appears to me," he said, "that there can be no objection to submitting the subject to the people for their consideration, as an expression of public opinion through the ballot-box would enable the ensuing Legislative Assembly to act understandingly, and in accordance with the expressed will of the people on this important subject." Following the suggestion of the Chief Executive the Assembly provided by law for obtaining the wishes of the people at the annual August elections. All who favored the calling of a Convention were required to write "convention" on their ballots; while all who opposed the proposition were required to write "no convention." The law having been approved by the Governor on the last day of July, very little time was left for its consideration by the electorate before the elections. When the official returns were counted the Governor in a proclamation declared the result to be 937 votes for and 2,907 votes against a Convention. The defeat, which was decisive, indicated that the squatters had not yet paid for their claims. And so the Organic Act of 1838 continued to serve the people of Iowa as the code of fundamental law. Robert Lucas was disappointed, but he had to admit that the Territory went on increasing in population and wealth with phenomenal rapidity, notwithstanding the "facts" in the history of the Old Northwest. Not even the "imperfect conditions of Territorial government" seemed to affect in the slightest degree the economic prosperity and improvement of this frontier community. The overwhelming defeat of the Convention proposition at the polls checked for a time all agitation in favor of a State Constitution. Even the Governor, who up to this time had been its most sanguine advocate, declared in his message of November that since the people had expressed their preference for Territorial Government, "all further legislation on the subject at the present session" is precluded. The question now remained in _statu quo_ for over a year, that is, from August, 1840, to December, 1841. In the meantime Robert Lucas had served out his full term of three years. There was no chance for his reappointment since the Democrats had lost the Presidency in the elections of 1840. The new Whig President, William Henry Harrison, appointed John Chambers, of Kentucky, to succeed the Ohio statesman. Again Iowa was fortunate in securing as Governor a man of experience and of National reputation. When Governor Chambers sent his first message to the Legislative Assembly in December, 1841, he thought he had reason to believe that if the question of a Convention were again submitted to the people there would be evidenced by them a marked change in sentiment. Why? The answer was clearly set forth in the message. First, the population of the Territory had increased phenomenally since August, 1840. Secondly, Congress had passed the "Distribution Act" which provided (_a_) that Iowa should participate in the _pro rata_ distribution, along with the twenty-six States and three Territories, and the District of Columbia, of the net proceeds of the sales of public lands, and (_b_) that five hundred thousand acres of land for internal improvements should be granted to every new State that should be admitted into the Union. John Chambers thought the liberal provisions of the Distribution Act would remove the grounds of all objections based upon the argument that State organization would be followed by burdensome taxes. In the light of these considerations he recommended that the question of a Convention be again submitted to the people. Following this recommendation, the third Legislative Assembly passed "An Act to provide for the expression of the opinion of the people of the Territory of Iowa, upon the subject of the formation of a State Constitution and Government, and to enable them to form a Constitution for the State of Iowa," which act was approved February 16, 1842. Its provisions were as elaborate as its title. A poll was to be opened at each electoral precinct at the time of the general election in August. As the qualified electors approached the polls they were to be asked by the judges of election whether they were in favor of or against a Convention. Thereupon the electors were to answer simply, "Convention" or "No Convention." The clerks of election were charged with keeping a record of these _viva voce_ votes. The act provided further, that should a majority of the votes polled be found to favor a Convention, then eighty-two delegates to such a Constitutional Convention were to be elected on the second Tuesday in October next after the election aforesaid. On the first Monday of November next following their election, the delegates elected were to meet at Iowa City "and proceed to form a Constitution and State Government, for the Territory of Iowa." Finally it was provided "that when a Constitution and form of State Government" shall have been adopted by the Convention, the same shall be published in the newspapers of the Territory and voted upon by the people at the next general election, which would be held in August, 1843. The Governor's message and the measure inspired by it were clear, full, and to the point. They called up for public consideration the whole problem of State organization in its several phases of (_a_) the calling of a Constitutional Convention, (_b_) the formation of a State Constitution, and (_c_) the admission of the State into the Union. They opened up a lively political discussion which was to continue for full five years. As to the propriety and wisdom of calling a Constitutional Convention there was from the beginning a decided difference of opinion. The act of February 16, 1842, had met with strong opposition in both houses of the Legislative Assembly. In the press and among the people of the Territory the question became, naturally enough, the local issue in party politics. The Democrats who had fathered the measure in the Assembly were everywhere heartily in favor of State organization, but the Whigs, who, being in the minority, would neither control the Convention nor officer the new State government, were vigorous in their opposition. Three days after the approval of the act of the Assembly there appeared in the _Iowa City Standard_ a remarkable letter. Its author was Francis Springer, a member of the Council and a Whig of considerable influence. His letter was in substance "a speech prepared by him to be delivered in the Council on the bill relating to the Convention, but not delivered because shut down by the majority." From this speech it appears that the bill relative to State organization, as originally introduced, provided for a vote of the people on the question of a Constitutional Convention and the election of delegates at the same time. This was confusing, since the election of delegates assumed a favorable vote on the question of a Convention. But Mr. Springer was opposed to the bill in any form. He thought that since the people had not expressed a contrary opinion their adverse vote in 1840 "ought to settle the question." He intimated that the bill sought to create places for disappointed politicians. Certain prominent Democrats--notably Robert Lucas and Judge Williams--had recently lost their positions. "So offices must be created for them. Hence the proposition to create a State Government." Furthermore, Mr. Springer opposed the bill because State organization would greatly increase the burdens of local taxation. Nor was the recent legislation of Congress a satisfactory reply; for in his opinion the benefits to be derived from the Distribution Act would after all be inconsiderable. Satisfied with existing conditions, he asked: "Are we slaves? Is our liberty restricted? Are we deprived of the rights, immunities, and privileges of American citizens? Is the rod of oppression held over us by the General Government? Has that Government manifested its care towards us by sending persons to 'spy out our liberties, misrepresent our character, prey upon us, and eat out our substance?' It is not pretended that there is a murmur of the kind. We are in possession of the most enlarged liberty and the most liberal favors. Then why urge this measure, uncalled for by the people, unwarranted by the condition of the Territory?" The newspapers of the Territory were divided on party lines. The Democratic press favored the calling of a Convention and urged the immediate organization of a State government; while the Whig press just as vigorously opposed all such measures from the calling of a Convention to admission into the Union. In favor of a Constitutional Convention it was urged that the admission of Iowa into the Union would result in a more rapid increase in the population by immigration, since immigrants as a rule preferred States to Territories. Again, admission into the Union would give Iowa more influence at Washington, which would probably mean generous appropriations by Congress for the improvement of the rapids of the Mississippi. Politically the change would place the new Commonwealth on an equal footing with the other States, give the people a voice in the election of a President in 1844, and secure to them the long desired privilege of choosing their own Governor. It was even claimed that Statehood would promote character, foster independence, engender State pride, and inspire dignity, since "it would secure to us the noblest privilege of freemen! that of electing our own officers to govern over us, instead of being subjected to the additional humiliation of having them sent from abroad for that purpose." Finally, it was suggested that if Iowa did not hasten to make application for admission into the Union, Florida, the slave Territory which was then ready to be admitted, would be paired with Wisconsin. These arguments were frequently accompanied by declamation and exhortation. The Territorial state was declared to be a condition of "colonial dependence" or "colonial vassalage." And so the question before the people was set forth as one of "Dependence" or "Independence." Will they support the proposition to establish a State government and thus follow in the footsteps of the Fathers of the Revolution? Or will they oppose the proposition and thereby brand themselves as Tories? To the advocates of State government the way was clear. "The freemen of Iowa should rise and strike for independence." On the other hand, the opponents of State organization were quite willing "to let good enough alone." They were satisfied with Territorial government and saw no good reasons for a change. They were not unmindful of the fact that under the existing arrangement the expenses of the Territorial government were paid out of the Treasury of the United States. Then, too, the Whigs thought that the whole movement in favor of a State government savored of "jobs" and party aggrandizement. "It is evident," they said, "that a scheme is maturing with the Loco-focos of this Territory to involve the people in the support of a State government" for the "express purpose, as we believe, of benefitting such men as Ex-Governor Lucas (Lord Pomposity) and Judge Williams, and a few others of the same stamp." Furthermore, some declared that Iowa was too young for Statehood, her resources were too limited, and the people were hardly prepared for the adoption of State government. Mr. Lowe argued that the change would be undesirable because there really were no eminent men in the Territory fitted for the tasks of State government. This was intimating that the pioneers of Iowa were incapable of self-government. But the vital argument against this or any measure looking toward the establishment of a State government was the one which appealed directly to the people as taxpayers. Under the Organic Act of 1838 the United States generously assumed the burden of supporting the general government of the Territory, and so the salaries of Governor, Judges, Secretary, Attorney, and Marshals, the _per diem_ allowance of the members of the Legislative Assembly, the expense of printing the laws, the contingent expenses of the Territory, and other incidental expenses were all paid out of the Treasury of the United States. Public buildings were erected out of funds drawn from the same source. But a change from Territorial to State organization meant that in the future these public expenditures would have to be met by warrants drawn on the Treasury of the State, the coffers of which must be supplied through local taxation. The people protested. The men who were industriously breaking the prairies, clearing the forests, and raising corn preferred to invest their small earnings in lands and plows and live stock. An attempt was made to answer this argument. It was confidently asserted that the additional expense entailed by a State government would not exceed thirty thousand dollars annually. Nor would this amount have to be contributed by the people of Iowa, since it was estimated that the benefits to be derived from the Distribution Act would more than meet all additional obligations. Besides the State would receive five hundred thousand acres of land as a gift; while all the lands reserved for the support of schools could, under State organization, be used for such purposes. The answer was of little avail. No one could predict with certainty the operation of the Distribution Act. Under the circumstances a majority of the voters were not willing to abandon the Territorial organization for the "dignity" of a Commonwealth government. At the general elections in August, 1842, every County in the Territory returned a majority _against_ a Convention. Again the existence of the Organic Act of 1838 as a code of fundamental law was prolonged by a vote of the people. Again the agitation for a State Constitution remained in abeyance for over a year, that is, from August, 1842, to December, 1843. In the meantime there were at least some immigrants who did not "prefer States to Territories." By May, 1844, the population of the Territory numbered over seventy-five thousand souls. When the Legislative Assembly met in December, 1843, Governor Chambers was confident that the population of Iowa had "attained a numerical strength" which entitled the people to a participation in the government of the Union and to the full benefits of local legislation and local self-government. He therefore recommended in his message that provision be made for ascertaining the wishes of the people "in relation to this important matter." At the same time he advised the Assembly to "apply to Congress to fix and establish, during its present session, a boundary for the proposed State, and to sanction the calling of a Convention and to make provision for our reception into the Union as soon as we shall be prepared to demand it." The Governor's reference at this time to a possible boundary dispute is interesting in the light of subsequent events. He says: "The establishment of a boundary for us by Congress will prevent the intervention of any difficulty or delay in our admission into the Union, which might result from our assuming limits which that body might not be disposed to concede to us." The Legislative Assembly responded promptly to the suggestion that the people of the Territory be given another opportunity to express an opinion on what had come to be the most interesting question in local politics. As early as February 12, 1844, "An Act to provide for the expression of the opinion of the people of the Territory of Iowa upon the subject of the formation of a State Constitution for the State of Iowa" was approved by the Governor. In substance this act was practically a restatement of the provisions of the act of February 16, 1842. The _viva voce_ vote was to be taken at the Township elections in April, 1844. In many respects the campaign of the spring of 1844 was a repetition of the campaign of 1842. On the main issue the political parties were divided as before, that is, the Democrats favored and the Whigs opposed the calling of a Convention. In the public speeches and in the utterances of the press there was little that was new or refreshing. All the old arguments of 1840 and 1842 were dragged out and again paraded through the editorial columns of the newspapers. Again the opponents of State organization talked about the certain increase in the burdens of taxation and intimated that the whole movement was set on foot for no other purpose than to provide places for Democratic office-seekers. Again the ardent supporters of State government ignored the latter charge and replied to the taxation argument by quoting the provisions of the Distribution Act. Altogether the discussion lacked freshness, force, and vigor--it was stale and hackneyed. Two years of growth and reflection had wrought a change in sentiment. The public mind had evidently settled down in favor of State organization. At the elections in April the people returned a large majority in favor of calling a Constitutional Convention. This first move in the direction of Statehood having been made by the people, it now remained to take the several additional steps of (1) the election of delegates to a Constitutional Convention, (2) the drafting of a State Constitution, (3) the adoption of such a Constitution by the people, and (4) the admission of the new State into the Union. X THE CONVENTION OF 1844 In accordance with the provisions of the act of February 12, 1844, and the act of June 19 amendatory thereof, seventy-three delegates to a Constitutional Convention were elected at the general Territorial elections in August, 1844. These delegates were chosen on partisan grounds. With the electorate the primary question was not, "Is the candidate well grounded in the principles of government and administration?" but "What are his political affiliations?" When the votes were counted it was found that the Democrats had won a great victory. The Whigs had not succeeded in electing one third of the whole number of delegates. Events were making rapidly toward the realization of State government. On Monday, October 7, 1844, sixty-three of the delegates elected met in the Old Stone Capitol at Iowa City and organized themselves into a constituent assembly. The meeting was informally called to order by Francis Gehon of Dubuque County. Ralph P. Lowe was chosen to act as President _pro tem_. After a temporary organization had been fully effected the Convention of 1844 was formally opened with prayer. Upon the call of Counties by the Secretary the delegates presented their credentials and took their seats. One committee was appointed to examine credentials, and another to draw up rules of proceeding. The Convention then adjourned for the day. When the Convention met on Tuesday morning the Committee on Credentials presented the names of all the delegates who had produced certificates of election. A report from the Committee on Rules was laid on the table. Mr. Bailey's resolution that "the editors of this Territory be permitted to take seats within the bar of this House" was adopted. The Convention then proceeded _viva voce_ to the election of permanent officers, that is, a President, a Secretary, an Assistant Secretary, a Door-Keeper, and a Sergeant-at-Arms. The honor of the Presidency fell to Shepherd Leffler of Des Moines County. George S. Hampton and Alexander B. Anderson, who were elected Secretary and Assistant Secretary respectively, were not members of the Convention. Warren Dodd was elected Sergeant-at-Arms, and Ephraim McBride, Door-Keeper. Upon being conducted to the chair Mr. Leffler addressed the Convention in a most earnest manner. He tried to impress upon the members the serious importance of the work before them. "You meet gentlemen," he said, "on an occasion of the deepest interest. We are in the progress of an important change, in the midst of an important revolution, 'old things are to be done away and all things are to become new.' The structure and organization of our government are to be changed, territorial relations with the parent government are soon to cease, and Iowa must soon take upon herself the duties and the responsibilities of a sovereign State. But before this important change can be fully consummated, it is necessary for us to form a republican constitution, for our domestic government. Upon you, gentlemen, a confiding people have entrusted this high responsibility. To your wisdom, to your prudence, to your patriotism, they look for the formation of that instrument upon which they are to erect the infant republic--under your auspices the youngest and fairest daughter of the whole American family is to commence her separate political existence, to take her rank in the Union of the American States, and to add her star to the proud flag of our common country. Recollect, gentlemen, that the labor of your hands, whatever may be its fashion, will not be the fashion of a day, but permanent, elementary, organic. It is not yours to gild or to finish the superstructure, but to sound the bottom, to lay the foundation, to place the corner stone. Unlike the enactments of mere legislation, passed and sent forth to-day and recalled to-morrow, your enactments, when ratified by the people are to be permanent and lasting, sovereign and supreme, governing, controlling and directing the exercise of all political authority, executive, legislative and judicial, through all time to come." Mr. Leffler hoped that the Convention would frame a Constitution which would, "in all its essential provisions, be as wise and as good if not wiser and better than any other instrument which has ever yet been devised for the government of mankind," so that "Iowa, young, beautiful and blooming as she now is, endeared to us by every attachment which can bind us to our country, may at no distant day, for every thing that is great, noble or renowned, rival if not surpass the proudest State of the American confederacy." On the same day, and after the election of officers, the report of the Committee on Rules was taken up, slightly amended, and adopted. In the afternoon Mr. Hall, who came from a back county in which no newspapers were printed, moved "that each member of the Convention have the privilege of taking twenty copies weekly of the newspapers published in this city," and at the expense of the Convention. A lively discussion followed. Some favored the motion because its object was to provide the people with information concerning the Convention, others because they had already promised papers to their constituents. But Mr. Grant thought that it was both useless and corrupt. The delegates had come to the Convention with economy on their lips and therefore should resist such "useless expenditures." The motion was lost. On the third day standing committees were announced on the following subjects: (1) Bill of Rights; (2) Executive Department; (3) Legislative Department; (4) Judicial Department; (5) Suffrage and Citizenship; (6) Education and School Lands; (7) Incorporations; (8) State Boundaries; (9) County Organization; (10) Internal Improvements; and (11) State Debts. The Convention was now in condition to take up the great task of drafting a code of fundamental law. On Thursday--the fourth day--the real work of the Convention began with a report from the Committee on State Boundaries. Of the seventy-two members who labored in the Convention and signed the Constitution there were twenty-one Whigs and fifty-one Democrats. Twenty-six of the delegates were born in the South, twenty-three in the Middle States, ten in the New England States, ten in the States of the Old Northwest, one in Germany, one in Scotland, and one in Ireland. Of those born in the United States thirteen were from Pennsylvania, eleven from Virginia, nine from New York, eight from Kentucky, eight from Ohio, six from North Carolina, six from Vermont, and one each from Massachusetts, Connecticut, New Hampshire, Maine, New Jersey, Tennessee, Indiana, and Illinois. The oldest member was sixty-six, the youngest twenty-seven; while the average age of all was about forty years. As to occupation or profession, there were forty-six farmers, nine lawyers, five physicians, three merchants, two mechanics, two miners, two mill-wrights, one printer, one miller, and one civil engineer. The Convention lost no time in procrastinating delays. Committees were prompt in making reports. Parliamentary wranglings were infrequent. There was no filibustering. The discussions were, as a rule, neither long, wordy, nor tiresome. Indeed, the proceedings were throughout conducted in a business-like manner. The Democrats were determined to frame a Constitution in accordance with what they were pleased to call "the true principles of Jeffersonian Democracy and Economy." They had the votes to carry out this determination. And yet the proceedings of the Convention were by no means formal and without enlivening discussion. The fragments of the debates which have come down to us contain many remarks suggestive of the life, character, and political ideals of the people of early Iowa. For example, the discussion concerning newspapers, already referred to, brought out an expression of the popular ideal of economy and frugality. To be sure, newspapers containing information concerning the Convention and the fundamental instrument of government which was in the process of making would, if circulated widely throughout the Territory, educate and enlighten the people. But since the proposition involved the expenditure of several hundreds of dollars it was extravagant. The sacred principle of "Economy" could not be sacrificed to enlightenment. This pioneer ideal of thriftiness persisted among the Iowans for more than a generation. Strict even to parsimoniousness in the matter of public expenditures, the pioneers of Iowa were not always puritan in observing the forms of religion. Their liberal attitude and their fearless courage in expressing views on so delicate a subject were displayed in an interesting debate in the Convention on a resolution offered by Mr. Sells to the effect "that the Convention be opened every morning by prayer to Almighty God." Mr. Chapman favored the resolution, since "the ministers would gladly attend and render the services without compensation." Mr. Gehon objected on the ground that "it would not be economical, for the Convention sat at an expense of $200 to $300 per day, and time was money." Mr. Hall moved to amend the resolution so that the exercise of prayer might "commence at least one half hour before the assembling of the Convention." But Mr. Chapman thought that such a provision would be an insult to the Clergy and to "those who believed in the superintendence of Almighty God." Mr. Kirkpatrick said that he too believed in a "superintending Providence" that "guided and controlled our actions." He was a firm believer in Christianity, but he "did not wish to enforce prayer upon the Convention." Prayer, he argued, was a moral precept which could not be enforced without violating or infringing the "natural right" of the members to worship God each in his own way. If "we can enforce this moral obligation, then we have a right . . . . to make every member of this Convention go upon his knees fifty time a day." Mr. Kirkpatrick cared nothing for precedent. "This was a day of improvement. Let those who believed so much in prayer, pray at home." After all "public prayer was too ostentatious." Mr. Sells was shocked, and would "regret to have it said of Iowa that she had so far travelled out of Christendom as to deny the duty of prayer." Ex-Governor Lucas, who was a member of the Convention, was astonished at Mr. Hall's amendment. He said that "if ever an assemblage needed the aid of Almighty Power, it was one to organize a system of Government." Furthermore, he believed that "it was due to the religious community, and to our own character" to have prayer. To reject the resolution would, he thought, "give us a bad name abroad." Mr. Hooten reminded Lucas of the story told of Franklin, who, when a boy, asked his father why he did not say grace over the whole barrel of pork at once. Mr. Hall was "opposed to any attempt on the part of the Convention to palm themselves off to be better than they really were, and above all other things, to assume a garb of religion for the purpose of giving themselves character." He doubted the efficacy of prayers invoked at political meetings, and cited an instance where a "Reverend gentleman" fervently prayed for the release of Dorr, the election of Polk and Dallas, and the triumph of Democratic principles. To believe in the efficacy of such a prayer implied that "Deity was a Democrat." Now, "if the Almighty was a Democrat, he would perhaps grant the prayer; if not a Democrat he would not grant it." Mr. Hall desired to know what was to be prayed for in the Convention. As for himself, "he would pray as did the man in New Orleans, that God would 'lay low and keep dark,' and let us do the business of the Convention." Prayers in the Convention were, he thought, inappropriate. "There were places where the Almighty could not be approached in a proper spirit--and this was one." Mr. Bailey asked the members who voted against taking papers on the grounds of economy to be consistent and vote against this resolution to have prayers. It would save some two or three hundred dollars. Then, too, he thought that "people were becoming more liberal in [their religious] sentiment. No man could say that he ever opposed another on account of religion; he respected men who were sincerely religious; but he wanted to have his own opinions." Mr. Bailey feared that members might be compelled, under the resolution, "to hear what they were opposed to. This was contrary to the inalienable rights of man. If members did not feel disposed to come, it took away their happiness, contrary to the Declaration of Independence and the principle laid down by Thomas Jefferson, the Apostle of Liberty." Mr. Cutler said that "he had not lived a great while, but long enough not to be afraid of meeting such a question openly." He opposed the resolution and desired the yeas and nays recorded on the motion. Mr. Fletcher "regretted the opposition that he saw, and was unwilling that it should go forth to the world that Iowa refused to acknowledge a God." Mr. Evans did not believe in progression to the exclusion of prayer. He favored "providing a room for those who did not wish to hear prayers." Mr. Hepner opposed the resolution because he thought that it was inconsistent with the principle of religious freedom as set forth in the Bill of Rights. Mr. Shelleday wished to represent the moral and religious feelings of his constituents by supporting the resolution. Mr. Quinton thought that his constituents were as moral as those of Mr. Shelleday. But he "did not believe praying would change the purposes of Deity, nor the views of members of the Convention." "In the name of Heaven," he exclaimed, "don't force men to hear prayers." By a vote of forty-four to twenty-six the resolution was indefinitely postponed. The liberal religious spirit of the pioneers is further evidenced by the principle of toleration which was incorporated into section four of the Bill of Rights. As introduced by the Committee the section provided that "no religious test shall be required as qualification for any office or public trust, and no person shall be deprived of any of his rights, privileges, capacities, or disqualified for the performance of any of his duties, public or private, in consequence of his opinion on the subject of religion." Mr. Grant thought that the report "was meant to cover _everything_." But, to make sure that it did not exclude Atheists from giving testimony in the courts, Mr. Galbraith moved to insert the words "or be rendered incompetent to give testimony in any court of law or equity." Mr. Lowe, of Muscatine, favored leaving the law on this subject as it was; that is, he thought that "Atheists should not be admitted to give testimony" because "there was nothing that such a person could swear by. An oath called upon Deity to witness the truth of what was said, and to withdraw his favor from the person if it was untrue. Atheists consequently could not take an oath." It would be "unsafe" to permit them to testify. Mr. Hempstead wanted to "do away with this inquiring into a man's religious opinions. He desired to keep it out of the Constitution. It was the fear of the penalties of perjury that restrained men from stating what was not true--not future punishment." Mr. Kirkpatrick thought that to refuse to allow Atheists to testify would be an "infringement of the natural rights of man." Mr. Grant said that "he hoped this Convention would take high grounds upon this subject and silence . . . . these inquiries into men's belief, and exclusions for opinion's sake." When the test vote was taken it was found that only ten members of the Convention were willing to deny to Atheists the right to give testimony in the courts. An interesting debate on salaries led to the adoption of section thirty-five, Article IV., of the Constitution which fixed the compensation of the State officers "for the first ten years after the organization of the government." The discussion was provoked by a report from the Committee on State Revenue in which the following salaries were recommended: For Governor, $1000; for Secretary of State, $500; for Treasurer, $400; for Auditor, $700; for Superintendent of Public Instruction, $700; and for Judges of the Supreme Court, $800. Several motions were made which aimed to increase slightly the sums recommended by the Committee; but the bent of the Convention was manifestly in favor of a reduction of salaries all along the line. Sums ranging from $600 to $1200 were suggested for the Governor. Mr. Hooten "thought the salary was about right at $1000. The Governor was rather than else considered as public property, would have to entertain a good deal of company, &c., and should have a pretty liberal salary." Mr. Davidson said that "he came here for low salaries. He did not like $1000, but $1200 was worse." The Convention finally agreed upon $800 as a proper salary for the Governor of the State of Iowa. No cut was made in the sum ($500) reported for the Secretary of State; but the Treasurer's salary was reduced to $300. The Convention was willing that the Judges of the Supreme Court should receive the same pay as the Governor, that is, $800. The Auditor's salary received the most attention. The Committee on State Revenue had recommended $700. "Mr. Grant moved to strike out $700, which would leave the salary blank." Ex-Governor Lucas hoped that the salaries would not be reduced so low that competent men could not afford to accept them. Mr. Chapman "desired to pay a fair price for services rendered, but he was not willing to pay a single dollar for dignity. He did not want to have men paid to live as gentlemen, with no services to perform. . . . . What were the duties of Auditor, that they could not be performed for a salary of $500 or $600? A farmer toiled from the rising of the sun to its going down, and at the end of the year had not perhaps $100;--there were hundreds of men qualified for that office who labored the whole year for less than half of $700. In this country we are all poor, and have to do with but little." Mr. Strong came to the Convention with a "desire for economy, and felt disposed to go for as low salaries as any man; but he thought gentlemen were disposed to reduce them too low." Mr. Hempstead thought that the Convention was "running this thing of economy into the ground." He knew that there were men who would take the offices at almost any salary; but "they would plunder to make it up." Mr. Quinton declared that the services rendered by the Auditor were not worth more than $400. He would "continue to advocate economy in the State offices, whether it was displeasing to some gentlemen or not." Mr. Fletcher supported the recommendation of the Committee on State Revenue because the object was to secure as Auditor a man of "the best business talents." Mr. Hall observed that the proposition to pay "such large salaries to our officers was based upon a misunderstanding of the importance of our little State. We were just commencing to totter, and not to walk." Mr. Harrison said "we were in a youthful condition, and were poor, and we could not afford to pay such salaries as the great and wealthy State of Ohio." Furthermore, "he wanted the officers to share something of the hardships and privations of the citizens. He would not have them gentlemen of leisure, walking about the streets, talking with their friends, &c., with plenty of money in their pockets. An honest man would perform the duties of Auditor as well for $300 as $1000. If he was not honest we did not want him." Mr. Bissell favored a reduction. "He did not want to support government officers at high salaries, to ride about in their coaches and sport gold spectacles. He did not want them paid for giving wine parties, and electioneering the Legislature. They should walk from their residences to their offices, as other citizens." And so the salary of Auditor was fixed at $500. What wonder that Mr. Hempstead "felt disposed to make a motion that no gentleman or man of respectability should be appointed to any office under the Government of the State of Iowa." From the fragments of the debates which were chronicled in the newspapers of the Capital, it is clear that the Convention of 1844, in providing for the exercise of executive power in Iowa, aimed (1) to make the Chief Magistracy a representative institution and (2) to limit the influence of the Governor in legislation. The Committee on the Executive Department, of which the venerable Ex-Governor Lucas was the chairman, reported in favor of vesting the supreme executive power in "a Governor, who shall hold his office for four years." A Lieutenant Governor "was to be chosen at the same time and for the same term." Furthermore, section five of the report provided that "no person shall be eligible to the office of Governor or Lieutenant Governor more than eight years in any term of twelve." Mr. Chapman made a motion to strike out the provisions relative to a Lieutenant Governor, "which motion he enforced upon the principle of economy, and the non-necessity of the office." But the Convention refused to take a step so radical. Mr. Langworthy moved to strike out _four_ and insert _two_ "as the term for which the Governor should hold his office." This was "to test whether any officer in the State of Iowa was to hold his office more than two years." Mr. Langworthy "wanted the whole government to be changed once in two years." His motion prevailed. On the motion of Mr. Peck section five of the report, which aimed to prevent the Governor and Lieutenant Governor from succeeding themselves in office more than once in twelve years, was stricken out. The question of an executive veto on legislation naturally received considerable attention, since the administration of Lucas was still fresh in the minds of many members of the Convention. The Committee on the Legislative Department had reported a form of executive veto which was so limited that it could be passed over by an ordinary majority in the two branches of the General Assembly. Mr. Peck favored a two-thirds majority of the members present. But Mr. Hall moved to strike out the whole section and said that "in making this Constitution he wished to throw off the trammels of fashion and precedent. He had so pledged himself to his constituents. This veto power was a trammel, and an unnecessary restraint on the freedom of legislation. The law of progress required that it should be abolished." Mr. Bailey "thought the veto power was a valuable one; it was the people's power . . . . The Governor was more the representative of the people, than the Representatives themselves. The Representatives were chosen by sections, and represented local interests, and they might continue to pass bad laws. But the Governor had no local feelings." Mr. Peck said that "the veto power was a qualified negative to prevent hasty and ill-advised legislation." He declared that the executive veto was a wholesome remedy for over-legislation. "It was a Democratic feature of any Constitution." Ex-Governor Lucas took part in the discussion. "We were," he said, "engaged in making a Constitution to protect the rights of the people. The veto was one of the instruments that had been used to defend the people's rights . . . . It might have been exercised imprudently at times, but that was not a good argument against the power." Mr. Hall discussed the question at length. "Gentlemen," he said, "supposed that the Legislature might be corrupt--he would suppose on the other hand, that the Governor might he corrupt, and his supposition was as good as theirs. Some gentlemen were afraid of the tyranny of the representatives--he would suppose that the Governor would be the tyrant; or he would suppose that the Governor would combine with the Legislature, and they would all be corrupt and tyrannical together. A number of persons were not so liable to corruption and combination as a single individual;--just as numbers increased the probability of corruption decreased." He declared that "there was no need of the power in this Territory." The Convention finally agreed upon the form of the limited executive veto as provided for in the Federal Constitution. Not even the Judiciary was spared from the influence of Western Democracy as it rose up and asserted itself in the Convention of 1844. The day of executive appointment and life tenure of judges had passed or was passing. The Committee on the Judiciary recommended that "the Judges of the Supreme Court and District Court shall be elected by the joint vote of the Senate and House of Representatives and hold their offices for six years;" but a minority report, introduced by Mr. Fletcher, proposed that all of the judges be elected by the qualified voters of the State. In discussing this question the Convention desired to follow the wishes of the people; but it was not known that the people themselves really desired to elect the Judges. On the other hand there is no evidence that anyone favored executive appointment. So the question before the Convention was: Shall the Judges be elected by the people or shall they be chosen by the General Assembly? Mr. Hempstead favored direct election by the people on the assumption "that in a Republican or Democratic government the people were sovereign, and all power resided in them." He did not believe that the influence of politics would be worse in the election of Judges by the people than in the election of members of the General Assembly. "Joint ballot," he declared, "was one of the most corrupt methods of election ever devised." Mr. Bailey did not doubt "the capacity of the people to elect their Judges;" but he thought that "there was real danger in the Judges becoming corrupt through political influences. They were liable to form partialities and prejudices in the canvass, that would operate on the bench." He had "no objection to the people electing the Judges; but he did not think they desired the election--they had never asked to have it." Ex-Governor Lucas said "the question would seem to be, whether there was any officer in the government whose duties were so sacred that they could not be elected by the people. All officers were servants of the people, from the President down." He repudiated the idea that the people were not capable of electing their own servants. Mr. Quinton supported the proposition to elect the Judges, since "this was said to be an age of progress." In his opinion "the ends of Justice would be better served by elections by the people than by the Legislature." Mr. Kirkpatrick declared that the selection of Judges by the General Assembly was "wrong both in principle and in policy." He was opposed to "voting by proxy." He believed that "we should choose our Judges ourselves and bring them often to the ballot box." Mr. Fletcher "came pledged to go for the election of Judges by the people." He believed that "the surest guaranty, which could be had for the fidelity and good conduct of all public officers, was to make them directly responsible to the people." The outcome of the discussion was a compromise. The Judges of the Supreme Court were to be named by the General Assembly; but the Judges of the District Court were to be elected by the people. That the pioneers of Iowa, including the members of the Convention of 1844, were Democratic in their ideals is certain. They believed in Equality. They had faith in Jeffersonianism. They clung to the dogmas of the Declaration of Independence. They were sure that all men were born equal, and that government to be just must be instituted by and with the consent of the governed. Such was their professed philosophy. Was it universally applicable? Or did the system have limitations? Did the Declaration of Independence, for example, include negroes? The attitude of the Convention on this perplexing problem was perhaps fairly represented in the report of a Select Committee to whom had been referred "a petition of sundry citizens praying for the admission of people of color on the same footing as white citizens." This same Committee had also been instructed to inquire into the propriety of a Constitutional provision prohibiting persons of color from settling within the State. In the opening paragraph of their remarkable report the Committee freely admitted (1) "that all men are created equal, and are endowed by their Creator with inalienable rights," and (2) that these rights are "as sacred to the black man as the white man, and should be so regarded." At the same time they looked upon this declaration as "a mere abstract proposition" which, "although strictly true when applied to man in a state of nature, . . . . becomes very much modified when man is considered in the artificial state in which government and society place him." The Committee then argued that "government is an institution or an association entered into by man, the very constitution of which changes or modifies to a greater or less extent his natural rights. Some are surrendered others are modified . . . . In forming or maintaining a government it is the privilege and duty of those who are about to associate together for that purpose to modify and limit the rights or wholly exclude from the association any and every species of persons who would endanger, lessen or in the least impair the enjoyment of these rights. We have seen that the application of this principle limits the rights of our sons, modifies the privileges of our wives and daughters, and would not be unjust if it excluded the negro altogether.--'Tis the party to the compact that should complain, not the stranger. Even hospitality does not sanction complaint under such circumstances. True, these persons may be unfortunate, but the government is not unjust." Thus the problem of negro citizenship was not one of abstract right, but must be settled on grounds of expediency. "Would the admission of the negro as a citizen tend in the least to lessen, endanger or impair the enjoyment of our governmental institutions?" The answer of the Committee reads as follows: "However your committee may commiserate with the degraded condition of the negro, and feel for his fate, yet they can never consent to open the doors of our beautiful State and invite him to settle our lands. The policy of other States would drive the whole black population of the Union upon us. The ballot box would fall into their hands and a train of evils would follow that in the opinion of your committee would be incalculable. The rights of persons would be less secure, and private property materially impaired. The injustice to the white population would be beyond computation. There are strong reasons to induce the belief that the two races could not exist in the same government upon an equality without discord and violence, that might eventuate in insurrection, bloodshed and final extermination of one of the two races. No one can doubt that a degraded prostitution of moral feeling would ensue, a tendency to amalgamate the two races would be superinduced, a degraded and reckless population would follow; idleness, crime and misery would come in their train, and government itself fall into anarchy or despotism. Having these views of the subject your committee think it inexpedient to grant the prayer of the petition." Nor was it thought expedient by the Committee to introduce an article into the Constitution which would exclude altogether persons of color from the State, notwithstanding the fact that "the people of Iowa did not want negroes swarming among them." Even Mr. Langworthy, who had been instructed by his constituents "to get something put into the Constitution by which negroes might be excluded from the State," felt that the matter could safely be left with the General Assembly. Mr. Grant thought that an exclusion clause in the Constitution would "endanger our admission into the Union." Although the report was laid on the table, it nevertheless represented the dominant opinion then prevalent in Iowa. Our pioneer forefathers believed that the negroes were men entitled to freedom and civil liberty. But more than a score of years had yet to elapse before there was in their minds no longer "a doubt that all men [including the negroes] are created free and equal." When the delegates were elected to the Convention of 1844 the people of the Territory were still suffering from the effects of over-speculation, panic, and general economic depression. Many of them still felt the sting of recent bank failures and the evils of a depreciated currency. Hence it is not surprising to learn from the debates that not a few of the delegates came to the Convention instructed to oppose all propositions which in any way favored corporations, especially banking corporations. The opposition to banks and bank money was not local; it was National. The bank problem had become a leading party issue. Democrats opposed and Whigs generally favored the banks. It was so in Iowa, where the agitation was enlivened by the presence of the "Miners' Bank of Du Buque." This institution, which was established in 1836 by an act of Congress, had been the local storm center of the bank question. Prior to 1844 it had been investigated four times by the Legislative Assembly of the Territory. In the Convention a minority as well as a majority report was submitted from the Committee on Incorporations. The majority report provided: (1) that one bank may be established with branches, not to exceed one for every six counties; (2) that the bill establishing such bank and branches must be (a) passed by a majority of the members elected to both houses of the General Assembly, (b) approved by the Governor, and (c) submitted to the people for their approval or rejection; (3) that "such bank or branches shall not have power to issue any bank note or bill of a less denomination than ten dollars;" (4) that "the stockholders shall be liable respectively, for the debts of said bank, and branches;" and (5) that "the Legislative Assembly shall have power to alter, amend, or repeal such charter, whenever in their opinion the public good may require it." The same majority report provided further: (1) that "the assent of two-thirds of the members elected to each house of the Legislature shall be requisite to the passage of every law for granting, continuing, altering, amending or renewing any act of Incorporation;" (2) that no act of incorporation shall continue in force for more than twenty years; (3) that the personal and real property of the individual members of a corporation shall be liable for the debts of such corporation; and (4) that "the Legislative Assembly shall have power to repeal all acts of incorporation by them granted." The minority report, which was signed by two members of the Committee, provided that "no bank or banking corporation of discount, or circulation, shall ever be established in this State." In the discussion that followed the introduction of these reports the Whig members of the Convention were inclined to keep restrictions out of the Constitution and leave the whole question of establishing banks to the General Assembly. The Democrats were not united. The more radical supported the minority report; others favored the establishment of banks well guarded with restrictions. Mr. Hempstead said that he was opposed to all banks as a matter of principle. He pointed out that there were three kinds of banks--banks of deposit, banks of discount, and banks of circulation. "To this last kind he objected. They were founded in wrong, and founded in error." He declared that such corporations should be excluded altogether from the State. Indeed, he said that "if the whole concern--banks, officers and all--could be sent to the penitentiary he would be very glad of it." Mr. Quinton thought that "the whole concern of Banks, from big A down, were a set of swindling machines, and now was the time for the people of Iowa to give an eternal quietus to the whole concern." Mr. Ripley declared that "Banks had always been a curse to the country . . . . He believed Banks to be unconstitutional, and oppressive upon the laboring classes of the community." Mr. Bailey was an anti-Bank man; "but he knew many Democrats who were in favor of Banks under proper restrictions." Mr. Hall said that "Banking was a spoiled child; it had been nursed and petted till it had become corrupt." He objected to banking "because it conferred privileges upon one class that other classes did not enjoy." He believed that the people would find that "a bank of earth is the best bank, and the best share a plough-share." Mr. Gehon wanted to put his "feet upon the neck of this common enemy of mankind." Ex-Governor Lucas, who represented the conservative Democrats, said that this was not a party issue but rather a question of expediency. He was in favor of leaving it to the Legislature and the people. Mr. Lowe said that "the truth was, this matter, like all other questions of internal policy, should be left where all the other States of the Union have left it, to the sovereign will of a free and independent people." Mr. Hawkins said that "the Whigs were in favor of leaving this matter to the action of future Legislatures and to the people. When a proposition was made for a charter, let the details be decided by them with all the lights before them at that time." As finally agreed to in the Convention, article nine of the Constitution, which dealt with corporations, contained the following provisions. First, no act of incorporation shall continue in force for more than twenty years without being re-enacted by the General Assembly. Secondly, the personal and real property of the members of a corporation shall at all times be liable for the debts of such corporation. Thirdly, the General Assembly "shall create no bank or banking institution, or corporation with banking privileges" without submitting the charter to a vote of the people. Fourthly, the General Assembly shall have power to repeal all acts of incorporation by them granted. Fifthly, the property of the inhabitants of the State shall never be used by any incorporated company without the consent of the owner. Sixthly, the State shall not become a stockholder in any bank or other corporation. In this form the question of banks and corporations was submitted to the people. On Friday morning, November the first, the Constitutional Convention of 1844 adjourned _sine die_ after a session of just twenty-six days. XI THE CONSTITUTION OF 1844 The Constitution of 1844 as submitted by the Convention to Congress and to the people of the Territory of Iowa contained thirteen articles, one hundred and eight sections, and over six thousand words. Article I. on "Preamble and Boundaries" acknowledges dependence upon "the Supreme Ruler of the Universe" and purports to "establish a free and independent government" in order "to establish justice, ensure tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, secure to ourselves and our posterity, the rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." Article II. as the "Bill of Rights" declares that "all men are by nature free and independent, and have certain unalienable rights, among which are those of enjoying and defending life and liberty, acquiring, possessing, and protecting property, and pursuing and obtaining safety and happiness." All political power is "inherent in the people;" for their "protection, security, and benefit" government is instituted; and they, the people, have "the right at all times, to alter, or reform the same, whenever the public good may require it." Following these classic political dogmas of the American Revolution is a rather exhaustive enumeration of the fundamental rights of the individual, which at various times and in various ways had found expression in the state papers and Constitutions of England and America, and which together constitute the domain of Anglo-Saxon liberty and freedom. Article III. defines the "Right of Suffrage" by limiting the exercise thereof to white male citizens of the United States, of the age of twenty-one years, who shall have been residents of the State six months next preceding the election, and of the county in which they claim a vote thirty days. Article IV. proclaims the theory of the separation of powers in sweeping terms, and prescribes the constitution of the law-making department. Herein the legislative authority was vested in a General Assembly, which was organized on the bicameral plan. The members of the House of Representatives were to be chosen for two years, those of the Senate for four years. The regular sessions of the General Assembly were to be held biennially. Article V. on the "Executive Department" provides that the "Supreme Executive power shall be vested in a Governor, who shall hold his office for two years; and that a Lieutenant Governor shall be chosen at the same time and for the same term." The Governor must be a citizen of the United States and have attained the age of thirty years. Article VI. organizes the "Judicial Department." It provides for a Supreme Court consisting of "a Chief Justice and two Associates," to be chosen by the General Assembly for a term of four years. The District Court was to "consist of a Judge, who shall reside in the district assigned him by law," and be elected by the people for the same term as the Judges of the Supreme Court. Article VII. provides that the "Militia" shall be composed of "all able bodied white male persons between the ages of eighteen and forty-five years," except such persons as are or may be especially exempted by law. All details relative to organizing, equipping, and disciplining the militia were left to the General Assembly. Article VIII. on "Public Debts and Liabilities" prohibited the General Assembly from contracting debts and obligations which in the aggregate would exceed one hundred thousand dollars. Article IX. placed restrictions upon banking and other business corporations. Article X. deals with "Education and School Lands." It provides for a "Superintendent of Public Instruction" who shall be chosen by the General Assembly. It directs the General Assembly to provide for a system of common schools. It declares also that the General Assembly "shall encourage, by all suitable means, the promotion of intellectual, scientific, moral and agricultural improvement." Article XI. outlines a system of local government which includes both the county and the township organization. The details are left to the General Assembly. Article XII. provides for "Amendments to the Constitution." In the case of partial revision of the Constitution, the specific amendment must be passed by two successive General Assemblies and ratified by the people. When it is desired to have a total revision of the fundamental law, the General Assembly submits the question of a Constitutional Convention to a direct vote of the people. Article XIII. provides a "Schedule" for the transition from the Territorial to the State organization. From the view-point of subsequent events the most significant provision of the Constitution of 1844 was the one which defined the boundaries of the future State. There is, however, no evidence that the members of the Convention foresaw the probability of a dispute with Congress on this point, although Governor Chambers in his message of December, 1843, had pointed out its possibility should the people of Iowa assume to give boundaries to the State without first making application to Congress for definite limits. It was on the question of boundaries that the Constitution of 1844 was wrecked. In the Convention the regular standing Committee on State Boundaries reported in favor of certain lines which were in substance the boundaries recommended by Governor Lucas in his message of November, 1839. Indeed, it is altogether probable that the recommendations of Robert Lucas were made the basis of the Committee's report. This inference is strengthened by the fact that the illustrious Ex-Governor was a member of the Committee. It will be convenient to refer to the boundaries recommended by the Committee as the _Lucas boundaries_. The Lucas boundaries were based upon the topography of the country as determined by rivers. On the East was the great Mississippi, on the West the Missouri, and on the North the St. Peters. These natural boundaries were to be connected and made continuous by the artificial lines of the surveyor. As to the proposed Eastern boundary there could be no difference of opinion; and it was generally felt that the Missouri river should determine the Western limit. On the South the boundary must necessarily be the Northern line of the State of Missouri. But the exact location of this line had not been authoritatively determined. During the administration of Lucas it was the subject of a heated controversy between Missouri and Iowa which at one time bordered on armed hostility. The purpose of the Convention in 1844 was not to settle the dispute but to refer to the line in a way which would neither prejudice nor compromise the claims of Iowa. The discussion of the Northern boundary was, in the light of subsequent events, more significant. As proposed by the Committee the line was perhaps a little vague and indefinite since the exact location of certain rivers named was not positively known. Some thought that the boundary proposed would make the State too large. Others thought that it would make the State too small. Mr. Hall proposed the parallel of forty-two and one-half degrees of North latitude. Mr. Peck suggested the parallel of forty-four. Mr. Langworthy, of Dubuque, asked that forty-five degrees be made the Northern limit. Mr. Langworthy's proposition met with considerable favor among the people living in the Northern part of the Territory who desired to increase the size of the State by including a considerable tract North of the St. Peters. Mr. Chapman suggests the existence of sectional feeling in the matter of boundaries when he says, in reply to Mr. Langworthy's argument, that "it was a kind of creeping up on the North which was not good faith to the South." On October 14 the report of the regular Committee on State Boundaries was referred to a Select Committee consisting of representatives from the twelve electoral districts. But this Committee made no changes in the original report except to make the Northern boundary a little more definite. As finally adopted by the Convention and incorporated into the Constitution of 1844, the boundaries of the State were as follows: "Beginning in the middle of the main channel of the Mississippi river opposite the mouth of the Des Moines river; thence up the said river Des Moines, in the middle of the main channel thereof, to a point where it is intersected by the Old Indian Boundary line, or line run by John C. Sullivan in the year 1816; thence westwardly along said line to the 'Old Northwest corner of Missouri;' thence due west to the middle of the main channel of the Missouri river; thence up in the middle of the main channel of the river last mentioned to the mouth of the Sioux or Calumet river; thence in a direct line to the middle of the main channel of the St. Peters river, where the Watonwan river (according to Nicollet's map) enters the same; thence down the middle of the main channel of said river to the middle of the main channel of the Mississippi river; thence down the middle of the main channel of said river to the place of beginning." In accordance with the act of the Legislative Assembly of February 12, 1844, and section six of the "Schedule" it was provided that the new Constitution, "together with whatever conditions may be made to the same by Congress, shall be ratified or rejected by a vote of the qualified electors of this Territory at the Township elections in April next." And the General Assembly of the State was authorized to "ratify or reject any conditions Congress may make to this Constitution after the first Monday in April next." At the same time it was made the duty of the President of the Convention to transmit a copy of the Constitution, along with other documents thereto pertaining, to the Iowa Delegate at Washington, to be by him presented to Congress as a request for the admission of Iowa into the Union. For such admission at an early day the Convention, as memorialists for the people of the Territory, confidently relied upon "the guarantee in the third article of the treaty between the United States and France" of the year 1803. It now remained for Congress and the people of the Territory to pass judgment upon the Constitution of 1844. XII THE CONSTITUTION OF 1844 SUBMITTED TO CONGRESS The second session of the Twenty-Eighth Congress opened on Monday, December 2, 1844. On December 9, Senator Tappan presented to the Senate the Constitution which had been framed by the Iowa Convention of 1844. It was referred at once to the Committee on the Judiciary. Three days later Augustus C. Dodge, Delegate from the Territory of Iowa, laid before the House of Representatives a copy of the same instrument together with an ordinance and a memorial from the Iowa Convention. Here the documents were referred to the Committee on Territories. On January 7, 1845, through Mr. Aaron V. Brown, the Committee on Territories reported a bill for the admission of Iowa and Florida into the Union. This bill was read twice and referred to the Committee of the Whole House on the State of the Union, wherein it was considered on the three days of February 10, 11, and 13. It passed the House of Representatives on February 13, 1844, by a vote of one hundred and forty-four to forty-eight. The day after its passage in the House of Representatives the bill was reported to the Senate. Here it was referred to the Committee on the Judiciary, from which it was reported back to the Senate without amendment on February 24. The Senate considered the measure on March 1, and passed the same without alteration by a vote of thirty-six to nine. On March 3, 1845, the act received the signature of President Tyler. The debate on the bill for the admission of Iowa under the Constitution of 1844 is of more than local interest since it involved a consideration of the great question of National Politics in its relation to the growth of the West and the admission of new States. When Iowa applied for State organization in 1844, Florida had been waiting and pleading for admission ever since the year 1838. The reason for this delay was very generally understood and openly avowed. States should be admitted not singly but in pairs. Florida was waiting for a companion. And so in 1844 it fell to Iowa to be paired with the peninsula. The principle involved was not new; but never before had two States been coupled in the same act of admission. The object sought was plainly the maintenance of a _balance of power_ between the North and the South. But back of the principle of the balance of power, and for the preservation of which that principle was invoked, stood Slavery. The institution of free labor in the North must be balanced by the institution of slave labor in the South, since both must be preserved. And so the admission of Iowa and Florida had to be determined in reference to this all-devouring question of National Politics. Upon examination it was found that the proposed Constitution of Florida not only sanctioned the institution of Slavery, but it positively guaranteed its perpetuation by restraining the General Assembly from ever passing laws under which slaves might be emancipated. On the other hand the Constitution of Iowa, although it did not extend the privilege of suffrage to persons of color, provided that "neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, unless for the punishment of crimes, shall ever be tolerated in this State." Now it so happened that the opposing forces of slave labor and free labor, of "State Rights" and "Union," came to an issue over the boundaries of the proposed State of Iowa. In the bill for admission, as reported by the House Committee on Territories, the boundaries asked for by the Iowa Convention in the Constitution submitted by them were retained without alteration. But Mr. Duncan, of Ohio, had other limits to propose. He would have the new State of Iowa "bounded by the Mississippi on the East, by a parallel of latitude passing through the mouth of the Mankato, or Blue Earth river, on the North, by a meridian line running equidistant from the seventeenth and eighteenth degrees of longitude West from Washington on the West, and by the Northern boundary of the Missouri on the South." Mr. Duncan pointed out that these were the boundaries proposed by Nicollet in the report which accompanied the publication in January, 1845, of his map of the basin of the upper Mississippi. He preferred the _Nicollet boundaries_ because (1) they were "the boundaries of nature" and (2) at the same time they left sufficient territory for the formation of two other States in that Western country. On the other hand, Mr. Brown, Chairman of the Committee on Territories, said that the question of boundaries had been carefully investigated by his Committee, "and the conclusion to which they had come was to adhere to the boundary asked for by the people of Iowa, who were there, who had settled the country, and whose voice should be listened to in the matter." Mr. Belser, of Alabama, was opposed to the Duncan amendment since it "aimed to admit as a State only a portion of Iowa at this time. This he would have no objection to, provided Florida is treated in the same way. He was for receiving both into the Confederacy, with like terms and restrictions. If Iowa is to come in without dismemberment, then let Florida enter in like manner; but if Iowa is divided, then let Florida be divided also." Mr. Vinton, of Ohio, was the most vigorous champion of the Duncan amendment. He stood out firmly for a reduction of the boundaries proposed by the Iowa Convention because the country to the North and West of the new State, "from which two other States ought to be formed," would be left in a very inconvenient shape, and because the formation of such large States would deprive the West of "its due share of power in the Senate of the United States." Mr. Vinton was "particularly anxious that a State of unsuitable extent should not be made in that part of the Western country, in consequence of the unwise and mistaken policy towards that section of the Union which has hitherto prevailed in forming Western States, by which the great valley of the Mississippi has been deprived, and irrevocably so, of its due share in the legislation of the country." As an equitable compensation to the West for this injustice he would make "a series of small States" on the West bank of the Mississippi. Furthermore, Mr. Vinton did not think it politic to curtail the power of the West in the Senate of the United States by the establishment of large States, since in his opinion "the power of controlling this government in all its departments may be more safely intrusted to the West than in any other hands." The commercial interests of the people of the West were such as to make them desirous of protecting the capital and labor both of the North and the South. Again, he declared that if disunion should ever be attempted "the West must and will rally to a man under the flag of the Union." "To preserve this Union, to make its existence immortal, is the high destiny assigned by Providence itself to this great central power." The arguments for restriction prevailed, and the Duncan amendment, which proposed to substitute the _Nicollet boundaries_ for the _Lucas boundaries_, passed the House of Representatives by a vote of ninety-one to forty. In the Senate the bill as reported from the House was hurried through without much debate. Here the question of boundaries seems to have received no consideration whatever. There were, however, strong objections in some quarters to coupling Iowa with Florida in the matter of admission. Senator Choate, of Massachusetts, called attention to the fact that this was the first instance in the history of the admission of States where it was proposed to admit two States by the same act. Under the circumstances he could welcome Iowa into the Union, but he could not give his hand to Florida. It could not be argued that Florida must be admitted to balance Iowa, since the admission of Texas was already more than a balance for the northern State. However appropriate it might have been at an earlier day to pair Florida with Iowa, it ought not to be thought of at this time. For, since the introduction of the bill, "we have admitted a territory on the southwest much larger than Iowa and Florida together--a territory that may be cut up into forty States larger than our small States, or five or six States as large as our largest States. Where and how is the balance to be found by the North and East for Texas? Where is it to be found but in the steadfast part of America? If not there, it can be found nowhere else. God grant it may be there! Everything has been changed. An empire in one region of the country has been added to the Union. Look east, west, or north, and you can find no balance for that." Senator Evans touched upon the great issue when he proposed an amendment which provided that so far as Florida was concerned the bill should not take effect until the people had removed from their Constitution certain restrictions on the General Assembly relative to the emancipation of slaves and the emigration and immigration of free negroes or other persons of color. He was opposed to discriminations against free persons of color. Why, then, retorted a Senator from the South, do you not direct your artillery against the Constitution of Iowa which does not allow a colored person to vote? No good reason had been urged showing why Iowa should not be admitted into the Union. All of the essential qualifications for statehood were present--a large and homogeneous population, wealth, _morale_, and republican political institutions. Congress did not pass an adverse judgment on the Constitution of 1844, since that instrument provided for a government which was Republican in form and satisfactory in minor details. Only one change was demanded, and that was in relation to the proposed boundaries. Here Congress insisted upon the _Nicollet boundaries_ as incorporated in the act of admission of March 3rd, 1845, in opposition to the _Lucas boundaries_ as provided for in the Constitution of 1844. XIII THE CONSTITUTION OF 1844 DEBATED AND DEFEATED BY THE PEOPLE While Congress was discussing the boundaries of Iowa and carefully considering the effect which the admission of the new State might possibly have upon matters of National concern, the Constitution of 1844 was being subjected to analysis and criticism throughout the Territory. Moreover, it is interesting to note that the only provision of the Constitution which was held up and debated in Congress was the very one which was generally accepted by the people of the Territory without comment. Whigs and Democrats alike were satisfied with the _Lucas boundaries_. Nor did the people of Iowa at this time think or care anything about the preservation of the "balance of power." Their adoption of, and adherence to, the _Lucas boundaries_ was founded upon local pride and commercial considerations. Opposition to the Constitution of 1844 was at the outset largely a matter of partisan feeling. The Whigs very naturally opposed the ratification of a code of fundamental law which had been formulated by a Democratic majority. Then, too, they could not hope for many of the Federal and State offices which would be opened to Iowans after the establishment of Commonwealth organization. And so with genuine partisan zeal they attacked the instrument from Preamble to Schedule. Nothing escaped their ridicule and sarcasm. By the Democratic press they were charged with "an intent to keep Iowa out of the Union, so that her two Senators shall not ensure the vote of the United States Senate to Mr. Polk at the next session." But the Whigs were not altogether alone in their opposition to the proposed Constitution, not even during the early weeks of the campaign. There was some disaffection among the Democrats themselves, that is, among the radicals who thought that the new code was not sufficiently Jeffersonian. The editor of the _Dubuque Express_, for example, was severe in his criticisms, but he intimated that he would vote for the Constitution in the interests of party discipline. The _Bloomington Herald_, on the other hand, although a strong organ of the Democracy, emphatically declared through its editorial columns that "admission under the Constitution would be a curse to us as a people." As a party, however, the Democrats favored the Constitution of 1844, defended its provisions, and urged its adoption by the people. They held that as a code of fundamental law it was all that could be expected or desired, and with a zeal that equaled in every way the partisan efforts of the Whigs they labored for its ratification at the polls. An examination of the arguments as set forth in the Territorial press reveals two classes of citizens who opposed ratification. First, there were those who were hostile to the Constitution because they did not want State government. Secondly, there were others who could not subscribe to the provisions and principles of the instrument itself. The out-and-out opponents of State government continued to reiterate the old argument of "Economy." They would vote against the Constitution in order to prevent an increase in the burdens of taxation. This argument of itself could not possibly have defeated ratification, since there was at this time an overwhelming majority who desired admission into the Union. And yet the plea of economy (which always appealed strongly to the pioneers) undoubtedly contributed somewhat to the defeat and rejection of the Constitution of 1844. Prior to the first of March, 1845, opposition to ratification was expressed chiefly in objections to the proposed Constitution. As a whole that instrument was characterized as "deficient in style, manner, and matter, and far behind the spirit of this enlightened age." It could not even be called a code of fundamental law, since it contained legislative as well as Constitutional provisions. It confounded statute law with Constitutional law. In its detailed provisions and clauses the Constitution of 1844 was still less satisfactory to the opponents of ratification. They seemed to see everywhere running through the whole instrument erroneous principles, inexpedient provisions, and confused, inconsistent, and bungling language. They declared that the legislative, executive, and judicial departments of the government were not sufficiently separate and distinct. The principle of the separation of powers was clearly violated (1) by giving to the Executive the power of veto, and (2) by allowing the Lieutenant Governor to participate in the debates of the Senate. Nor were the popular powers--namely, the powers of sovereignty--always differentiated from the delegated powers--or, the powers of government. The Constitution was roundly abused because it provided for the election of the Judges of the inferior courts by the people. To the minds of the critics the office of Judge was too sacred to be dragged into partisan politics and through corrupting campaigns. Judges ought not to be responsible to the people, but solely to their own consciences and to God. Likewise, it was contrary to the principles of efficient and harmonious administration to provide for the popular election of the Secretary of State, Auditor of Public Accounts, and Treasurer. Such positions should be filled by executive appointment. Again, the Constitution was attacked because it provided for biennial instead of annual elections. The salaries fixed for State officers were "niggardly and insufficient." The method prescribed for amending the Constitution was altogether too tedious and too uncertain. The provisions relative to corporations were too narrow, since they restrained the General Assembly from providing for internal improvements. By requiring all charters of banks and banking institutions to be submitted to a direct vote of the people, the Constitution practically prevented the organization and establishment of such institutions. Finally, objections were made to that section of the Bill of Rights which provided that no evidence in any court of law or equity should be excluded in consequence of the religious opinions of the witness. To some it was horrifying to think of admitting the testimony of non-believers and Atheists. Such were the arguments against ratification which were advanced by the opponents of the Constitution of 1844. However, that instrument was not so defective as pictured, since back of all objections and all opposition was the mainspring of partisan politics. The Whigs were bent on frustrating the program of the Democrats. Were they able to defeat the Constitution on the issue of its imperfections? No, not even with the assistance of the radical Democrats! But fortunately for the cause of the opposition a new and powerful objection to ratification appeared in the closing weeks of the campaign. The news that Congress had, by the act of March 3, 1844, rejected the boundaries prescribed by the Iowa Convention reached the Territory just in time to determine the fate of the Constitution of 1844. A close examination of this act of Congress revealed the fact that the fourth section thereof conditioned the admission of Iowa upon the acceptance of the _Nicollet boundaries_ "by a majority of the qualified electors at their township elections, in the manner and at the time prescribed in the sixth section of the thirteenth article of the constitution adopted at Iowa City the first day of November, anno Domini eighteen hundred and forty-four, or by the Legislature of said State." Moreover, it was found that the provisions of the Constitution of 1844 just quoted read as follows: "This constitution, together with whatever conditions may be made to the same by Congress, shall be ratified or rejected by a vote of the qualified electors of this Territory at the township elections in April next, in the manner prescribed by the act of the Legislative Assembly providing for the holding of this Convention: _Provided, however_, that the General Assembly of this State may ratify or reject any conditions Congress may make to this Constitution after the first Monday of April next." In the light of these provisions it appeared to the people of Iowa that a vote cast for the Constitution would be a vote for the Constitution as modified by the act of Congress. This view was altogether plausible since no provision had been made for a separate ballot on the conditions imposed by Congress. And so it was thought that a ratification of the Constitution would carry with it an acceptance of the _Nicollet boundaries_, while a rejection of the Constitution would imply a decided stand in favor of the _Lucas boundaries_. Those who during the fall and winter had opposed ratification now renewed their opposition with augmented zeal. The Whigs turned from their petty attacks upon the provisions of the Constitution to denounce the conditions imposed by Congress. They declared that the Constitution must be defeated in order to reject the undesirable _Nicollet boundaries_. The boundary question now led a considerable number of the more moderate Democrats to oppose ratification. Prominent leaders of the party took the stump and declared that it would be better to reject the Constitution altogether than to accept the limited boundaries proposed by Congress. They declared that the "natural boundaries" as prescribed by the Constitution should not be curtailed, and called upon all good Democrats to vote down their own Constitution. Many, however, continued to support ratification, believing that the boundaries imposed by the act of Congress were the best that could be obtained under the existing conditions. Augustus Dodge, the Iowa Delegate in Congress, took this stand. When the Constitution of 1844 was before Congress Mr. Dodge had stood firmly for the boundaries as proposed in that instrument. But on the day after the act of March 3, 1845, had been signed by the President, he addressed a letter to his constituents in Iowa advising them to ratify the Constitution and accept the _Nicollet boundaries_ as prescribed by Congress. Mr. Dodge thought that the State would still be large enough. He knew that the country along the Missouri river was fertile, but "the dividing ridge of the waters running into the Mississippi and Missouri rivers, called the 'Hills of the Prairie,' and which has been excluded from our new State, is barren and sterile." He called attention to the fact that the boundaries prescribed by Congress were those suggested by Mr. Nicollet, a United States Geologist, "who had accurately and scientifically examined the whole country lying between the Mississippi and Missouri rivers." Then he pointed out the influences which operated in reducing the boundaries, and concluded by saying: "Forming my opinion from extensive inquiry and observation, I must in all candor inform you that, whatever your decision on the first Monday in April next may be, we will not be able hereafter under any circumstances to obtain _one square mile more_ for our new State than is contained within the boundaries adopted by the act of Congress admitting Iowa into the Union." From the returns of the election it was evident that Mr. Dodge's constituents either did not take him seriously or were sure that he was mistaken in his conclusions. The Constitution of 1844 was rejected by a majority of 996 votes. The result of the election was such as to "astound the friends of the Constitution and to surprise everybody, both friend and foe." Those who had labored for ratification throughout the campaign abused the Whigs for opposing so perfect an instrument, censured the Convention for submitting the Constitution to Congress before it had been ratified by the people, and preferred general charges of misrepresentation. The friends of the Constitution clamored loudly for a resubmission of the code of fundamental law as it had come from the Convention, so that the people might have an opportunity to pass upon it free from conditions and without misrepresentation. Within a few weeks the seventh Legislative Assembly of the Territory was to meet in regular session. The members would be asked to give the Constitution of 1844 another chance. XIV THE CONSTITUTION OF 1844 REJECTED A SECOND TIME On Monday the fifth day of May, 1845, the Legislative Assembly of the Territory met in regular session. Three days later a message from Governor Chambers was presented and read to the members, whereby they were informed that the vote in April had certainly resulted in the rejection of the Constitution. "And," continued the Governor, "there is reason to believe that the boundary offered us by Congress had much influence in producing that result." Believing that the rejection of the Constitution by the people called for some action on the part of the Assembly, Governor Chambers proposed and recommended "that the question be again submitted to the people, whether or not they will at this time have a Convention." But a majority of the Assembly were in favor of re-submitting the Constitution of 1844 as it had come from the hands of the Convention. A bill to re-submit was accordingly introduced and hurried through to its final passage. A formal and solemn protest from the minority, signed by nine members and entered on the journal of the House of Representatives, set forth the leading objections to re-submission. 1. The Assembly had no delegated power to pass such a measure. 2. The act was designed to control rather than ascertain public sentiment. 3. The Constitution of 1844 had been _deliberately_ rejected by the people. 4. No memorial indicating a change of opinion had been sent up by the people since the election. 5. In the April election the people had not been misled; they voted intelligently; and their ballots were cast against the Constitution itself. The conditions imposed by Congress "doubtless had influence in different sections of the Territory, both for and against it. What was lost on the North and South by the change, was practically made up by the vote of the center where the Congressional boundaries are more acceptable than those defined in the Constitution." 6. The question of territory being a "minor consideration," the Constitution was rejected principally on account of its inherent defects. 7. Under no consideration should the Constitution of 1844 be again submitted to the people since it embodied so many objectionable provisions. Although the bill for re-submission had passed both branches of the Assembly by a safe majority, Governor Chambers did not hesitate to withhold his assent. On June 6 he returned it to the Council. But it is difficult to ascertain the precise grounds upon which the Governor withheld his approval, since his message deals with conditions rather than objections. In the first place he reviewed the conditions under which the Constitution of 1844 had at the same time been submitted to Congress and to the people of the Territory. Then he pointed out that, whereas a poll was taken on the Constitution according to law, no provision had been made for a separate poll on the conditions imposed by Congress. This, he thought, produced such confusion in the public mind as to cause the defeat of the Constitution. To be sure, he had proposed and was still in favor of submitting the question of a Convention to the people. But he would not now insist on such a policy. He freely admitted that the Legislative Assembly had the power to pass the measure before him. At the same time it seemed to him that, should the Constitution of 1844 be re-submitted to the people, it would simply give rise to confusion in attempts to reconcile and harmonize the various provisions of the statutes of the Territory, the act of Congress, and the Constitution. In the face of the Governor's veto the bill to re-submit the Constitution passed both branches of the Assembly by the requisite two-thirds majority, and on June 10, 1845, was declared by the Secretary of the Territory to be a law. It provided "that the Constitution as it came from the hands of the late Convention" be once more submitted to the people for their ratification or rejection. It directed that a poll be opened for that purpose at the general election to be held on the first Monday of August, 1845. The votes of the electors were to be given _viva voce_. Furthermore, it was expressly provided that the ratification of the Constitution "shall not be construed as an acceptance of the boundaries fixed by Congress in the late act of admission, and the admission shall not be deemed complete until whatever condition may be imposed by Congress, shall be ratified by the people." Thus the people were again asked to pass upon the Constitution of 1844. The campaign of the summer of 1845 was very much like the campaign of the spring. All of the leading arguments both for and against the Constitution were repeated in the press and on the stump. The parties divided on the same lines as before, except that the Whigs in their opposition had the assistance of a much larger Democratic contingent. One is surprised to find, in connection with the boundary question, little or no mention of "slavery," the "balance of power," or the "small State policy." Indeed the people of Iowa seemed wholly indifferent to these larger problems of National Politics. It is perhaps the most remarkable fact in the fascinating history of the Constitution of 1844 that, in the dispute over boundaries, the parties did not join issue on common grounds. Congress, on the one hand, desired to curtail the boundaries of Iowa for the purpose of creating a greater number of Northern States to balance the slave States of the South; whereas the people of Iowa protested against such curtailment not because of any balance-of-power considerations, but simply because they wanted a large State which would embrace the fertile regions of the Missouri on the West and of the St. Peters on the North. Augustus C. Dodge naturally received a good deal of criticism and abuse about this time on account of his March letter advising the acceptance of the boundaries proposed by Congress. By the Whigs he was set down as "a deserter of the people's cause." Even the Legislative Assembly, which was Democratic, resolved "that the Delegate in Congress be instructed to insist unconditionally on the Convention boundaries, and in no case to accept anything short of the St. Peters on the North, and the Missouri on the West, as the Northern and Western limits of the future State of Iowa." Mr. Dodge was not the man to oppose the known wishes of his constituents; and so, after June 10, 1845, he was found earnestly advocating the larger boundaries. One of the most interesting phases of the campaign was a surprising revelation in regard to the attitude and ambitions of the people living in the Northern part of the Territory--particularly the inhabitants of the city and county of Dubuque. In 1844 the people of this region had been in favor of extending the boundary as far North as the St. Peters; and in the Constitutional Convention of that year Mr. Langworthy, of Dubuque, had gone so far as to advocate the forty-fifth parallel of latitude as a line of division. But on April 26, 1845, the _Bloomington Herald_ declared that a proposition had gone out from Dubuque to divide the Territory on the North by a line running due West from the Mississippi between the counties of Jackson and Clinton and townships eighty-three and eighty-four. Later it was said that the _Dubuque Transcript_ was altogether serious in reference to this proposed division. These charges were not without foundation; for the records of Congress show that in May, 1846, the Speaker of the House of Representatives "presented a memorial of the citizens of the Territory of Iowa north of the forty-second degree of north latitude, praying for the establishment of a new territorial government, extending from the Mississippi river between the parallel of forty-two degrees and the northern boundary line of the United States. Also a memorial of Thomas McKnight and others, citizens of Dubuque county, in said Territory of like import." The official returns of the August election showed that the Constitution of 1844 had been rejected a second time. But the majority against its ratification had been cut down by at least one half. Angry with disappointment the editor of the _Iowa Capital Reporter_ declared that its defeat was due to "the pertinacious and wilful misrepresentation of the Whig press relative to the boundaries." XV THE CONVENTION OF 1846 When the members of the eighth Legislative Assembly of the Territory of Iowa met in the Capitol on the first Monday of December, 1845, they found that, as a result of the rejection of the Constitution of 1844, they were face to face with the question which for six years had confronted the pioneer law-makers of Iowa as the greatest political issue of the Territorial period. They found that the whole problem of State organization was before them for reconsideration. It was found also that Politics had worked some changes in the government of the Territory. John Chambers, who upon the completion of his first term as Governor had been promptly reappointed in 1844 by President Tyler, was as cheerfully removed by President Polk in 1845. And the Democracy of Iowa rejoiced over this manifestation of Jacksonianism. They believed that they would now have a Governor after their own heart--a Democrat who would have confidence in the people and respect the acts of their representatives. To be sure, the first Governor of the Territory of Iowa was a Democrat; but Robert Lucas had been altogether too independent. He had presumed to point out and correct the errors and blunders of the Assembly; whereas a true Democratic Governor was one who did not lead, but always followed the wisdom of the masses. James Clarke, the new Governor, was a citizen of Burlington and editor of the _Territorial Gazette_. During his residence in the Territory he had always taken an active part in Politics. In 1844 he served as a Delegate in the Constitutional Convention. Before this he had acted as Territorial Librarian; and for a short time he filled the office of Secretary of the Territory. Governor Clarke regretted the fate of the Constitution which he had helped to frame. In his message of December 3, 1845, he said: "Since your adjournment in June last, a most important question has been decided by the people, the effect of which is to throw us back where we originally commenced in our efforts to effect a change in the form of government under which we at present live.--I allude to the rejection of the Constitution at the August election. This result, however brought about, in my judgment, is one greatly to be deplored.--That misrepresentation and mystification had much to do in effecting it, there can be no doubt; still it stands as the recorded judgment of the people; and to that judgment until the people themselves reverse the decree, it is our duty to submit." As to recommendations in reference to this problem the Governor was cautious. He favored State organization, because he thought that "the prosperity of Iowa would be greatly advanced by her speedy incorporation into the Union as a State." But he did not presume to recommend a particular course of action; he simply assured the Assembly of his hearty co-operation in any measure which might be enacted looking toward the accomplishment of the desired end, that is, the early admission of Iowa into the Union. Confident that the people of Iowa really desired State organization and were anxious for its immediate establishment, the Legislative Assembly passed a bill providing for the election of delegates to a Constitutional Convention. This act, which was approved January 17, 1846, called for the election by the people of thirty-two delegates at the township elections in April. The delegates were directed to meet at Iowa City on the first Monday of May, 1846, "and proceed to form a Constitution and State Government for the future State of Iowa." When completed the draft of the code of fundamental law was to be submitted to the people for ratification or rejection at the first general election thereafter. If ratified by the people it was then to be submitted to Congress with the request that Iowa be admitted into the Union "upon an equal footing with the original States." Thus the Legislative Assembly forestalled the possibility of a repetition of the blunder of submitting to Congress a Constitution before it had been passed upon by the people. There was no serious opposition to the course outlined by the Assembly, for a large majority of the people were now anxious to see the matter of State organization carried to a successful conclusion. Owing to the absence of vital issues, the canvass preceding the election of delegates was not what would be called an enthusiastic campaign. There was of course a party struggle between the Whigs and the Democrats for the seats in the Convention. But the Whigs, "aware of their hopeless minority," advocated a "non-partisan election." They clamored for a "no-party Constitution,"--one free from party principles--for they did not want to see the Constitution of the State of Iowa made the reservoir of party creeds. They contended, therefore, that the delegates to the Convention should be chosen without reference to party affiliations. The Democrats, however, were not misled by the seductive cry of the Whigs. They proceeded to capture as many seats as possible. Everywhere they instructed their candidates to vote against banks. When the returns were all in it was found that they had elected more than two-thirds of the whole number of delegates. Of the thirty-two delegates who were elected to seats in the Convention of 1846, ten were Whigs and twenty-two were Democrats. Fifteen of the members were born in the South, eight in the New England States, four in the Middle States, and five in Ohio. Of those born in the South six were from Kentucky, four from Virginia, three from North Carolina, one from Alabama, and one from Maryland. The eight members born in New England were four from Vermont and four from Connecticut. The oldest member of the Convention was sixty-seven, the youngest twenty three; while the average age of all was about thirty-seven years. As to occupation, there were thirteen farmers, seven lawyers, four merchants, four physicians, one mechanic, one plasterer, one smelter, and one trader. It was on the morning of May 4, 1846, that the second Constitutional Convention met in the rooms of the Old Stone Capitol at Iowa City. Thirty names were entered on the roll. James Grant, a delegate from Scott county who had served in the first Convention, called the members to order. William Thompson (not a member) was appointed Secretary _pro tem_. Such was the temporary organization. It lasted but a few minutes; for, immediately after the roll had been called, Enos Lowe, of Des Moines county, was chosen, _viva voce_, President of the Convention. Mr. Thompson was retained as permanent Secretary, Wm. A. Skinner was named as the Sergeant-at-Arms. At this point "the Rev. Mr. Smith invoked a blessing from the Deity upon the future labors of the Convention." This was the only prayer offered during the entire session. Some time was saved by the immediate adoption of the rules of the Convention of 1844. In the afternoon it was agreed to have six regular standing Committees. These were: (1) On Boundaries and Bill of Rights; (2) On Executive Department; (3) On Legislative Department, Suffrage, Citizenship, Education, and School Lands; (4) On Judicial Department; (5) On Incorporations, Internal Improvements, and State Debts; and (6) On Schedule. It is unfortunate that only the barest fragments have been preserved of what was said in the Convention of 1846. The official journal and a few speeches are all that have come down to us. The debates could not have been very long, however, since the entire session of the Convention did not cover more than fifteen days. The discussion for the most part was confined to those subjects upon which there had been a marked difference of opinion in the earlier Convention or which had received attention in the campaigns of 1845. Indeed, the fact that Boundaries, Incorporations, Banks, Salaries, Suffrage, Executive Veto, Elective Judiciary, and Individual Rights were among the important topics of debate is evidence of a desire on the part of the Convention to formulate a code of fundamental law that would not meet with the criticisms which were so lavishly heaped upon the Constitution of 1844. The Convention of 1846 was certainly in earnest in its desire to draft a Constitution which would be approved by the people. Enos Lowe, the President, had at the outset informed the members that they were elected "to form a _new_ Constitution." But the attitude of the Convention is nowhere better expressed than in the following action which was taken on the eleventh day of May: "Whereas, In the opinion of this Convention, it is all important that the Constitution formed here at this time, be so framed as to meet with the approbation of a majority of the electors of this Territory, therefore, "_Resolved_, That a committee of three be added to the Supervisory Committee, whose duty shall be to enquire into the sectional feelings on the different parts of a Constitution, and to report such alterations as to them appears most likely to obviate the various objections that may operate against the adoption of this Constitution." By the nineteenth of May the Convention of 1846 had completed its labors. In comparison with the Convention of 1844 its history may be summed up in the one word, "Economy." The Convention of 1846 contained thirty-two members; that of 1844, seventy-two. The former continued in session fifteen days; the latter twenty-six days. The expenditures of the second Convention did not exceed $2,844.07; while the total cost of the first Convention was $7,850.20. Here then was economy in men, economy in time, and economy in expenditures. The thrifty pioneers were proud of the record. XVI THE CONSTITUTION OF 1846 The Constitution of 1846 was modeled upon the Constitution of 1844, although it was by no means a servile copy of that twice rejected instrument. Both codes were drawn up according to the same general plan, and were composed of the same number of articles, dealing substantially with the same subjects. The Constitution of 1846, however, was not so long as the Constitution of 1844 and was throughout more carefully edited. Article I. on "Preamble and Boundaries" does not contain the quotation from the preamble of the Federal Constitution which was made a part of the corresponding article in the Constitution of 1844. As to boundary specifications, the only material difference is found in the shifting of the line on the North from the St. Peters to the parallel of forty-three and one half degrees of North latitude. This new boundary was a compromise between the boundaries suggested by Lucas and those proposed by Nicollet. The "Bill of Rights," which constitutes Article II., contained one additional section, which aimed to disqualify all citizens who should participate in dueling from holding any office under the Constitution and laws of the State. Article III. on the "Right of Suffrage" reads the same as in the Constitution of 1844, although in the Convention of 1846 a strong effort had been made to extend this political right to resident foreigners who had declared their intention of becoming citizens. Article IV. on the composition, organization, and powers of the General Assembly contained four items which differed materially from the provisions of the Constitution of 1844. First, it was provided that the sessions of the General Assembly should commence on the first Monday of January instead of on the first Monday of December. Secondly, the Senate was to choose its own presiding officer. Thirdly, all bills for revenue must originate in the House of Representatives. Fourthly, the salaries for ten years were fixed as follows: for Governor $1,000; for Secretary of State $500; for Treasurer $400; for Auditor $600; and for Judges of the Supreme Court and District Courts $1,000. Article V. on "Executive Department" differs from the corresponding article in the Constitution of 1844 in that the office of Lieutenant Governor is omitted, while the term of the Governor is made four years instead of two. Article VI., which provides for the Judiciary, limits the term of the Judges of the Supreme Court and District Courts to four years. Articles VII. and VIII. on "Militia" and "State Debts" respectively are the same as in the earlier Constitution. Article IX. on "Incorporations" is a radical departure from the provisions of the old Constitution. The General Assembly is empowered to provide general laws with reference to corporations, but is restrained from creating such institutions by special laws. At the same time the article provides that "no corporate body shall hereafter be created, renewed, or extended, with the privilege of making, issuing, or putting in circulation, any bill, check, ticket, certificate, promissory note, or other paper, or the paper of any bank, to circulate as money. The General Assembly of this State shall prohibit, by law, any person or persons, association, company or corporation, from exercising the privileges of banking, or creating paper to circulate as money." Article X. on "Education and School Lands" directs the General Assembly to "provide for the election, by the people, of a Superintendent of Public Instruction" and to "encourage by all suitable means, the promotion of intellectual, scientific, moral and agricultural improvement." Article XI. on "Amendments of the Constitution" provided but one method of effecting changes in the fundamental law. The General Assembly was empowered to provide at any time for a vote of the people on the question of a Convention to "revise or amend this Constitution." If a majority of the people favored a Convention, then the General Assembly was to provide for the election of delegates. Article XII. contains three "miscellaneous" items relative to (_a_) the jurisdiction of Justices of the Peace, (_b_) the size of new counties, and (_c_) the location of lands granted to the State. Article XIII. on "Schedule" provided, among other things, that the Governor should by proclamation appoint the time for holding the first general election under the Constitution; but such election must be held within three months of the adoption of the Constitution. Likewise, the Governor was empowered to fix the day of the first meeting of the General Assembly of the State, which day, however, must be within four months of the ratification of the Constitution by the people. It is, moreover, interesting to note that while the Constitution of 1844 prescribed in general outline a system of county and township government, the Constitution of 1846 left the whole matter of local government to future legislation. XVII THE NEW BOUNDARIES While the people of the Territory of Iowa were preparing for and holding a second Constitutional Convention, and while they were debating the provisions of the new Constitution of 1846, Congress was reconsidering the boundaries of the proposed State. The matter had been called up early in the session by the Iowa Delegate. Mr. Dodge, having been re-elected, returned to Washington with the determination of carrying out his instructions so far as the boundary question was concerned. And so, on December 19, 1845, he asked leave to introduce "A Bill to define the boundaries of the State of Iowa, and to repeal so much of the act of the 3rd of March, 1845, as relates to the boundaries of Iowa." The original copy of this bill, which has been preserved in the office of the Clerk of the House of Representatives, bears testimony to Mr. Dodge's fidelity to promises made to the people; for the description of boundaries therein is a clipping from the Preamble of the printed pamphlet edition of the Constitution of 1844. In discussing the question later in the session he referred to his pledges as follows: "I know, Mr. Chairman, what are the wishes and sentiments of the people of Iowa upon this subject. It is but lately, sir, that I have undergone the popular ordeal upon this question; and I tell you, in all candor and sincerity, that I would not be in this Hall to-day if I had not made them the most solemn assurances that all my energies and whatever influence I possessed would be exerted to procure for them the fifty-seven thousand square miles included within the limits designated in their original constitution. It was in conformity with pledges that I had given them personally, with instructions which I knew I had received from them at the ballot-box, that I introduced, at an early day of the present session, the bill imbodying the boundaries of their choice." It was not, however, until March 27, 1846, that Mr. Stephen A. Douglas, from the Committee on the Territories to whom Mr. Dodge's bill had been referred, reported an "amendatory bill." This bill, which was introduced to take the place of the original bill, rejected the boundaries of the Constitution of 1844 and proposed the parallel of forty-three degrees and thirty minutes as the Northern boundary line of the new State. It was committed to the Committee of the Whole House on the State of the Union, wherein it was discussed on the eighth of June and reported back to the House. On the ninth of June the amendatory bill was taken up by the House and passed. It was reported to the Senate without delay, but was not passed by that body until the first day of August. On the fourth day of August the act received the approval of President Polk. The most important discussion of the bill was in the House of Representatives on the eighth day of June. An attempt was made to reduce the State on the North. Mr. Rockwell, of Massachusetts, moved to amend by striking out the words "forty-three and thirty minutes" where they occur and inserting in lieu thereof "forty-two degrees." He understood from a memorial which had been presented to the House that the people in the Northern part of the Territory did not wish to be included within the proposed boundaries. Mr. Douglas said that he was now in favor of the new boundaries as proposed by the Committee on the Territories. He declared that the boundaries of the act of March 3, 1845, "would be the worst that could be agreed upon; the most unnatural; the most inconvenient for the State itself, and leaving the balance of the territory in the worst shape for the formation of other new States." As to the memorial from Dubuque recommending the parallel of forty-two degrees, Mr. Douglas said that he was aware of the influences which produced it. The people of Dubuque "wished either for such an arrangement as should cause Dubuque to be the largest town in a little State, or else to make it the central town of a large State." Mr. Rathburn, of New York, was opposed to the lines laid down in the bill. He favored less extensive boundaries because he desired to preserve "the balance of power" in the Union by the creation of small States in the West. He "was against making Empires; he preferred that we should have States in this Union." Mr. Vinton, of Ohio, said that in the last session of Congress "no question except that of Texas had excited more interest in the House." He did not think that the people of the Territory should decide the question of boundaries; and he asserted that "if Congress was willing to let the people of Iowa cut and carve for themselves, he did not doubt that they would have their State extend to the mouth of the Columbia." The strongest speech, perhaps, in the whole debate was that of the Iowa Delegate. Mr. Dodge reviewed the history of the boundary dispute and pointed out that both he and the people of Iowa had pursued a firm and honorable course. He showed that many of the States were as large as or even larger than the proposed State of Iowa. Referring to the boundary proposed in the act of March 3, 1845, he said: "It will never be accepted by the people of Iowa." But he produced letters to show that the Iowa Convention of 1846 were willing to accept the compromise boundary proposed in the bill under discussion. "Thus, sir, it is now apparent that, if the House will pass the bill reported by the Committee on Territories, it will put an end to this question. The convention of Iowa have met the advances of the Committee on Territories of this House." Mr. Vinton then "moved an amendment, fixing the 43d parallel as the northern boundary." This was a tempting proposition. But Mr. Dodge stood firmly for the parallel of forty-three degrees _and thirty minutes_, and closed his remarks with these words: "I admonish the majority of this House that if the amendment of the gentleman from Ohio is to prevail, they might as well pass an act for our perpetual exclusion from the Union. Sir, the people of Iowa will never acquiesce in it." From the Journal of the Iowa Convention of 1846, it appears that when the Committee on Preamble and Boundaries made their report on the morning of the second day of the Convention they recommended the compromise boundaries which had already been proposed by the Committee on the Territories in the National House of Representatives. But when the report was taken up for consideration several days later an amendment was offered which proposed to substitute the boundaries as described in the Constitution of 1844. On a test ballot the vote of the Convention stood twenty-two to eight in favor of the amendment. This was on the eighth of May. Six days later a resolution instructing the Committee on Revision to amend the article on boundaries so as to read as follows was adopted by a vote of eighteen to thirteen: "Beginning in the middle of the main channel of the Mississippi river, at a point due east of the middle of the mouth of the main channel of the Des Moines river; thence up the middle of the main channel of the said Des Moines river, to a point on said river where the northern boundary line of the State of Missouri, as established by the Constitution of that State, adopted June 12th, 1820, crosses the said middle of the main channel of the said Des Moines river; thence westwardly, along the said northern boundary line of the State of Missouri, as established at the time aforesaid, until, an extension of said line intersects the middle of the main channel of the Missouri river; thence, up the middle of the main channel of the said Missouri river, to a point opposite the middle of the main channel of the Big Sioux river, according to Nicollet's map; thence up the main channel of the said Big Sioux river, according to said map, until it is intersected by the parallel of forty-three degrees and thirty minutes north latitude; thence east, along said parallel of forty-three degrees and thirty minutes, until said parallel intersects the middle of the main channel of the Mississippi river; thence down the middle of the main channel of said Mississippi river to the place of beginning." These were in substance the compromise boundaries which were first proposed in Congress by the Committee on the Territories on March 27, 1846. Their precise description, however, was the work of the Iowa Convention. Congress promptly adopted this description in the Act of August 4, 1846, by striking out the words of the bill then pending and inserting the language of the Iowa Convention as used in the Preamble to their Constitution. XVIII THE ADMISSION OF IOWA INTO THE UNION When submitted to the people the Constitution of 1846 was vigorously opposed by the Whigs who insisted that it was a party instrument. Their attitude and arguments are nowhere better set forth than in the address of Wm. Penn Clarke to the electors of the counties of Muscatine, Johnson, and Iowa. Mr. Clarke had come to the conclusion, after reading the proposed code of fundamental law, that its ratification would "prove greatly detrimental, if not entirely ruinous to the nearest and dearest interests of the people, by retarding the growth of the proposed State, in population, commerce, wealth and prosperity." This conviction led him to oppose the adoption of the Constitution of 1846. First, he objected to the Constitution "because it entirely prohibits the establishing of banking institutions,"--institutions which are absolutely essential to the economic welfare and industrial development of the State. He contended that this "inhibition of banks is not an inhibition of bank paper as a circulating medium. . . . . The question is narrowed down to the single point, _whether we will have banks of our own, and a currency of our own creation, and under our own control_, or whether we will become dependent on other States for such a circulating medium . . . . By prohibiting the creation of banks, we but disable ourselves, and _substitute_ a foreign currency for a home currency. The effect of the article on Incorporations will be to make Iowa the _plunder ground_ of all banks in the Union." Secondly, Mr. Clarke opposed the adoption of the Constitution of 1846 because of the provisions in the eighth and ninth articles. He maintained that the article on State Debts was "tantamount to an inhibition" of the construction of Internal Improvements by the State government; while the article on Incorporations aimed to prohibit the people from making such improvements. Thirdly, he protested against the "experiment" of an elective judicial system, since the election of the judges "is calculated to disrobe our Courts of Justice of their sacred character." Mr. Clarke would not "deny the right or the competency of the people to elect their judicial officers;" but he pointed out that the effect would be "to place upon the bench _political partisans_," and "to elevate to the judiciary second or third rate men in point of talents and legal acquirements." Fourthly, the Constitution should be rejected because it contains no provision securing to the people the right to elect their township and county officers. Furthermore, it is "entirely silent with reference to county and township organization." Fifthly, Mr. Clarke argued against the adoption of the Constitution because "not a single letter can be stricken from it without calling a Convention." He declared that the Democrats, after incorporating into the Constitution "partizan dogmas," so formulated the article on Amendments as to make their creed permanent. In the closing paragraphs of this remarkable arraignment of the proposed Constitution, Mr. Clarke referred to local interests in connection with the location of the State Capital. Iowa City, he said, had been founded "with a view to its being the permanent Capital of the State." But the new boundaries, proposed by the Committee on the Territories, would, if adopted, threaten the permanency of the Iowa City location. Indeed, Mr. Clarke went so far as to intimate that the relocation of the Capital was a part of Mr. Dodge's program in connection with the solution of the boundary problem. Curtailing the State on the North and extending it at the same time to the Missouri on the West meant the ultimate shifting of the Capital to the Raccoon Forks. Mr. Clarke concluded the prophecy by saying that "to quiet the center, we shall probably be promised a State University, or something of that character, and then be cheated in the end." Such were the leading objections to the ratification of the Constitution of 1846 as urged by the Whigs in the press and on the stump. They were supported by the more conservative Democrats who protested against the article on Incorporations and the article on Amendments. A large majority of the people, however, were impatient for the establishment of State organization. For the time they were even willing to overlook the defects of the proposed Constitution. Many voted for the instrument with the hope of remedying its imperfections after admission into the Union had once been effected. The Constitution of 1846 narrowly escaped defeat. At the polls on August 3, 1846, its supporters, according to the Governor's proclamation, were able to command a majority of only four hundred and fifty-six out of a total of eighteen thousand five hundred and twenty-eight votes. On September 9, 1846, Governor Clarke, as directed by the Territorial statute of January 17, 1846, issued a formal proclamation declaring the ratification and adoption of the Constitution. In the same proclamation, and in accordance with the provisions of the new Constitution, the Governor designated "Monday, The 26th Day of October Next" as the time for holding the first general election for State officers. The returns of this election showed that the Democrats had succeeded in electing Ansel Briggs, their candidate for Governor, by a majority of one hundred and sixty-one votes. The same party also captured a majority of the seats in the first General Assembly. Following the directions of the Schedule in the new Constitution, Governor Clarke issued a proclamation on November fifth in which he named Monday, November 30, 1846, as the day for the first meeting of the General Assembly. On December second the Territorial Governor transmitted his last message to the Legislature. It was on Thursday morning, December 3, 1846, that the Senators and Representatives assembled together in the hall of the House of Representatives in the Old Stone Capitol to witness the inauguration of the new Governor. Here in the presence of the General Assembly Judge Charles Mason, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the Territory, administered the oath of office to the first Governor of the State of Iowa. Twelve days after the inauguration of the State Governor at Iowa City, Mr. Dodge presented to the House of Representatives at Washington a copy of the Constitution of Iowa. The document was at once referred to the Committee on the Territories, from which a bill for the admission of Iowa into the Union was reported through Mr. Stephen A. Douglas on December seventeenth. It was made a special order of the day for Monday, December twenty-first, when it was debated and passed. Reported to the Senate on the twenty-second, it was there referred to the Committee on the Judiciary. This Committee reported the bill back to the Senate without amendment. After some consideration it passed the Senate on December twenty-fourth. Four days later it received the approval of President Polk. The existence of Iowa as one of the Commonwealths of the United States of America dates, therefore, from the TWENTY-EIGHTH DAY OF DECEMBER, ONE THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED AND FORTY-SIX. The act of admission declares that Iowa is "admitted into the Union on an equal footing with the original States in all respects whatsoever," and provides that all the provisions of "An Act supplemental to the Act for the Admission of the States of Iowa and Florida into the Union" approved March 3, 1845, shall continue in full force "as applicable to the State of Iowa." The conditions contained in the provisions of this act, which had been substituted by Congress in lieu of the provisions of the Ordinance submitted by the Convention of 1844, were finally accepted by the General Assembly of the State in an act approved January 17, 1849. XIX THE CONVENTION OF 1857 Throughout Iowa there was a very general feeling of satisfaction with the new political status which came with the establishment of State government and admission into the Union. Having outlived the conditions of Territorial government the pioneers of Iowa now entered into the new political life without regret. They rejoiced over the fact that they were recognized as a part of a great Nation. They appreciated the significance of the change. Nor were the pioneers of Iowa strangers to National political life. As settlers on the Public Domain they were in a very special sense children of the Nation. They had always cherished the inheritances of the "Fathers." But now the days of dependence were over. Henceforth this people of the frontier would strengthen the whole country with their own political ideas and ideals. They would, indeed, help to vitalize the Politics of the Nation with the provincial spirit of Western Democracy. On the other hand, the people of Iowa did not accept their new State Constitution without reservations. Wm. Penn Clarke's address had been widely read and his arguments were accepted not alone by the Whigs. In fact the Constitution of 1846 had not been adopted altogether on its merits. The people were anxious to get into the Union, and they voted for the Constitution as the shortest road to admission. They meant to correct its errors afterwards. In 1848 the editor of the _Iowa City Standard_ asserted that the Constitution of 1846 had been "accepted purely from motives of expediency, and with a tacit understanding that it was to receive some slight amendments as soon as they could constitutionally and legally be made. And but for this it would have been rejected by a very handsome majority. No well informed citizen can deny this." And so the Constitution of 1846 had scarcely been ratified at the polls before an agitation looking toward its amendment or revision was begun. As early as August 19, 1846, the _Iowa City Standard_ declared that "three fourths of the people of Iowa have determined that, cost what it may, the Ninth Article shall not remain unaltered in the Constitution." During the first session of the General Assembly of the State a bill providing for an expression of the opinion of the people of Iowa upon the subject of amendment passed the House of Representatives, but was indefinitely postponed in the Senate by a vote of ten to eight. This was in February, 1847. In 1848 the question of Constitutional amendment was made an issue in the political campaign. The Whigs advocated amendment or revision; while the Democrats as a rule stood for the Constitution as ratified in 1846. A bill providing for an expression of opinion by the people was again introduced in the House of Representatives during the second session of the General Assembly, but was indefinitely postponed after the second reading. A similar bill was rejected by the House during the third session. During the fourth regular session petitions favorable to amendment were received from the people. In the meantime Stephen Hempstead was elected to the office of Governor. He had been opposed to the agitation for Constitutional revision, and in his first Message of December 7, 1852, he said: "I cannot avoid a feeling of deep concern at the opinion expressed by some portion of our fellow citizens in favor of amending the Constitution of our State in such a manner as to authorize the establishment of Banks--of special acts of incorporation for pecuniary profit, and of contracting State debts without limitations of the General Assembly." In the same document he urged "upon the General Assembly the propriety of passing a law to prohibit the circulation of all bank notes of a less denomination than ten dollars." When he retired from office in December, 1854, he still declared that he saw no "imperative reason why our Constitution should be amended." But his successor, Governor Grimes, favored submitting the question of revision and amendment to the people. The necessity for a Convention to revise the Constitution of 1846 had become imperative. Iowa was flooded with a depreciated paper currency from other States. Gold and silver money was scarce. The few pieces which found their way into the State were hoarded either to pay taxes or to pay for government land. Finally, "An Act providing for the revision or amendment of the Constitution of this State" was passed by the fifth General Assembly and approved by Governor Grimes, January 24, 1855. In accordance with its provisions a poll was opened at the general election in August, 1856, "for the purpose of taking a vote of the people for or against a convention to revise or amend the Constitution." On the tenth day of September the Governor declared in his official proclamation that a majority of eighteen thousand six hundred and twenty-eight votes had been cast in favor of a Convention. In November, 1856, thirty-six delegates were elected to the Convention which met in the Supreme Court room of the Old Stone Capitol at Iowa City on January 19, 1857. Mr. Gray, of Linn County, called the Convention to order and moved that John A. Parvin, of Muscatine, be chosen President _pro tem_. On the following day Francis Springer was elected President of the Convention. The other permanent officers were as follows: Thomas J. Saunders, Secretary; Ellsworth N. Bates, Assistant Secretary; S. C. Trowbridge, Sergeant-at-Arms; Francis Thompson, Door Keeper; James O. Hawkins, Messenger; and W. Blair Lord, Reporter. Of the thirty-six delegates, six were from the New England States, eleven from the Middle States, ten from the South, and nine from the Middle West. As to occupation there were fourteen lawyers, twelve farmers, two merchants, two dealers in real estate, two bankers, one book-seller, one mail contractor, one druggist, and one pork-packer. The youngest member was twenty-six, the oldest fifty-six; while the average age of all the members was forty years. Twenty-one of the thirty-six members were Republicans; the other fifteen were Democrats. Early in the session of the Convention of 1857 there appeared to be considerable dissatisfaction with the accommodations afforded at Iowa City. The General Assembly had not yet adjourned, and so the Convention was compelled to meet for a few days in the Supreme Court room. Some of the members complained of the hotel service, and declared that they had not been welcomed with proper courtesy and hospitality by the people of Iowa City. At the same time the Convention received alluring invitations from Davenport and Dubuque. A committee of five was appointed to whom these invitations were referred. The report of this committee provoked a lively debate which Wm. Penn Clarke desired to have suppressed in the published reports. The result of the discussion was that the Convention concluded to remain in Iowa City. On the second day the members took an oath to support the Constitution of the United States. Some desired to include in this oath the Constitution of the State of Iowa; but the majority did not think it proper to swear allegiance to a Constitution which the Convention was called upon to amend, revise, or perhaps reject altogether. The act of January 24, 1855, calling for the Convention, provided for "the revision or amendment of the Constitution." Many would have been satisfied with a few amendments. The Convention, however, proceeded to draft a completely revised code of fundamental law. The two large volumes of printed reports show that the principles of Constitutional Law were discussed from Preamble to Schedule. The most important question before the Convention of 1857 was that of Corporations in general and of banking Corporations in particular. The Republican majority was pledged to make provisions for a banking system of some sort. But the popular mind had not decided whether there should be a State bank with branches, or a free banking system under legislative restrictions, or both. Difficult and intricate as the problem was, the Iowa Convention handled it, nevertheless, with energy and rare ability. The debates show that the laws and experience of the other States were carefully studied. Nor were local conditions and local experience forgotten. The discussions were long, earnest, and often heated; but at no time did the Iowa Convention lose its political sanity. That political poise which, in the long run, has always characterized Iowa Politics was maintained throughout the session. As finally agreed upon in the Convention, the provisions of the new Constitution relative to banking Corporations were in substance as follows: (1) The power to make laws relative to Corporations was conceded to the General Assembly. (2) But acts of the General Assembly authorizing or creating Corporations with banking powers must be referred to the people for their approval at a general or special election. (3) The General Assembly was empowered to establish "a State Bank with branches." But such a bank, if established, "shall be founded on an actual specie basis, and the branches shall be mutually responsible for each others' liabilities upon all notes, bills, and other issues intended for circulation as money." (4) The General Assembly may provide by a general law for a free banking system under certain restrictions. (_a_) Provision shall be made "for the registry and countersigning, by an officer of State, of all bills, or paper credit designed to circulate as money," and the law shall "require security to the full amount thereof, to be deposited with the State Treasurer, in United States stocks, or in interest-paying stocks of States in good credit and standing." (_b_) Records shall be kept of the names of stockholders and of the stock held by each. (_c_) Every stockholder shall be individually liable for an amount equal to twice the amount of his stock. (_d_) In cases of insolvency bill-holders shall have a preference over other creditors. (_e_) The suspension of specie payments shall never be permitted or sanctioned. (5) By a vote of two thirds of each branch of the General Assembly all laws for the organization or creation of Corporations could be amended or repealed. (6) The State shall not become a stockholder in any Corporation. Next in importance to the question of Corporations was the Negro problem. Shall the public schools of the State be open to persons of color? Shall the Constitution guarantee to all persons, irrespective of color, the right to acquire, hold, and transmit property? Shall the testimony of Negroes be accepted in the courts? Was the militia to be composed exclusively of "able-bodied white male citizens?" Shall the right of suffrage be extended to Negroes? It was in respect to these vital questions of the hour that the Republican majority in the Convention was compelled to declare and defend its attitude. The fact that the Republican party of Iowa was thus being put on trial for the first time makes the debates of the Convention of 1857 memorable in the political annals of the State. But these Iowa Republicans were at the same time defining and defending the attitude of their party on National issues; and so the debates of the Iowa Convention are a source-book also in the broader history of America. No one can read the pages of these debates without feeling that Iowa was making a decided contribution to National Politics. Nearly four years before the "Divided House Speech" was delivered at Springfield, Illinois, Governor Grimes had said in his inaugural address: "It becomes the State of Iowa--the only free child of the Missouri Compromise--to let the world know that she values the blessings that Compromise has secured her, and that she will never consent to become a party to the nationalization of slavery." And full two years before Lincoln defined the attitude of his party in the Lincoln-Douglas debates, it had gone forth from the Iowa Convention, (1) that the Republican party was not a sectional party; (2) that Abolition was not a part of the Republican creed; and (3) that, while they would arrest the further extension of slavery, Republicans had no desire to interfere with the institution in places where it already existed. The question as to whether the Negro should be allowed to vote in Iowa was referred to the people to be decided by them when the Constitution itself was submitted for ratification. Another question of interest which provoked considerable discussion in the Convention was the location of the State University and the re-location of the Capital. This problem had already been solved by the General Assembly. But to prevent further agitation by making the compromise permanent the following section was added to the new Constitution: "The Seat of Government is hereby permanently established, as now fixed by law, at the city of Des Moines, in the county of Polk, and the State University at Iowa City, in the county of Johnson." After a session of thirty-nine days the third Constitutional Convention in the history of Iowa adjourned _sine die_ on Thursday, March 5, 1857. XX THE CONSTITUTION OF 1857 The code of fundamental law which was drafted by the Convention of 1857 was modeled upon the Constitution of 1846, as this instrument had previously been patterned after the Constitution of 1844. Perhaps it would be better to say that the Constitution of 1857 was simply a revision of the Constitution of 1846. The later document, however, is fuller and altogether more complete and more perfect than its precursors. The changes which had been effected in the fundamental law were summed up by the President of the Convention in his closing remarks as follows: "We have added some new and important guards for the security of popular rights, and for the promotion of the best interests of the social compact. Restrictions existed in the old constitution, which it is believed have operated to check and retard the energies and prosperity of the State. These we have removed. We have stricken the fetters from the limbs of the infant giant, and given free scope to resources, capable as we believe, of working out the highest results." Some important additions were made to the Bill of Rights. Section four declares that the testimony of any person (including Negroes), not disqualified on account of interest, may be taken and used in any judicial proceeding. Section six provides that the "General Assembly shall not grant to any citizen, or class of citizens, privileges or immunities, which, upon the same terms, shall not equally belong to all citizens." To section nine is added the classical declaration that "no person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law." Section twenty-four, which is altogether new, provides that "no lease or grant of agricultural lands, reserving any rent, or service of any kind, shall be valid for a longer period than twenty years." In Article III. the date of the regular biennial session of the General Assembly is changed from the first Monday in December to "the second Monday in January next ensuing the election of its members." Section fifteen provides that bills (including those for revenue) may originate in either House of the General Assembly. But, according to Section seventeen, "no bill shall be passed unless by the assent of a majority of all the members elected to each branch of the General Assembly." Furthermore, the cases in which the General Assembly is prohibited from passing local or special laws are specifically enumerated in section thirty. The most significant change or addition in the article on the "Executive Department" is the provision for a Lieutenant Governor. The article on the Judicial Department provides for the election of the Judges of the Supreme Court by the people instead of by the General Assembly. By the same article provision is made for "the election of an Attorney General by the people." The article on "State Debts" is more explicit and more guarded, but permits the State to contract debts which, however, "shall never exceed the sum of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars." Article VIII. removes the illiberal restrictions which had been placed by the Constitution upon Corporations--especially banking Corporations. And Article X. makes the process of amending the fundamental law altogether more flexible. The Board of Education, provided for in Article IX., was an innovation. As a system of educational control it proved unsatisfactory and was soon abolished by the General Assembly. The new Constitution was submitted to the people for ratification at the regular annual election which was held on Monday, August 3, 1857. Naturally enough the Democrats, who had been in the minority in the Convention of 1857, opposed the adoption of this "Republican code." The Republican party, however, now had the confidence of the people and were able to secure its ratification by a majority of sixteen hundred and thirty votes. At the same time the special amendment which proposed to extend the right of suffrage to Negroes failed of adoption. On September 3, 1857, Governor James W. Grimes declared the "New Constitution" to be "the supreme law of the State of Iowa." 
40777	----	produced from images generously made available by the Library of Congress) CHARLES CLINTON NOURSE [Illustration: _Charles Clinton Nourse_ Photogravure by Elson, Boston From Photograph by Edinger] Autobiography of Charles Clinton Nourse Prepared for use of Members of the Family CONTAINING THE INCIDENTS OF MORE THAN FIFTY YEARS' PRACTICE AT THE BAR IN THE STATE OF IOWA PRIVATELY PRINTED MCMXI Copyright 1911 BY CHARLES CLINTON NOURSE THE TORCH PRESS CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA CONTENTS I ANCESTRY AND EARLY LIFE 7 II EARLY EXPERIENCES IN IOWA 18 III REMOVED TO DES MOINES 38 IV RESUMES THE PRACTICE OF LAW 56 V SOME IMPORTANT LAW SUITS 79 VI VISITS VIRGINIA RELATIVES 95 VII PLEASURE TRIP TO COLORADO 99 VIII CENTENNIAL ADDRESS 104 IX TEMPERANCE AND PROHIBITION 109 X REGULATION OF FREIGHT AND PASSENGER TARIFFS 142 XI DES MOINES RIVER LAND TITLES 152 XII A. O. U. W. CONTROVERSY 163 XIII IMPORTANT EVENTS IN CAREER 165 XIV THE BROWN IMPEACHMENT CASE 171 XV MORE LAW CASES 185 XVI BIRTH OF A SON AND PERSONAL INCIDENTS 193 XVII BREEDER OF SHORT HORN CATTLE 203 XVIII B. F. ALLEN BANKRUPTCY 208 XIX ABOUT PROHIBITION 215 XX PERSONAL INCIDENTS 226 CHAPTER I ANCESTRY AND EARLY LIFE DES MOINES, IOWA, MAY, 1908 TO MASTER JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN, DEAR JOE: I promised your father that I would write you a long letter containing in detail something of a biography of myself. He assures me it is not intended for publication, but only for your perusal and for such friends of the family as may now or hereafter deem it interesting to know something of those of the family who have preceded them. In Washington county, in the state of Maryland, near the little stream of Antietam creek, where was fought one of the memorable battles of our Civil War, there is located a quaint, old fashioned village called Sharpsburg. The inhabitants of the village and neighborhood were in a large part Germans or of German descent. On one corner of the public square there still remains, in fairly good repair, an old fashioned stone dwelling house. In this house on the first day of April, A.D. 1829, I was born, as were also my two older brothers, Joseph Gabriel and John Daniel, born respectively June 25, 1826, and November 30, 1827. This stone house at one time belonged to my grandfather, Gabriel Nourse, who was the son of James Nourse. The ancestors of the latter are given in a book now in the possession of your mother, entitled _James Nourse and his Descendants_. In the basement or first story of this stone building my father taught school about the time of the birth of his three boys, given above. At that early day the people of the village and surrounding country were not supposed to be very highly educated. If children were taught to read and write indifferently and something of arithmetic, at least as far as the single rule of three, their education was supposed to be sufficient for the practical purposes of life. My father has related to me that when he first commenced teaching in the village, in the presence of such a company as usually assembles around a country store, a wise man of the village explained to his admiring hearers that the cause of the changes of the moon resulted from the fact that the earth came between the sun and the moon and hence obstructed the light in such a way as to produce the new moon and the various changes until the full moon. My father rashly attempted to suggest that the wise man was mistaken, for the obvious reason that the moon in its first quarter could be seen in the heavens at the same time as the sun could be observed, and it was impossible that the moon could be partially darkened by the shadow of the earth. The wise man was rather mortified by this exposure of his ignorance, but did not acknowledge his error, but angrily reproved a young man for presuming to differ with him. In this stone building also my grandfather, Gabriel, died in April, 1839, and was buried in the village churchyard. This stone house is still standing at the date of this writing, and the basement room where my father taught school is occupied as a store-room for vending relics and curiosities gathered from the battle-fields of the neighborhood. Three miles from the village of Sharpsburg, on the Virginia side of the Potomac river, there is another quaint, old fashioned village called Shepherdstown. Here my mother, Susan Cameron, was born October 25, 1803, and was married to my father, Charles Nourse, June 10, 1825. Here in this village my mother died October 10, 1835. There is still standing in this town the old Methodist church, surrounded by a village churchyard, where will be found modest tombstones marking the graves of my mother, and of many of her brothers and sisters, and also her mother, Susan Cameron, who died at Shepherdstown, Virginia, July 20, 1855. My mother's father's name was Daniel Cameron, born in Scotland, October, 1753. His wife was also of Scotch descent. Her family name was Clinton, which name was bestowed upon me, and in honor of my grandmother and to please her I have always been known in the family by the name of Clinton, my first name being Charles, so named after my father. My father, Charles Nourse, was born at Frankfort, Kentucky, April 15, 1801. Several years before my mother's death my father had removed from Sharpsburg to Frederick City, Maryland, where he taught school for several years, and while living there, to-wit, August 9, 1833, your mother's mother was born. My recollections of my mother are not very distinct, as I was only six years old at the time of her death. Only one incident of my early childhood I call to mind very clearly. I had been induced by my older brothers and some neighbor boys, whilst playing in the market square at Frederick City, to attempt to imitate them in the use of chewing tobacco, which resulted in making me very sick. Whilst lying upon the trundle bed in the room upstairs of the house where we resided, I vomited very freely, and as I lay back upon my pillow, pale and weak from the effort, I remember a kind face of one stooping over me and sympathizing deeply, not knowing the cause of my illness, and I remember how guilty I felt at being the object of so much undeserved sympathy. The last two years of our residence in Maryland we lived at a little village at the foot of the Blue Ridge mountains called Burkettsville, and during part of these two years my grandmother Cameron kept house for us and had charge of her four grandchildren. I remember her very distinctly, the most affectionate and patient woman it was ever my fortune to know. In February, 1841, my father, with his four children then living, took the old fashioned stage-coach at Boonesboro, Maryland, crossing the Allegheny mountains, coming on to Wheeling, crossing the Ohio river, and thence via Zanesville and Somerset, Ohio, to the little village of East Rushville in Fairfield county, Ohio. After teaching school in East Rushville during the summer of that year, my father with myself and sister Susan removed to Lancaster, the county seat of Fairfield county, Ohio, leaving my two older brothers as heavy clerks in country stores--my brother Joseph with a man named Clayton and my brother John with a man named Paden, in two separate villages in the county of Fairfield. My father taught school in Lancaster, Ohio, for four years, I think most of the time for a compensation of $300 a year. As this sum was hardly sufficient to support him and his two children at a respectable boarding house, it became necessary for me to relieve the situation and to start out in the world for myself. My first attempt was in a country store at East Rushville with a man by the name of Coulson. After four months heavy clerking with this man, he failed in business and sold out his stock of remnants, and I returned to Lancaster to my father. After a few months I again attempted to do business in support of myself, and I hired out to another village store-keeper, without any fixed compensation further than that I was to have my board and clothes for my services. My duties consisted of weighing out groceries, taking in eggs, butter, and feathers, and packing and preparing for shipment the butter and eggs, for which there was not sufficient local market. I also sold goods through business hours, made fires both in the store and for the family, sawed wood, milked the cow, and in the fall and winter fed, curried, and cared for a half dozen horses that were shipped in the spring for the eastern market. At the end of sixteen months of this kind of service my employer advised me and also my father that I would never make a merchant. I had positively refused to conform to his instructions in doing business in the manner in which he thought was most for his interest. He was engaged also at that time in buying leaf tobacco that was raised in the Hocking hills, for which he paid about one-third cash, one-third on short time, and one-third in goods out of the store. He had three prices or more for nearly everything he had to sell, depending, of course, on the character of his customer and the kind of pay he was to receive. For instance: his cash customers, of whom there were very few, received four pounds of coffee for a dollar. His long credit customers, of whom there were many, received three pounds of coffee for a dollar, whilst his trade customers, especially those who took goods out of the store for tobacco, received two and a half pounds of coffee for a dollar. It was not easy for a young boy, or as young a boy as I was at that time, always to understand the exact standing of the customers, and it was necessary to watch carefully the old man who was proprietor of the store, who indicated by signs upon his fingers, which I too frequently misunderstood, just exactly how much coffee for a dollar a customer was entitled to. One remarkable incident of the manner in which my employer did business I remember very distinctly. During the day our little store was crowded with customers who had sold tobacco to our employer and had to take their pay in part out of the store. A young man by the name of Johnnie, who was a year or two older than myself and a favorite with the proprietor of the store, had during the day sold to a German woman a large red and yellow cotton handkerchief for the sum of thirty-seven and a half cents that was marked twelve and a half cents and had cost us eight and a third cents. The next day she returned with one of her neighbors who also had to take her pay out of the store for tobacco, and she wanted another of those red and yellow cotton handkerchiefs, which Johnnie sold her of course at the same price. In the evening Johnnie and myself had to go over to the old gentleman's residence before we retired for the night and attend family prayers. During the evening the old gentleman recited Johnnie's exploits in selling those cotton handkerchiefs for three times the marked price, and then chuckled gleefully, praising Johnnie for his success and how he would make a merchant, but that I would never learn; and then turning to his eldest daughter he said: "Hand me the bible, dear, we will have prayers." Whilst living with this old gentleman I became thoroughly disgusted with mercantile life, as I then saw it and witnessed it, and cast about in my own mind seriously to know what I should do for the future. I realized that I neglected my opportunities whilst attending school under my father's instructions, and I resolved, as far as I could under the circumstances, to supply the omission. I got out my old Kirkham's grammar and my arithmetic and algebra, and spent many of my nights after the store closed in study. At the end of sixteen months of this life I returned again to my father, who was still at Lancaster. During the last year that I lived at Lancaster I assisted my father in his school, teaching the younger children, and still to a limited extent pursuing my own studies. In the fall of 1844 my father determined to remove to Kentucky, leaving my sister Susan, your mother's mother, with Mrs. Catherine Sumner, a most excellent Presbyterian lady with whom my father had boarded for several years during his stay in Lancaster. My father first stopped at Millersburg, Bourbon county, and took up school, but only remained there a few months, having in the meantime heard of a vacancy in the position of principal of the public school in Lexington. Having secured this position at a salary then of only $600 a year, we removed to Lexington in the early part of 1845. I became one of the assistant teachers in this school at a salary of twenty dollars a month for the first year, but subsequently was promoted to the position of first assistant at a salary of thirty dollars per month, and continued to occupy that position until the fall of 1849, when I secured, by courtesy of the city council of the city of Lexington, the favor of entering the law school of Transylvania University, the city having a number of scholarships in that institution at its gratuitous disposal. During the four years that I taught school as an assistant in the city school, I still pursued my own private studies at night, reciting to my father in the morning before school hours, until about the year 1848, when I had saved money enough from my meager salary to procure some text books of the law, and commenced reading law. In the meantime I had formed the acquaintance of a young lawyer, Abraham S. Drake, who became a very devoted friend of mine and superintended my reading, giving me such instructions as were necessary. My situation as a teacher in the public school in Lexington was very trying upon my health. I had an average of about fifty small children in a small room not more than twenty feet square, about six hours a day except Saturday, and had to occupy myself with my private studies when I ought to have had the privilege of and needed exercise in the open air. I had some satisfaction, however, in the success of my scholars, making it a specialty to teach them the art of reading well and reading aloud, an art which in the subsequent years I have found our public schools are sadly neglecting. I hope, dear Joe, you will succeed while you are going to school in learning to read, that being a neglected and almost a lost art in this day and generation. In August, 1846, my father returned to Lancaster, Ohio, and married Miss Hetty Herron, an adopted child of Mrs. Catherine Sumner's with whom my sister Susan had been living. Returning to Lexington, he continued teaching until 1850, when he removed to Millersburg, Kentucky. In the fall of 1849 I entered the senior class of the law department of Transylvania University, and in March, 1850, graduated and received my diploma from that school. My preceptors were two very able judges of the supreme court of Kentucky, to-wit, Judge Robinson and Judge Marshall. I had first taken up the idea of becoming a lawyer during my residence in Lancaster, Ohio, where I frequently spent my Saturdays in attendance upon the courts, listening with great interest to the speeches and discussions of the eminent men who constituted the bar at that place, among them Henry Stansbury, afterwards Attorney General of the United States, Thomas Ewing, afterwards Secretary of the Treasury of the United States during General Harrison's administration, Hocking H. Hunter, afterwards one of the judges of the supreme court of Ohio. Whilst residing in Lexington, Kentucky, I pursued the same course, visiting the courts whenever opportunity offered, hearing such men as Henry Clay and Thomas F. Marshall, and other distinguished lawyers of Kentucky, arguing their cases. In the meantime I had joined the Methodist Episcopal church on probation, and made the acquaintance of Miss Rebecca A. McMeekin. In the spring of 1850, after my graduation in the law department of Transylvania University, I determined to visit Ohio. I had some idea of settling in that state, as my two brothers who remained in Ohio were then in business in Fairfield county, my oldest brother Joseph having commenced the mercantile business on his own account at New Salem, Ohio, and my brother John had commenced the practice of medicine in the village of New Baltimore in the same county. Before leaving Lexington, however, I felt it due to myself and to Miss McMeekin to explain to her my frequent visits to her house. I wrote her a letter telling her of my hopeless condition financially and of the uncertain prospects of my success in my profession, but protesting my affection for her and my good faith in the attentions that I had paid her, and asking her to decide our future for herself. She made no reply in writing, but in my next visit to her she simply expressed her faith in my ultimate success in my profession, and her entire willingness to risk the future, so that when I left Lexington for Ohio, which I did in April, 1850, I was simply engaged to be married. When I arrived at Lancaster I entered the office of John D. Martin, an eminent lawyer of that place, in pursuance of a previous correspondence with him. He had been a particular friend of my father and an assistant to him in his school during my father's residence in Lancaster in 1842-3. He already had his nephew, Charles Martin, as an assistant in his office and could not offer me any compensation or any work. After two months I found it necessary to do something to replenish my exhausted finances. I first took a select school in Millersport a small town on the canal a few miles north of New Baltimore. After teaching here for three months I took the winter school in New Baltimore at a salary of $30 a month. In the meantime, through the acquaintances of my brother Joseph, located at New Salem, and my brother John, located at New Baltimore, I became known throughout that part of the country as an embryo lawyer. Although not admitted regularly to the practice of law, in the courts of record, I had the right to practice before the justices of the peace of the county, and during that summer I tried some seventeen cases before these inferior courts. I still continued my studies of the law, using very frequently a book known there as _Swan's Treatise_, compiled for the benefit of the justices of the peace of the state by Judge Swan, of Ohio. This book also contained many references to the supreme court decisions of the state, and I was accustomed after school hours to walk to Lancaster and borrow these reports from my friend, Mr. Martin, frequently taking them home and using them upon the trial of my cases, which always occurred on Saturdays when I had no school. During my stay in Ohio, I read carefully and with much profit to myself, the daily reports of the proceedings of the state convention that was then forming a new constitution for that state. Many eminent lawyers were members of the convention, among them Mr. Stansbury, afterwards Attorney General of the United States, and Mr. Raney, afterwards Judge of the supreme court of the state of Ohio. Occasionally the learned men of the convention indulged their sense of humor, and among other incidents of the debates I recall the following: Among other members of the convention there was an uneducated man by the name of Sawyer. Mr. Stansbury, of the committee on the judiciary, reported a provision relating to the powers of certain courts, authorizing them to issue writ of habeas corpus, procedendo, quo warranto, and mandamus. Mr. Sawyer objected to these Latin terms being in the constitution on the ground that many of his constituents could not understand the meaning of such terms and he wanted the committee to put the words into English language, and also asked for an explanation of the meaning of these words. Mr. Stansbury very courteously explained that the difficulty was not in the use of the terms proposed, but it was because his friend did not understand the nature of these writs. For the benefit of Mr. Sawyer he explained their meaning, but suggested that the use of any English terms or words would not make the character of the writs any better understood to those who are not familiar with the law. He said that the literal meaning of the words "habeas corpus" was to have the body, and the writ was issued in case any one complained of being illegally imprisoned, or restrained of their personal liberty, and was intended for the purpose of having the body of the person in whose behalf the writ was issued brought before the court, in order that the cause of his restraint or imprisonment might be inquired into and its legality or illegality be determined; that to call the writ, a writ to have the body, would not make the term any more intelligent than to use the words "habeas corpus." That the word "procedendo" simply meant to proceed or go ahead, and was a name of a writ that was issued by the appellate court to an inferior tribunal, authorizing them to proceed in accordance with the opinion of the appellate court. Out of respect to the character of a man who had become famous in the west, of an early day, he would suggest to his friend Sawyer that this writ might be called a writ of "David Crocket," as it was a favorite motto of that individual to "Be sure you are right and then go ahead." That the literal meaning of the words "quo warranto" was, "Why do you do it?" It was a writ issued by some superior court to an inferior court or tribunal, corporation or officer, to ascertain by what authority they exercised certain powers; that the only term in English that would express the particular character of the writ would be the words, "Why do you do it?" The writ of "mandamus" was a writ issued by the court commanding some inferior tribunal or officer to do and perform certain duties which were required by law and which he had refused to perform. That the only words in the English language that would properly define the character of this writ would be, "Do it, damn you." It is not necessary to add that Mr. Sawyer gave the convention no further trouble in regard to the Latin names of these writs. CHAPTER II EARLY EXPERIENCES IN IOWA In the spring of 1850 I had determined to seek a location for the practice of law in some western state. I first thought of migrating to Oregon, but gave up that idea for the reason that I feared if I traveled that far from my intended I might never have the means to go back to Kentucky to claim her. So, finally, I fixed upon the idea of removing to Iowa. Before deciding this important question, however, I wrote to my intended wife explaining to her the situation and again calling her attention to the uncertainties of the future. As she was two years older than myself I felt that it was hardly justice to her to insist upon our engagement if she felt that my future was too uncertain. I received in answer to this letter a kind assurance that her faith would not fail, and she cited that beautiful passage of scripture containing the answer of Ruth to Naomi: "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me." The spring of 1851 I returned to Kentucky for a short visit, my brother Joseph having loaned me fifty dollars in money and trusted me for a new suit of clothes. In the meantime my father had removed to Millersburg, Kentucky, and commenced teaching there, a branch of what I think was known as Johnson's Military Academy, the principal school being at Blue Licks, Kentucky, in charge of James G. Blaine, afterwards a republican candidate for President of the United States. The lady he afterwards married also assisted my father, and received visits from Mr. Blaine on Saturdays and Sundays. It was whilst residing here that my sister Susan became acquainted with your grandfather, William Vimont, whom she married in January, 1853. [Illustration: _Old Stone House on Public Square, Sharpsburg, Md._ Birthplace of Charles Clinton Nourse] It was the latter part of May, 1851, when I started west "to grow up with the country." We had then no railroads reaching the Mississippi river from the east, and I took the steamer at Louisville, Kentucky, for St. Louis, Missouri. At St. Louis I took the steamer for Iowa, not yet determined as to my landing. The waters of the river were at flood tide, and on our passage up we saw frame houses floating past us. I landed in Burlington the last day of May, and stopped at the Barrett House. I was not acquainted with a single person in the state of Iowa, had no relative, kindred, or friend to whom I could apply for advice or assistance. After a hearty dinner I retired to my room, took a chair, put my feet up on my trunk, and held a consultation with myself. The question before the house was, what to do next. I had with me a general letter of recommendation from Professor Dodd, then president of Transylvania University, and a particular friend of my father, and another from Dr. T. O. Edwards of Lancaster, Ohio, an ex-member of congress from that state, and also my letter as a member of the Methodist Episcopal church, and my diploma signed by the law faculty and trustees of Transylvania University. After proper consideration I inquired of the landlord of the hotel where I could find a Methodist preacher, as I was satisfied there must be such a person in the city. He directed me to the parsonage. I called upon the minister and made his acquaintance, the Reverend Mr. Dennis, who afterwards obtained some notoriety as a pastor in Kansas at the time of the Kansas troubles. He was a tall, white haired man of pleasant countenance and affable manners. I showed him my papers and told him my object in calling upon him was, through him, to make the acquaintance of some of the leading lawyers of the city from whom I could obtain information and determine what part of the state I would attempt to locate in. At that time the supreme court of the state of Iowa was in session in Burlington, consisting of Joseph Williams, Chief Justice, George Greene and John F. Kinney, justices. Mr. Dennis informed me that the judges were boarding at the same hotel, the Barrett House, and he made an appointment to go with me to their consultation room that afternoon and introduce me. We made the visit and I found the judges of the court very cordial, and at their request I produced my diploma from the law school, told them who I was and where I was from, and that I desired some information in regard to the best possible location for a young attorney. They requested me to call at their courtroom the next morning at the opening of the court, and they would have me admitted to the practice of law in their court and throughout the state. The next morning I went to the court, and at the request of Judge Kinney, Mr. Dickson, of Keokuk, who was then in attendance at the court, made a motion for my admission to the bar, and suggested the appointment of a committee to examine me as to my qualifications. The Chief Justice announced that an examination was unnecessary--the court had already examined the applicant and was entirely satisfied with his qualifications, and requested me to come forward and take the oath of office, which I did. I made the acquaintance of the clerk of the court, then "Old Timber," as we afterwards called him, his real name being James Woods. That evening Judge Kinney asked me to take a walk with him, and told me he had a brother-in-law, Augustus Hall, living at Keosauqua, Iowa, who was desirous of having a young lawyer associated with him in his office, and if I would go to Keosauqua he would give me a letter of introduction. I ascertained that the stage fare to Keosauqua would be six dollars. Upon taking an inventory of my pocket-book I found I only had about eight dollars left of the money my brother had loaned me. I had with me two trunks, one full of my law books, the other containing my clothing, etc. I interviewed the landlord and told him my situation financially, and proposed to him that I would leave my books in his custody as I was still uncertain where I should settle, and leave my bill unpaid, if agreeable to him, until such time as I could send for my books. He readily agreed to the arrangement, but proposed that I should take my books and he would risk my sending the amount of my bill, which, however, I declined to do. The next morning Judge Kinney called me to one side, kindly suggesting that it was not unusual for young men to visit Iowa for the purpose of locating who were short of funds, and he would be glad to loan me a small amount if I would accept it. This kindness I also declined. I had no doubt that he had been advised by the landlord of my situation, and he was kind enough to attempt to help me. The next morning I took the stage-coach for Keosauqua, but owing to the condition of the roads, and particularly of Skunk river, I was taken to Keokuk where I had to stay all night. After paying my bill the next morning I found I had only twenty cents left. The next day the stage-coach took me to The Divide, as we called it, as far as Utica postoffice in Van Buren county, and there left me. The hack that should have taken me from there to Keosauqua had already gone before our arrival. I could not stay here all night because I had no money to pay any bill, so I left my one trunk in charge of the postoffice to be sent to Keosauqua the next day on the hack, and I started to walk, then about ten miles, to reach Keosauqua. I had not walked far before I found that I had sprained my ankle slightly in jumping from the coach that morning. The walking became very painful, but I managed to reach Keosauqua about sundown that evening. The first building that looked like a hotel or public house was a frame building that stood southeast of the court house. The high waters of the Des Moines river had flooded the lower part of the town, and I found this house was a boarding house, at that time full of guests. I inquired for the lady of the house and took my seat on a bench on the porch near the front door. Presently the lady of the house appeared, and looking at me very inquiringly wanted to know who I was, where I was from, what was my business, and where I was going. I was a sorry looking subject, having waded through the mud for ten miles, and I presume I looked as I felt--very tired. I gave her my real name, told her I had no business, that I did not know where I was going, and that I had come from Keokuk that day. She told me her house was full and she did not believe she could accommodate me with a night's lodging. I then asked her very politely for permission to remain upon the porch until I was sufficiently rested so I could go further down town and obtain lodging, but I asked her about the town, its population, and about the high waters. The lady turned out to be Mrs. Obed Stannard, the mother of Ed Stannard, afterwards Lieutenant Governor of Missouri, and a very successful business man of St. Louis. She was a good talker, and after conversing with her about twenty minutes I got up to leave, thanking her very cordially for her kindness in permitting me to rest on the porch. She relented and told me she thought if I would stay that she could find accommodations for me. I told her no, that I could not put a lady to any inconvenience when it was unnecessary and I must go, so I left and went down to the front street in the town to the Keosauqua House, kept then by "Father Shepherd," as we always called him, with whom I boarded until after I was married in 1853. Keosauqua, at that time, as indeed it has been ever since, was a small town of about 1,500 inhabitants, the county seat of Van Buren county, located on the Des Moines river. It possessed one of the best bars of the state, and among its inhabitants were men who afterwards became distinguished in the history of the state. The men more actively engaged in practice were George G. Wright, for many years afterwards a judge of the supreme court of the state, Joseph C. Knapp, judge of the district court of that district and afterwards United States District Attorney, and Augustus Hall, afterwards a member of congress from that district and appointed by Mr. Buchanan United States District Judge in Nebraska. The courts of this county were also visited by J. C. Hall, afterwards one of the judges of the supreme court. The pastor of the Methodist church at that time was Henry Clay Dean, who afterwards became chaplain of the United States Senate, and a notorious political orator. One of his converts was Delizon Smith, who had been an infidel lecturer and prominent politician in the state, and was afterwards elected for a short term to the United States Senate from the state of Oregon. The next year after I settled in Keosauqua, Henry Clay Caldwell, then a student in the law office of Judge Wright, was admitted to the bar, and after the Civil War was appointed United States District Judge and afterwards United States Circuit Judge, being located during his official career as judge at Little Rock, Arkansas, now retired by reason of age and continued service, and residing at Los Angeles, California. The state of Iowa at that time in its politics was democratic, and the democratic party numbered a majority of about two hundred in Van Buren county. Delizon Smith, however, had failed to obtain a nomination by his party for the office of Governor, and had organized what was called "The Young Democracy of Van Buren County," numbering about two hundred voters. This left the party badly demoralized in the county, and in August, 1852, I had so far succeeded in making the acquaintance of the people of the county that I was elected on an independent ticket to the office of county attorney, which then paid a salary of about three hundred dollars a year. After I had boarded with Father Shepherd for a few weeks I received from my brother Joseph a small remittance. I sent for my books that I had left at Burlington and took Father Shepherd, the landlord, into my confidence, told him my situation financially, and paid my bill up to that date. Father Shepherd at that time was himself a justice of the peace, and his hotel was the stopping place of most of the people who acted as guardians and administrators, and who attended once a month sessions of the county court that then had jurisdiction in probate matters. I told Father Shepherd of my desire to make the acquaintance of these officials as they visited his hotel from time to time, and that his pay for my board depended largely upon my success in business, and I asked him to be my friend, and at least let people know why I was there and what my proposed business was. He became my fast friend and helped me to make very many valuable acquaintances. Father Shepherd was the father-in-law of Delizon Smith, and a leader of the faction known as the "Young Democrats" of that county. Early in the spring of 1853 I received a letter from my then intended wife, suggesting that my success in business she thought gave sufficient promise for the future, and that it was not necessary for us to wait longer. Accordingly I got together one hundred dollars in money, made a trip around the river to Louisville, Kentucky, and thence via rail to Lexington for the purpose of realizing something of the deferred hope. We were married on the 15th of April of that year, my father in the meantime having removed from Millersburg to Winchester, Kentucky. I made him a visit in company with my bride and had the pleasure of meeting there my sister Susan and her husband, William Vimont, your mother's father and mother. Before going to Kentucky and claiming my bride I purchased from the Reverend Daniel Lane a house and two lots in Keosauqua at the price of three hundred and fifty dollars, and borrowed fifty dollars from Thomas Devon to make the first payment. I had also attended several auction sales and bought some chairs and tables, a cook stove and a few dishes. My wife's mother had packed a feather bed, some pillows and bed clothes, and quilts of the old style in a store box, and we returned to Iowa the latter part of April, 1853. The expense of my trip and marriage left me only two dollars of the one hundred dollars I had when I started for my bride. We arrived in Keosauqua on Sunday in a slight April shower. On Monday we proceeded to the house I had purchased, which was in need of repair. We whitewashed the walls and my wife washed the windows. The next day we made a bill of about forty dollars at the store for additional house-keeping facilities. I bought a sack of flour and a ham of meat, and on Tuesday evening we took tea at home. It was the first home I had had (in the proper sense of the term) since we left Maryland, and when we sat down at our own table to drink our cup of tea and eat the new made biscuit baked by my own wife, I could not repress the tears that came to my eyes, and I thanked God for the mercy that he had bestowed upon us. In the fall of 1853 I made a trip west through the southern tier of counties, attending the courts at Davis, Appanoose, Wayne, and Decatur counties. I made the trip on horseback with a pair of saddle-bags that contained my necessary baggage. From Bloomfield I was accompanied by several attorneys of that bar, and at Centerville two or three additional lawyers joined our party. The counties west of Centerville were very sparsely settled and the road consisted merely of two paths worn by the horses and wagon wheels on the prairie grass. In Wayne county we applied at one settler's house for accommodations for the night, but the housewife informed us that her husband was away from home, had gone to mill, and that she had nothing in the house to eat save a little bacon. She said if we would remain she would entertain us with such accommodations as the place afforded. The corn was hardly yet ripe enough to feed our horses, but she told us if we would select the ripest and use some salt in feeding we were welcome to do so. We also, at her request, plucked some of the softer ears of the corn, and these she grated upon a large tin grater, and frying some of the bacon in her skillet she made cakes of the grated corn and fried them in the fat. She also gave us a cup of good coffee, and with the appetites we had acquired in our day's travel we made a very hearty and palatable meal. When bedtime came she made some kind of a bed upon the floor. The next morning we had a breakfast of the same corn and bacon and coffee. The lady made a very reasonable charge for our entertainment, and she had no reason to doubt the sincerity of our compliments upon our fare, as the avidity with which we had eaten what she had supplied gave full evidence that we had appreciated our entertainment. The next morning we rode into Corydon, the county seat of Wayne county. The only hotel in the place was a small one and one-half story frame house, with a shed addition for kitchen and dining hall. Our bed room was the upstairs, and our beds were in two rows, with our heads under the eaves and our feet touching each other in the center of the room. We had no separate apartment or separate beds, our wearing apparel furnishing the pillows. The court was held in a frame school house on the public square. The boundaries of the public square were ascertained by a lot of wooden stakes or pegs. There was no general store in the place for the sale of goods. An enterprising peddler with two large peddling wagons came through with us from Centerville and erected a large tent in the center of the square for the display and sale of his goods, and whenever the court was not in actual session his store was opened for business. Judge Townsend, of Monroe county, was the judge of the court. From Wayne county we went to Decatur, the peddler also keeping us company with his itinerant dry goods establishment. During this trip I made the acquaintance of very many young men who afterwards became distinguished as lawyers, legislators, and judges. The only lawsuit in which I was consulted was a slander case tried in Wayne county. The suit was brought in behalf of a young woman for damages because of words spoken against her reputation by the defendant. Amos Harris, a lawyer from Centerville, was engaged as attorney for the defendant. When the case was about to be called for trial Harris expressed his wish to have my advice in regard to the course to be pursued, and at his request I retired with him to the shady side of the school house for consultation. He told me that his client was a man of some property and that the plaintiff had some witnesses who would testify clearly and positively to the slanderous words spoken by the defendant of and concerning the young lady. He said his client really had not injured the reputation of the young woman at all because nobody believed any thing that he said as he had a very bad reputation for veracity. He said they could make no defense whatever, as the girl's character was good, and he was afraid of a large verdict for damages against his client, and asked me if I could think of any way that he could help his client out of the difficulty. I asked him if he could prove that nobody believed what his client said on account of his bad character. He said yes, there were plenty of persons that would testify to that, but he could not see how that was any defense. I told him it was no defense against the slander, but it might be proved with advantage in mitigation of damages, provided his client would be willing that he should undertake to do so. He called his client out and explained to him the situation as I had advised, and asked him if he was willing to save his money at the expense of his reputation. The fellow winced, but finally consented that Harris might make the proof. I suggested that as the plaintiff's witnesses were all friendly to the young lady Harris might on cross-examination prove by them that they did not at the time or ever believe the slander that the defendant had uttered against the plaintiff, and that they had never repeated it to anyone except accompanied by their statement of their belief that it was all false, and Harris introduced several other witnesses to prove the bad reputation of his client for truth and veracity. The plaintiff's attorneys objected and the court first hesitated to allow the witnesses to so testify, but upon the suggestion that it was the best thing for the plaintiff's reputation, and that as nearly the whole population of the county was there upon attendance of the court, it was better to clear up her reputation by this testimony than to give her money to heal her wounded feelings, the court finally took this view of the case and permitted the evidence to go to the jury in mitigation of damages. The jury found a verdict in favor of the plaintiff against the defendant for the sum of only twenty dollars. The young woman went home with her character thoroughly vindicated and her reputation restored, and the only one unhappy over the result of the trial appeared to be the attorney for the plaintiff, who was undoubtedly expecting a handsome recovery as the only means of compensating him for his professional work. From Decatur county I returned home, having learned much of the country and its people, and having made many interesting acquaintances among the members of the bar. And now I must tell you something of my political career, which properly begins at about this date. I had been made chairman of the county committee of the fast dissolving organization known as the whig party. In the fall of 1854 I was a candidate for re-election as county attorney. We had nominated a county ticket of two candidates for the state senate and four representatives, what we then called the anti-Nebraska whigs. James W. Grimes was the candidate for Governor of the state. The democratic party had passed what was called the "Kansas-Nebraska Bill," containing a clause repealing the Missouri Compromise measure, adopted in 1820, that prohibited slavery and involuntary servitude north of thirty-six degrees and thirty minutes of north latitude in the territories of the United States, acquired by the Louisiana Purchase. This had resulted in the partial disorganization of the democratic party throughout many of the northern states. I had left Kentucky because of my opposition to slavery, and especially to what I regarded as the baleful influence of that institution upon the white population. I had settled in Iowa because it was a free state and because I felt that the opportunities for success in life would be greater than in a slave state. I had observed whilst in Kentucky that fixed conditions of political, social, and business life made the success of the young man, depending only on his own energies and abilities, always doubtful and difficult. Upon my defeat as prosecuting attorney in 1854, at the suggestion of the members elected to the legislature from Van Buren county I went to Iowa City in their company at the beginning of the session, and through their influence I was elected clerk of the house of representatives of the state of Iowa. I found this position of great advantage and help, not only pecuniarily, but I made the acquaintance of public men of all parties during the session. Afterwards in 1856-7 I was elected secretary of the senate of the state. In 1854, at the dissolution of the old whig party there existed a political organization in many of the states of the Union called "The Know-Nothings." It was a secret political organization, having for its principal doctrines opposition to the Roman Catholics and to the foreign-born citizens of the United States. I refused to affiliate with this "Know-Nothing" organization for the reason that I did not believe in secret political societies or organizations in this country, and I did not believe in making the religious faith or affiliations of any man a test for office, neither did I believe that anyone should be excluded from the confidence and respect of his fellow men because of the place of his birth. As county chairman of the expiring whig party I issued to the people of Van Buren county a circular stating my position and declining to call any convention to coöperate with the "Know-Nothing" organization. I did this for the further reason that the opposition to the extension of slavery into the territories was becoming every day more and more pronounced in the northern states of the Union, and the nucleus of what was afterwards the republican party had already been formed in many of the northern states. It may be interesting to you to have the history of how Henry Clay Dean became a democrat, and how a little thing may change the destiny and fortune of a man in this life. In the fall of 1854 the Methodist annual conference for Iowa met at the city of Dubuque. It was the custom at that early day for the members of the conference to become guests of the citizens of the locality where the conference had its meetings. Dean was then a member of the conference, and had been receiving and filling regular appointments as a pastor. At Dubuque resided Honorable George W. Jones, then a democratic United States Senator from Iowa. Jones maintained a good table and was a good liver, and his wife an excellent, hospitable lady. In assigning the members of the conference to the different citizens, Dean was assigned as the guest of Senator Jones and his wife. After the conference had been in session a few days, the "Know-Nothings" having been secretly organized in the city of Dubuque became very active in obtaining the names of the Methodist ministers attending the conference, and in initiating them into their order. Among other names presented and favorably acted upon was that of Henry Clay Dean, my former pastor and friend. After he had been elected and the time appointed for his initiation a few nights hence, one of the over zealous ministers represented to Brother Dean that as he had now been elected a member of the "Know-Nothing" organization it was not proper for him to continue to be the guest of and accept of the hospitality of the wife of George W. Jones, who was a Roman Catholic. Dean was an enormous eater, and the suggestion that he should give up his nice boarding place greatly offended him, and he denounced the suggestion as bigotry and presumption inexcusable. He at once went to Senator Jones and told him of the proposition that had been made to him and the cause of it, and denounced the "Know-Nothing" organization in most uncompromising terms. The Senator was pleased with Brother Dean's zeal in the matter, and induced him on the succeeding Sabbath to preach a sermon on "Know-Nothingism" and to denounce it from the pulpit. Dean was a man of more than ordinary ability, with a wonderful command of language. Upon the adjournment of the conference Senator Jones wrote to Judge Knapp at Keosauqua stating the situation and suggesting that Dean be employed in the political canvass against the "Know-Nothings" that fall, and be encouraged in his opposition to that order. Dean returned to Keosauqua, and I had a long conference with him upon this matter. I knew that he had been engaged several years before that in collecting the most learned and effective arguments in favor of protective tariff as delivered in congress from time to time, especially from whig members from the state of Pennsylvania. I also knew that he had preached some of the bitterest sermons against human slavery that I had ever heard from the pulpit or from any source, and I urged upon him that he could not consistently coöperate with the democratic party because of his views in regard to the tariff and because of his opposition to slavery. I pointed out to him that the organization of the republican party was then proceeding in most of the states and that his feelings, sentiments, and views would be better expressed by the position of that organization; that the "Know-Nothing" party was a mere temporary passion and would effervesce and disappear in a short time, and that his efforts in opposition to them would be wholly unnecessary and gratuitous. But he was too wroth and anxious for his revenge against those who suggested that he decline the hospitality and good dinners of Senator Jones. He accordingly entered the canvass, and that fall there being the election in Virginia in which Henry A. Wise was a democratic candidate for Governor and was opposed by the "Know-Nothings," Dean with letters of recommendation from Jones and Senator Dodge and other leading democrats of Iowa went to Virginia and entered the political canvass in favor of Wise and in opposition to the "Know-Nothings." Wise was elected, and Dean then went to Washington City. With the influence of Dodge and Jones and the Virginia delegation he was elected chaplain of the United States senate, and thereafter, and especially during the Civil War, he made himself notorious as a democratic orator. Without observing the exact chronology of events, it would be well here to recite certain facts and incidents that had a material influence upon my mind, and determined my action in regard to the question of human slavery. While residing in Kentucky and boarding in the family of my friend, Abraham S. Drake, I had frequent conversations with him in regard to the subject. He was at that time decidedly opposed to the institution, regarding it as morally wrong and detrimental in its effect upon the white as well as the slave population of the state. Slavery at that time existed in Kentucky in its most modified and humane condition, but the system itself and the law gave to the slave owner a power over the slave that was too frequently abused. One instance I recall that made a powerful impression upon my mind. On a beautiful Sabbath morning in the early part of the summer I was taken sick, while in attendance upon religious services at the Methodist Episcopal church, and was compelled to leave the church and go home, soon after the singing of the opening hymn. On the way to my boarding house I passed near what was known as the "Watch-house" or headquarters of the police, and was shocked to hear the cries of a negro woman who was maid to some wealthy mistress, who had become offended at her that morning, and had sent for the police and given orders that her servant be taken to the police quarters and given a certain number of lashes, administered in expiation of her offense. The contrast between the quiet worshipers at the church and their seeming devotion, and the horrible cries that filled the air from the unfortunate negro slave woman was a comment upon the injustice and brutality of the institution, that made an impression upon my mind that has never been erased. In 1853 when I went to Kentucky for the purpose of being married I was the guest of my friend Drake for several days. While sitting upon the veranda one evening one of his children was playing upon the lawn in front of the house, with a little negro tot two or three years of age. He called my attention to the colored child, stating that that was his "carriage driver" and that he was a child of one of the negro women that his wife had inherited a few years before, and he remarked that the child was worth then $600. I reminded him of our former conversation and discussion in regard to slavery and expressed my surprise that he would have any pleasure in calculating the money value of this child. He informed me that his views on the subject of slavery had undergone quite a change, and upon investigating the subject he was satisfied that the Bible fully justified the institution of slavery, and he thought it was right morally as well as legally to own and enjoy the possession of such property. I said but little in response to these arguments, but could not but reflect and be convinced that it was pecuniary investment that had its baleful influence upon the conscience of my friend and perverted his moral sense, and this was only to me an additional reason for hating the institution. When returning from Kentucky with my bride we stayed over a day at Louisville, as my wife desired to visit some old friends and former neighbors who had resided near them in Lexington. We accordingly made a call upon her friends, and while sitting in the parlor conversing about old times a colored woman about the age of my wife came into the room, and greeting us begged to inquire of my wife in regard to her husband, it appearing from her story the family had moved from Lexington to Louisville about two years before, and that the woman had been separated from her husband, who still resided in Lexington and was the property of another party. In the meantime the slave woman had given birth to a child, and amid her tears told how she longed to see her husband and have him see her young babe. The interview was cut short when the slave woman was remanded to the kitchen, and the cheerful recall of pleasant reminiscences became rather sad. The family insisted upon my wife and myself remaining to dinner and pressed upon us with great earnestness their hospitality. My wife was disposed to accept of the invitation, but having only been married the week before, I was not prepared to accept of the hospitality of people who separated a husband and wife thus ruthlessly, and I retired with thanks, and we took our dinner at the hotel. After I settled in Keosauqua, Iowa, I became a subscriber to and a constant reader of the New York _Tribune_, and in due time also read with much interest that wonderful book written by Harriet Beecher Stowe, called _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. During the winter of 1857, whilst I was secretary of the state senate, I enjoyed the pleasure of hearing Wendell Phillips deliver his lecture upon the "Lost Arts." At the close of his lecture Hon. J. B. Grinnell, then a member of the state senate from Poweshiek county, rose in the audience and requested Mr. Phillips to give us his views upon the subject of slavery, and especially called his attention to the fact that Mr. Phillips had been represented by the public press as favoring a dissolution of the American Union. Mr. Phillips courteously complied with the request, and proceeded to say that when the constitution of the United States was formed it contained within its provisions, as he believed, the germ of human liberty. That the declaration of American independence had declared that all men were entitled to the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. He said that he was in favor of the development of this germ to its fullest extent; that the constitution of the United States might be compared to a box in which was planted an acorn; the acorn would grow in the very nature of things and become an oak, but whether or not the box in which the acorn was planted was sufficient to contain the development and growing germ, he could not say. He was not concerned in regard to the safety of the box, but he was anxious that the germ should develop and that the tree should grow. That whether or not the constitution of the United States could survive the development and growth of this germ of human liberty that had been planted therein, he could not say, and upon that question he did not feel any very great anxiety; all he had to say in regard to the matter was that he was in favor of the growth of the germ, and he believed that the acorn would grow and ought to grow. Wendell Phillips was one of the most eloquent and graceful public speakers it was ever my privilege to listen to. I had expected from his reputation as a reformer and abolitionist to hear a man with loud voice and vehement gesticulation, but instead he proved to be mild, quiet, self-possessed, delivering his utterances in the clearest, mildest, and most persuasive tones, commanding the respect of his audience and almost fascinating them with his words. During the same session I also had the pleasure of hearing at Davenport, Iowa, a lecture from Horace Greeley, the great editor of the New York _Tribune_. I was greatly disappointed in Mr. Greeley's lecture. As a writer I knew him to be the clearest and most incisive in his utterances. His manner on the platform and his speech were those of a drony, sing-song, intonating Episcopal minister, devoid of life and spirit. The general assembly of 1854-5 elected George G. Wright, then of Van Buren county, Norman W. Isbell, and Wm. G. Woodard, judges of the supreme court of the state to fill the vacancies caused by the expirations of the terms of Judges Williams, Kinney and Greene. At this session also occurred the first election of James Harlan as United States Senator. Mr. Harlan was not permitted to take his seat under this election, for the reason that at the adjourned joint session at which he was elected the senate as an organized body with their president, Maturin L. Fisher, had not participated in the election, but had previously adjourned the session of the state senate. Mr. Harlan was again elected in the session of 1856-7, and his right was recognized by the senate. In the summer of the year 1856 a republican convention was called for the state to be held at Iowa City, for the organization of that party, in sympathy with other state organizations of like name and principles. As the sole surviving official of the old whig party of Van Buren county, I called a county convention to meet at Keosauqua for the purpose of appointing delegates to the state convention to be held at Iowa City. I wrote a letter to my friend, H. C. Caldwell, asking him to write a letter to Judge Wright and urge upon him the propriety, as he could not be present at this county convention, of writing a letter endorsing and encouraging the movement. Judge Wright declined to write any such letter, and simply wrote to Mr. Caldwell that he hoped we were doing right in calling the county convention. I was present at the county convention and started the movement with such enthusiasm as we were able to awaken. Delegates were duly appointed, but the attendance at Iowa City required of them an overland trip of some seventy-five miles. I then owned what was called a "democrat wagon," having two seats, and a small gray mare and mustang pony. With this team and wagon, when the time came, I furnished the transportation for the delegation, and Van Buren county was represented in the state convention by Abner H. McCrary, our state senator from Van Buren county, Dr. William Craig, George C. Duffield, and myself. I had the honor also to be appointed one of the secretaries of this state convention. This was the first republican state convention held in the state, and was the beginning of the political organization that has ever since, with the exception of a period of four years, controlled the legislation and policy of the state of Iowa. The first national republican convention met at Philadelphia in the fall of 1856 and nominated General John C. Fremont as its candidate for President. I took an active part in the campaign in Iowa that ensued. At the request of the central committee of the state I spent several weeks in canvassing Davis county. Many of the settlers in the southern tier of townships, both in Van Buren and Davis counties, instead of finding themselves in a slave state, in the state of Missouri, were really citizens of the free state of Iowa. It was much easier to ascertain the true southern boundary of our state than it was to remove the prejudices of the benighted citizens who had by mistake settled in Iowa, so when I went into Davis county in 1856 to make republican speeches opposed to the existence and extension of slavery in our free territory, I met with small encouragement. We were courteously called "black republicans," and frequently designated as "damn black republicans." At one point where I had an appointment to make a political speech I found an audience assembled that had armed themselves with rotten eggs, with the intention of driving me out of their locality. It so happened that the year before most of these men had been indicted for libel in accusing their school-master of burning down a school house in the township, notifying him publicly to leave the county or suffer mob violence. A civil suit was also instituted against them for damages. I had been employed by them and succeeded in getting them off with the reasonable sum of eight hundred dollars, for which they were truly grateful, and when they found that I was to be the "black republican" orator advertised for the occasion, they generously assured me that if it had been anybody else they would not have permitted him to speak, but as I had stood by them in their trouble I might go on and say just what I pleased. They were a warm-hearted, hot-headed, impulsive set of men. Just how many converts I made during the two weeks that I was engaged in speaking in Davis county I cannot say. We had no republican organization in the county, and the leading men who took any active part in politics in opposition to the democratic party were running Bell and Everett as their candidates. Davis county, at the ensuing election, gave Fremont electors only two hundred and fifty votes, and the vote in the state of Iowa stood as follows: Fremont, 43,954; Buchanan, 36,170; Fillmore, 9,180. CHAPTER III REMOVED TO DES MOINES The practice of law in Van Buren county did not prove very remunerative. The district court met only twice a year. The business of the term sometimes occupied only two or three days, seldom beyond one week, and never beyond two weeks. During the time I had continued to reside in Van Buren county one of the most important cases in which I was retained was a contest over the legality of a will in which the deceased had made a bequest of a small tract of land to the Methodist Episcopal church, organized out on what was called "Utica Prairie." The will provided that the land should be sold by the trustees of the church and a fund created out of which should be paid so much a year to the missionary cause and so much to the support of the minister. The remainder should be expended by the trustees in erecting a house of worship. The trustees of the church had not been incorporated, and the heirs sought to set aside the will on the ground that there was no legal capacity in the trustees to receive the bequest, and on the further ground of the uncertainty of the beneficiaries under the will. I was retained in the case in behalf of the trustees, and had them immediately adopt articles of incorporation and file the same as provided by the statutes of the state. I filed an answer in the case, setting forth with particularity the character of the Methodist Episcopal church's organization, with proper averments as to the certainty of the continued existence of the beneficiaries under the will. The case was tried upon demurrer to this answer, and upon appeal to the supreme court of Iowa the will was sustained. The opinion of the court is fully reported in the case of Johnson et al. vs. Mayne et al., Trustees, 4th Iowa, 180. [Illustration: _Charles Clinton Nourse_ From an air brush copy of an old photograph loaned by D. W. Nourse, Kenton, Ohio.] I charged and received from the trustees the sum of $200 for my services in the case, being the largest amount that I received in my practice from any one case during the seven years I remained in Keosauqua. The railroad up the Des Moines valley from Keokuk had been located some three or four miles north of the town of Keosauqua, and I saw no immediate prospect of any improvement or growth in the town. Added to these discouragements, my wife and myself in the fall of 1857 were both taken down with the fever and the ague. On advice of our physician we made a visit to Kentucky and also to Ohio to visit our relatives, hoping by some means to escape or shake off the dreaded disease, but the more we shook the stronger the ague kept its hold. I had during that year (1857) been employed by Edwin Manning, the commissioner of the Des Moines River Improvement, to represent the interest of the state in certain suits commenced against him by the Des Moines Navigation & Railroad Company, for the purpose of compelling him to certify to the company certain lands belonging to the state under the grant of congress, made for the purpose of aiding in the improvement of the navigation of the Des Moines river, the company claiming that they were entitled to certain of these lands at the rate of $1.25 per acre for moneys expended in the building of locks and dams upon the river, which expenditure had been certified by the state engineer. The general assembly of the state of Iowa was to meet for the first time in the city of Des Moines on the first day of January, 1858, and I went to Des Moines in company with Mr. Manning at that time for the two-fold purpose of calling the roll of senators upon the organization of the senate, that being my duty as the secretary of the past session, and also to look after the interest of the state in the settlement that was then to be made between the state and the Des Moines Navigation Company, the supreme court having decided the suit, to which I have referred, in our favor. I found Des Moines to be a thriving young city of something less than five thousand inhabitants, but with great expectation for the future as the permanent capital of the state of Iowa. I was introduced after a few days' stay in the city to Judge W. W. Williamson, an old time lawyer with a good collecting business, who offered me a full partnership in his business, and I finally determined, after transacting the business I had in Des Moines, to return to Keosauqua and dispose of my affairs there and remove to this city, which I finally did, and on the 6th day of March, 1858, with my wife and household goods and the ague, we came to Des Moines. About a year or more before we left Keosauqua I had traded off the house I had first purchased in the village for a very beautiful home that had been built by L. J. Rose. It had about a full block of ground well planted with young fruit trees and vines and shrubbery and rose bushes. The house was well located on the hill in the northwest part of the village, and my wife as well as myself had become fondly attached to the place. During our five years of residence we had many friends in the town, and we found it hard to leave them. My wife shed many tears at the thought of leaving the place, but the largest amount that my practice had yielded in any one year whilst in Keosauqua was $800, and I was satisfied that our best interests would be promoted by our new location. The location of the permanent capital of the state at Des Moines, and the fact that our supreme and United States courts would be located there, and that it would necessarily become a railroad center and build up and become one of the chief cities of the state, had attracted many other young men of the profession. Within twelve months before the time I settled in Des Moines probably a dozen well educated, enterprising young lawyers had preceded me. The result was a fierce competition and struggle for business, every young man realizing that it was a question of the survival of the fittest, and that his success depended upon himself. Before arriving in the city I had secured a small house of two rooms and a shed kitchen on Sixth street, at a rental of twenty dollars per month. We moved our goods into this house on Saturday, and on Sunday morning after a light breakfast both my wife and myself went to bed with the ague. The chill was succeeded, of course, by the usual high fever, and in the middle of the afternoon we were delighted by a call from an old acquaintance, a girl that had been raised at Keosauqua and who had married Mr. R. L. Tidrick, of Des Moines. She made us a cup of tea, and we came out of the fever encouraged and contented. The first two years of my practice in Des Moines were not remunerative. In addition to our earnings we spent $1500 in our living, having saved that amount from the proceeds of the property that we disposed of at Keosauqua. In the fall of 1859 I took an active part in the political campaign that resulted in the election of Samuel J. Kirkwood for Governor and the defeat of Augustus Ceasar Dodge, former democratic Senator from Iowa. As I had become interested in and contemplated taking an active part in the politics of the state and nation, I occupied my leisure time in more serious and thoughtful consideration of the grave questions that were soon to confront the nation. I read with great interest and studied with great care the debates between Stephen A. Douglas and Abraham Lincoln that had taken place in the state of Illinois, and the struggle between those parties for a seat in the United States senate. I also read with some care and great interest the great questions that had divided those who had framed the constitution of the United States. I became thoroughly grounded in the theory that our fathers in forming our national constitution had established a government with all the essential attributes of sovereignty. Whilst there is a limitation upon the subjects over which the government should exercise jurisdiction, yet within the sphere over which it might exercise any power it was absolutely sovereign and supreme; that the constitution was not a compact or treaty between sovereign states, but that it was a government, deriving its powers directly from the people, with power to make its own laws and through its courts to interpret and administer its own laws, and through its executive and his appointees had the power to execute its own laws; that the relation between the national government and the individual was direct, with power over his person and his property so far as it was necessary to assert and maintain its jurisdiction; and that it collected and disbursed its own revenues, enlisted and maintained its own armies, built and maintained its own navies, and that its constitution and laws, by the very terms of its organization, constituted the supreme law of the land. That the assumption that it was a mere treaty between the sovereign states, from which any state might at any time secede at its pleasure, was an erroneous assumption, and inimical to our national existence and prosperity. I found upon examination of the decisions of the supreme court of the United States that these views of our national government and its powers had been fully sustained by the supreme court of the United States by the most eminent jurists of the land. Particularly I studied with great care the decisions of the supreme court of the United States, and the opinions of the Chief Justice Marshall of that court, delivered in the early history of our government. The same fall of 1859 I made a trip through Warren, Madison, Dallas, Guthrie, and Union counties, at the request of the republican state central committee. They furnished me with a covered buggy and pair of horses, without any expense to myself, and loaded me down with a lot of political campaign documents which I undertook to distribute, making political speeches also at the county seats in each of the above named counties. In crossing from Winterset over to Redfield one afternoon I found the road becoming very obscure, and a smoke arising from some burning prairie northwest of me so darkened the way that I became apprehensive of losing my road. There was no settlement in sight and no one from whom I could inquire the way. While I was seriously pondering upon the difficulty, a half dozen or more fine short horn cows crossed my path ahead of my team and I thought the safest way out of the difficulty would be to follow the cows, as they probably knew better than I where we were going. I had not followed these cows more than a few hundred yards before the owner of them appeared. He was a young Quaker about thirty years of age, named Wilson. I told him who I was and what my business was and he cordially invited me to go home with him. He lived in a small board shanty, one large room and an attic, situated under the hill. After sheltering his cows in a shed-barn covered with hay he took me to his house. I thought the chances for accommodations rather meager, but I noticed that he had a small yard fenced in front of his house, with a path of flagstones from the gate to the door, and on either side was planted quite a show of flowers and rose bushes. As we neared the house a very handsome young Quaker woman, his wife, with a little girl about three years of age, appeared at the door. Inside it was neat and tidy. The little Quaker wife prepared us a supper of snow-white biscuits and a plate of beautiful honey. She told me that they had attended the county fair that day and had taken a premium upon their honey. I spent a pleasant evening discussing politics with Mr. Wilson and supplying him with political speeches and documents, which I urged upon him to distribute among his neighbors. When bed-time came I climbed a ladder to the attic in which there was just room enough under the shingles for a clean sweet bed where I had a delightful night's rest. After a good breakfast in the morning, Wilson accompanied me on my way. We soon came to a well-beaten road and I found I was on what was called "The Quaker Divide." Near a large Quaker meeting house we met one of Mr. Wilson's relatives, a fine looking old fashioned Quaker gentleman, to whom he introduced me, and I stated my business. I had an interesting interview with the old Quaker and also supplied him with a number of congressional speeches, and before I left him he looked at me very earnestly and asked, how much pay I received for the work I was doing. I told him nothing for my own services, but my team and buggy were furnished by the state central committee free of charge to myself. At first he appeared a little incredulous that I should be working for nothing and traveling at my own expense, but after further talk with him he seemed to have every confidence in me and remarked very earnestly, "Thee must be a very good man to do this work without pay." I told him we must all "cast our bread upon the waters," and possibly it might return to us after many days; that this would indeed be a poor world if none of us were willing to make some sacrifices for the good of the country. I bid the two Quakers an affectionate good-bye and went on my way much gratified. The prairie was dotted here and there with comfortable, well kept homes. It was a beautiful October morning, what we then and always called in Iowa "Indian Summer." A slight haze rested upon the horizon, and here and there the ripening corn gave a glow and variety to the landscape. I was deeply impressed with the beauty and glory of my adopted state of Iowa, and I thought then, as I afterwards expressed the thought in my centennial address at Philadelphia. "When in the plentitude of His goodness the Divine Hand formed the great meadow between the Mississippi and Missouri, and the finger of Divine Love traced the streamlets and rivers that drain and fertilize its almost every acre, He designated it not for the place of strife, but for the home of peace and plenty, and intended that the ploughshare and pruning hook should here achieve their greatest triumphs." In the fall of the year 1859, I bought from Dr. William P. Davis a quarter acre of ground just north of Bird's Addition in the city of Des Moines, having upon it an old square frame house without foundation or cellar, which I afterwards repaired and moved into with my family. My wife's sister Julia had been with us during the summer and became engaged to be married to Mr. John Alexander Woodard, a bachelor who had been engaged in the mercantile business and failed in the hard times of 1856. He was then clerking and selling goods for Mr. Reuben Sypher. I thought it prudent and made condition with Mr. Woodard that he should make it a part of the marriage contract with my sister-in-law that he would purchase from Mr. Sypher in part payment of his wages the lot on the corner of Fourth street and Crocker, and build them a house thereon. He readily agreed with this proposition, and the deed was made to Julia E. McMeekin, and the marriage took place on the first of December following, and a house was built on the lot the ensuing summer, where they had their home for many years free from any annoyance from his creditors. When the bankrupt law took effect after that, I obtained for him a discharge in bankruptcy from his old debts. In 1860 I was chosen by the republican state convention of Iowa one of the thirty-two delegates that represented our state in the great national convention that met at Chicago and nominated Abraham Lincoln as its candidate for President. I attended that convention and had the honor of being one of the eight original Lincoln men of the delegation, and voted for Mr. Lincoln on every ballot. That convention was perhaps the greatest and most important that was ever convened in the history of our nation. The entire New York delegation was urging the nomination of William H. Seward. I was opposed to Mr. Seward's nomination, first, because I preferred Mr. Lincoln and had the most unbounded confidence in his honesty and patriotism, and secondly, because I disliked many of the men who were urging Mr. Seward's nomination. The reputation of Thurlow Weed and that class of New York politicians created in my mind a distrust, and I felt that we had arrived at a crisis in our national history where we should take no chances. After the nomination of Mr. Lincoln at Chicago the republican state convention met at Iowa City. I was a candidate before the convention for nomination for the office of Attorney General of the state. Only three of the delegates from my own county voted for me in that contest. My principal opponent was John A. Kasson of Des Moines. He had been chairman of the republican central committee of the state for the current year, and without my knowledge had been secretly corresponding with various republicans of the state, soliciting their support for the nomination, and secretly hiding the fact from me, and professing to be my friend and in favor of my nomination. Mr. H. M. Hoxie, also one of the delegates of that convention from Polk county, had been a secretary of the state committee and was also secretly working for and with Mr. Kasson for my defeat. I had many warm friends and supporters in the convention, particularly from Lee and Van Buren counties and the southern part of the state, and many from other parts of the state with whom I had formed a personal acquaintance whilst filling the offices respectively of clerk of the house and secretary of the senate. There were three other candidates for the nomination besides Mr. Kasson and myself, and I received the nomination on the third ballot. After my return home I arranged my affairs so as to make an extensive canvass of the state. I exchanged a small tract of land I had in the western part of Van Buren county with Mr. Manning for a covered buggy and harness and a pair of horses, and in the latter part of September arranged a series of appointments, the first of which was at Newton, in Jasper county. As my team was somewhat unaccustomed to the road I started one Sunday afternoon and drove east as far as Mitchellville, and stayed all night with my friend Thomas Mitchell of that place. On Monday morning I started early for Newton. I filled my satchel with political documents and occupied my time during the drive in trying to arrange my speech. I never wrote out my speeches or attempted to commit anything to memory. My plan was to study the subject thoroughly that I proposed discussing, and simply arrange the order of its presentation. While absorbed in this work I reached Skunk river, drove up on the causeway to the bridge, which at the entrance of the bridge was about six feet above the level of the surface of the ground. As my off horse put his foot upon the first plank of the bridge it proved to be loose and the plank flew up, striking the shin of the other horse. At this my team became frightened and commenced backing to the south of the causeway, and for a moment I apprehended that I should be precipitated over the causeway with the horses and buggy falling upon me. I collected the reins hastily in my left hand, seized the whip, yelled to the horses, struck the off horse violently with the whip, using my left hand at the same time to draw them around onto the road so that they would not take me over to the other side of the causeway. I felt the near hind wheel of the buggy falling over the embankment, but the horses sprang forward, unfortunately breaking the axle, and as I brought them around into the road I stepped out of the buggy, threw the lines onto the wheel, and let them run. They did not run more than one or two hundred yards before the lines, which had caught in the wheel, wound them up, and the lines being strong it stopped them. I followed hastily, detaching the horses from the buggy, tied them to the trees, then walked about two miles to a farm house where I engaged a farmer with his farm wagon to take my buggy to Newton and to lend me a saddle upon which I rode one horse and led the other. In this way I reached Newton for late dinner, and taking my broken buggy to a blacksmith engaged for its immediate repair, as it was necessary for me to take the road again early next morning to meet my next appointment, which was at Grinnell, in Poweshiek county. I had a small audience that afternoon at two o'clock in the court house, and made them a short speech, appointing another meeting for 7:30 that night. The next morning my vehicle was in good order and I took the road, reaching Grinnell in good time for my meeting, which was at night. In arranging my appointments I reached the Mississippi river at Clinton. Crossing the river I drove over to Mt. Carroll, Illinois, for the purpose of a day's rest and to visit my relatives at that place. I found there my aunt, Ann Austin, and her two boys, also her oldest daughter, married to a man by the name of William Brotherton. Mr. Brotherton and the two boys were ardent republicans, and being advised of my coming, they had advertised me for a speech on Saturday night. I spoke to a crowded house for nearly three hours amid great enthusiasm. The next day, Sunday, the county central committee waited on me and insisted that I should arrange a week with them and speak at various points in their county, which I necessarily declined to do. On Sunday afternoon I drove north to a little mining village called Elizabeth where my aunt, Sarah Nourse, a maiden sister of my father, was then living and teaching school. I stayed all night at this town of Elizabeth, and my aunt entertained me during the evening until nearly eleven o'clock with an account of the various propositions of marriage she had had from some half dozen bachelors and widowers, all of which she had declined, giving as an all-sufficient reason for it that her suitors were not men of education and sufficient intelligence to make companions for her, and she suspected them of wanting what little money and property she had. The next day, Monday afternoon, I drove to Galena where I remained all night and heard the cheering news of the result of the state elections of Ohio and Indiana, both states giving handsome republican majorities. This really assured the success of Mr. Lincoln at the approaching November election. The next morning, Tuesday, I crossed the Mississippi river at Dubuque, having had an appointment to speak in Dubuque that day. It so happened that the democrats had prepared for a grand democratic rally that day, at which Mr. Douglas, their candidate for President, expected to be present. At the suggestion of my friends I stayed over until the next day. I was anxious to hear Mr. Douglas, and attended his meeting, which was well attended by his followers and friends. I could not but feel sorry for and have some sympathy with the man when he came upon the platform to speak. He had of course heard the news of the result of the elections in Ohio and Indiana, and knew that the hopes and aspirations of his life were forever blighted. Douglas was called "the little giant," and he truly was a brave man. He stood before the audience, knowing that his fate as a candidate for the presidency was forever sealed, but he never flinched or gave any evidence whatever of his disappointment. I wished to hear Mr. Douglas, not because I expected to hear anything new, for I had studied well his speeches and knew his views upon the subjects about which he was to talk, but I wished to study his method and manner, for I knew he was an experienced man upon the platform. He never spoke a sentence without first inhaling a full breath. He made his sentences short and never uttered a word when his lungs were exhausted. He always expressed himself in clear and concise language, and I think never changed the construction of his sentences or attempted their construction after he had commenced their utterance; hence there was no confusion, no hesitancy, and no exertion of the voice beyond what he anticipated when he began his utterances. I learned much from his manner of speaking, and after that tried to practice his art and skill in the management of my voice, and I think with some success, for during that canvass I frequently met our republican speakers with their throats inflamed and bandaged and so hoarse that they scarcely could be heard, whilst during the seven weeks that I was engaged in speaking, I spoke on an average once or twice a day without any difficulty or hoarseness or inflammation in my throat. I frequently relieved my voice by dropping into a conversational tone, finding this much easier for myself and much more agreeable to my hearers. I indulged frequently in anecdotes and amusing illustrations, and endeavored not only to convince the people by arguments but at the same time to entertain them. I remained at Dubuque and spoke in the German theater on Wednesday night. The republicans, of course, were enthusiastic and joyous. The result of the elections in Ohio and Indiana had aroused and confirmed their hopes of success. I spoke from the stage of the theater for three long hours. I interspersed my remarks with frequent anecdotes that were received by the audience with shouts of applause. At one time after the general applause had partially subsided, some gentleman near the orchestra box was seized with a second paroxysm of laughter, and actually rolled off his seat to the floor shouting and screaming with delight. The entire audience arose to their feet, looking over the heads of those in front to see what had happened. I beckoned to them to please be seated, that it was only one of the new converts that was shoutingly happy. This awakened another round of laughter and applause, and I think everyone, unless it might have been some disappointed democrat present, was uproariously happy. It would not be profitable to undertake to give an account of my many meetings during that canvass. I traveled about fifteen hundred miles, spoke in more than fifty counties of the state, continuing my labors up to the night before the November election. One incident I recall that probably is worth recording: I spoke at Glenwood, in Mills county, to a large audience of ladies and gentlemen, and after discussing the political issues of the day I told them that there was a matter of a personal nature that I had not yet mentioned and that I would communicate to them in confidence: that I had been nominated by the republican state convention as their candidate for Attorney General of the state, that after my nomination I was somewhat doubtful as to the course I ought to pursue, whether or not it would be best to stay at home and trust to the strength of my party, or whether I ought to go over the state and discuss the political questions of the day and let the people know and hear for themselves what manner of man I was, that they might judge for themselves as to my competency to fill the important office for which I was a candidate. That in all cases of doubt or difficulty I had made it a rule to consult my wife, and I laid the matter before her, asking her advice as to what she thought it was best for me to do; that she immediately decided that I must go and speak to the people and let them see and hear me, adding that I could trust the people, that the people of Iowa beyond question knew and appreciated a good man when they could see and hear him. The audience shouted their applause at this conclusion of my address, and when I came down from the platform many friends came and shook hands with me, and especially the ladies, assuring me that the decision of my wife was correct. The result of the election is a matter of history. Mr. Lincoln received the electoral vote of Iowa by some fifteen thousand majority, as did also every candidate on the republican ticket, including myself. At the close of my first term I was renominated and re-elected without opposition. The duties of my office as Attorney General of the state consisted in advising the Governor and state officers when called upon by either of them for my opinion, and also when requested by that body to give my opinion to the general assembly, also to represent the state in all criminal cases appealed to the supreme court of the state. Our supreme court at that time met twice a year; to-wit, in April and October, in the city of Davenport, Iowa, and my duties required me to attend there during the sessions of the court. The judges of the court, a reporter, and myself, and most of the attorneys visiting the court from time to time, boarded at the Burtis House, an excellent hotel kept by Dr. Burtis at that time. It made up a pleasant party, and it was rather a pleasant episode in my professional life. The only important opinion I was called upon to give to the general assembly was as to the constitutionality of the proposed law providing for the soldiers' vote. The supreme court of Pennsylvania had held a similar statute under their constitution to be unconstitutional and void. I examined the question carefully, because it was one of great importance. So many of our loyal voters in the state were absent from the state as soldiers in the Civil War, and there was a great danger that those who sought to embarrass the prosecution of the war might place in control of our state affairs men inimical to the cause of the Union and nation. I gave an opinion to the legislature that the proposed law was constitutional. It was passed and afterwards sustained by the unanimous opinion of the judges of our supreme court, and from that time forward there was no question about the political status and conduct either of our state legislatures or our representatives in the national congress. Soon after the opening of the Civil War the legislature of Iowa was called together in extra session, and enacted a law providing for the issuing of $800,000 of war defense bonds to be sold for the purpose of providing means to equip and muster into service the troops to be furnished by Iowa for the national cause. It also provided for three state commissioners with authority to put these bonds upon the market and sell the same at the best rate they could obtain. A number of other states in the Union had also provided for the issuing of bonds and the raising of means to arm and equip their soldiers. Hence when these commissioners went to New York for the purpose of putting our bonds upon the market, no desirable bids could be obtained. Our Secretary of State, Elijah Sells, had been ordered or requested by Governor Kirkwood to take these bonds to New York in order that they might be ready for delivery in case of sale. There was danger to be apprehended that the commissioners might attempt to hypothecate these bonds, or pledge them for a loan of money. The bonds bore eight per cent interest per annum, and they would constitute a great prize if the money sharks could get hold of them and sell them at any price they might bring in a money market then flooded with similar paper. Being advised of the situation, I accompanied the Secretary of State to New York, at my own instance and expense, for the purpose of advising the Governor and commissioners that under the law they had no authority to pledge or hypothecate these bonds, but could only sell them in the manner expressly provided by the statute. I had an opportunity of giving this advice, which I did very readily in New York, and I had the satisfaction of seeing the bonds brought back to our state and sold at a fair price to our own people. My salary as Attorney General was one thousand dollars a year and a contingent fund of four hundred dollars additional each year. My official duties occupied about one-half of my time, and I continued in the general practice, except as to criminal cases, which yielded me about fourteen hundred dollars additional, making my income during these four years about twenty-eight hundred dollars which was rather more than any state officer or even judge of the supreme court received at that time. Upon the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln in 1860 John A. Kasson, the man whom I had defeated for the nomination of Attorney General of the state, went to Washington City and secured the appointment as Second Assistant Postmaster General, which position he held until the fall of the year 1862, when he secured the nomination for congress from the republican congressional convention of this, the then fifth congressional district. Upon the election of Mr. Lincoln in 1865 for his second term, I became an applicant for the position of United States District Attorney, putting my application in the hands of Senator Harlan. I also had letters from all of our members of congress and from Senator Grimes favoring my appointment. Mr. Kasson claimed that the appointment fell in his congressional district and he was entitled by courtesy to nominate the person who should receive it. Mr. Withrow, who was still a personal and political friend of Mr. Kasson, came to me personally and stated that if I would write to Mr. Kasson and signify my willingness to receive the appointment as coming through him, that Mr. Kasson would have the appointment made. I accordingly wrote to Mr. Kasson, stating that if he was disposed to recommend my appointment upon considerations of my fitness for the office and without reference to any supposed personal obligations to favor his political aspirations for the future, that I would be willing so to receive it. Upon receiving this letter, Mr. Kasson immediately went to the President and presented to him the name of Caleb Baldwin, of Council Bluffs, stating that Senator Harlan had been consulted and had agreed to Mr. Baldwin's appointment. Mr. Harlan, upon being advised of what Mr. Kasson had done, immediately went to the President, and at his request the appointment was suspended. On the 14th day of April ensuing, Mr. Lincoln was assassinated and Andrew Johnson, the Vice President, succeeded to the presidency. I immediately requested Mr. Harlan to pursue the subject of my appointment to the office no farther, and there the controversy dropped. I have regarded my disappointment in this matter as rather fortunate than otherwise, as I was not in harmony with the administration of Andrew Johnson and should not have cared to have held office under his administration. Pending the presidential election the people of Iowa were fully advised as to the threats that were made that in case of Mr. Lincoln's election the southern states would secede from the Union. They were also fully aware of the fact that the then national administration was doing all it could to encourage the southern politicians who were uttering these threats. The position of Mr. Buchanan's administration was that the constitution of the United States conferred on the National Government no power to coerce a state, or, in plain terms, to preserve the nation and prevent its disintegration. The fact that civil war might be inaugurated and was threatened in case Mr. Lincoln was elected was well understood and duly considered. The people of Iowa indulged in no feelings of hatred toward the people of any state or section of the Union. There was, however, on the part of the majority a cool determination to consider and decide upon our national relations to the institution of slavery, uninfluenced by any threat of violence or civil war. After the election of Mr. Lincoln and the call for troops to aid in putting down the rebellion, I visited Washington City for the first time in my life. The rebel troops occupied the entire country between Richmond and Manassas and menaced the national capital. On the Saturday before the battle of Bull Run, so-called, I went in company with some friends in a carriage as far as Fairfax Court House. I saw there a number of Union soldiers that had been wounded the day before in the artillery engagement with the rebel general, Beauregard. I returned to Washington Saturday night and arranged with General Curtis, then our member of congress from Iowa, to go out in the morning by rail to the place of the anticipated battle. I remained at Alexandria until after noon on Sunday with the hope of getting transportation on the railway. We could hear the booming of the cannon during the afternoon. I remained in Alexandria till about two o'clock. On finding the expected transportation on the railway delayed and doubtful, I returned to Washington. About midnight we received news of the disastrous results of the engagement that day. The next morning, Monday, I started home on an early train, as my professional engagements that week required my presence in Des Moines. During the great struggle that followed for the preservation of our nation I spent much of my time and all of my income in traveling over the state and attending public meetings, and made frequent addresses in behalf of the Union cause. I did not enter the volunteer service as a soldier or officer of the Union army for the reason that I was satisfied I could do more good to the cause in the position I then occupied as Attorney General of the state. I did at one time apply to Governor Kirkwood for a military appointment as a major in the Third Iowa Cavalry. He very bluntly told me that he did not think he could spare me from the place that I then filled, and he did not think it good policy to spoil a good lawyer for the sake of making a poor soldier. I had no military education and no knowledge of military affairs, and my health was such that I could not have been of any use to the service except in a position where I could take better care of myself than was possible as a soldier in the ranks. CHAPTER IV RESUMES THE PRACTICE OF LAW At the close of my second term of office, to-wit, January, 1865, I resumed the practice of law. The firm of Williamson & Nourse, which had existed since my settlement in Des Moines in 1858, had taken into partnership Jacob M. St. John, formerly of Keosauqua, Iowa. As I now had to depend entirely upon my practice for my income I dissolved partnership with Messrs. Williamson and St. John and commenced to practice alone. In the fall of 1865 Judge Gray, the judge of our district court, died, and Governor William M. Stone, without any solicitation upon my part, at the request of a number of the members of the bar of Polk county, October 16, 1865, appointed me to fill the unexpired term of Judge Gray, deceased. The salary of this position at that time was only $1300 a year, and I accepted of it after considerable hesitation. At the first term of court I held in the city of Des Moines it became my duty to try a number of cases for a violation of the laws of the state prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors, except beer or wine made from grapes or other fruit grown in this state. This wine and beer clause of the law had been adopted by the legislature by way of an amendment to what was called the Maine law that had been enacted by the legislature at its session in 1854-5. A number of saloons had been established in Des Moines and licensed to sell native wine and beer, but in fact they all sold whiskey and other spirituous liquors. The grand jury had indicted some seventeen of these saloons as public nuisances under the law. The courts in Iowa prior to this time had adopted the policy of imposing slight fines upon these saloons about once a year, thereby establishing the very worst and the most reprehensible kind of a license. The sheriff and other officers of the county, elected by the people from time to time, were largely under the influence of these saloons and their patrons. When I called the first of these cases for trial it became necessary to fill up the jury panel from the bystanders, and when the sheriff called the name of a person that he directed to take a place upon the jury, I accidentally noticed that the next case for trial was a case against a defendant of the same name of the person called into the jury-box. I privately called the sheriff to my side and asked him if the person that he had placed upon the jury was the same person as the defendant in the next case, accused of a like offense of the one we were to try. After some hesitation he said he thought he was the same person. I told him that was not a proper discharge of his duties, that he must fill up the panel of the jury with good, law-abiding citizens, and not from those who stood charged with crime on the records of the court. He suggested that I should excuse the juror. I told him no, the mistake was his and not mine, and that he must correct his own mistakes, that he should go to the juror himself and tell him and have him stand aside, and that he must be very careful whilst I presided in that court not to make any more such mistakes. The result was that he filled up the panel with good law-abiding citizens, and that defendant and sixteen others were tried and convicted within the next ten days. I did not pass sentence upon any of the defendants until all the trials were completed. In the meantime I was visited by a number of temperance men who felt anxious to know what character of sentence I was going to give to these persons. I told them it was not proper for me to receive any suggestions out of court, and if they had any to make it must be made in open court in the presence of the defendants themselves or their counsel. I did, however, give the matter very grave and serious consideration. This law in its spirit and in its letter was intended to prohibit the sale or establishing or keeping a place for the sale of intoxicating liquors, other than the wine and beer excepted by the provisions of the law. The slight fines that had theretofore been imposed for this offense had simply been tolerated, and amounted in practice to a system of licensing these violations of the law. I felt it my duty to do something that should prohibit what the law prohibited. After the trials were all over I had the defendants all brought into court and gave them my views concerning the law and concerning the duty of every good citizen to obey and observe the law strictly and in good faith; that this law existed upon the statute books by the same authority as the law that protected them in their persons and in their property, and that the disregard of it was simply to set at defiance the authority from which all our laws eminated. The man who kept the poorest and meanest of these saloons I fined only the sum of one hundred dollars, stating as a reason therefor that the witnesses upon the trial had said they were ashamed to be seen in his saloon and hurried away as soon as possible; that probably the class of men of whom he was making drunkards were not our most valuable citizens. I graded the fines against the others of the sixteen according to the class of persons I thought they were injuring, and the highest fine I imposed was five hundred dollars, against the man who had taken the trouble to prove in the trial that he kept a most respectable resort and that none but the very best citizens of the city were in the habit of drinking at his bar. This action upon my part not only created an excitement locally, but the news of it spread rapidly throughout the state and a number of our district judges followed my example. [Illustration: _Charles Clinton Nourse_ From an air brush copy of an old photograph loaned by D. W. Nourse, Kenton, Ohio] When I assumed the duties of judge of the district I found the dockets much crowded with cases that had been delayed, chiefly because of the unnecessary consumption of time by attorneys in the trial of their causes. For instance, one case in Polk county that involved only the question of the identity of a calf worth three or four dollars had occupied two weeks of the time of the court in its former trial. When I called the case for trial a number of attorneys suggested to me that the case would probably consume the balance of the term, and they might as well dismiss their witnesses and continue their causes. I told them that they were probably mistaken as to the time that would be occupied in the trial of that case. The first witness in behalf of the plaintiff was a timid young girl about fourteen years of age, a daughter of the plaintiff. She told in a simple straightforward way what she knew about the marks on the calf that her father had claimed, and her belief that it was her father's calf. The attorney for the defendant unfortunately was somewhat under the influence of liquor, and putting both heels up on the trial table, he leaned back and in a very rude, aggressive manner addressed the young girl, saying, "I suppose you put in about all of your time examining the calves on your father's farm, don't you?" I immediately reproved the attorney and asked him if he had any questions to ask the witness in regard to the marks upon the calf or its identity. He replied in a haughty manner that he supposed he could examine the witness in his own way and ask his own questions. I immediately told the witness to stand aside and asked the plaintiff to call the next witness. The attorney then said he had not cross-examined the witness and wished to do so. I merely remarked that I had given him an opportunity to do so and he had not improved it, and he could save his strength for the next witness. The result of this kind of discipline was that the case was tried within two days instead of two weeks, and the great calf case was disposed of. I only give this as a specimen of the reforms that I tried to introduce into our courts. In the most of the counties of our district, which embraced seven at that time, we had no court houses. My first court in Warren county had to be held in the old Methodist church. It had been the custom to fill the aisles and the space about the altar with saw-dust, with one table as the trial table for the attorneys, and four or five rickety chairs. This saw-dust when it became heated, as it did in the winter time from the large stoves used in heating the room, filled the air with very fine particles of dust that often settled upon the lungs of the members of the bar and the court, and was itself injurious to health. After impaneling the grand jury on the first day of the term at Indianola I announced that the court would adjourn until Tuesday and that the sheriff would clean the room of this sawdust and furnish matting for the aisles and the place about the platform, and also furnish an additional table for the use of the attorneys and a dozen good substantial chairs. The sheriff informed me in open court that the board of supervisors had refused to furnish such conveniences, and probably would not allow the bills if he should purchase these articles. I advised him that it was his duty to obey the orders of the court, and to present his bill to the supervisors and if they failed to allow the bill to take his appeal to the district court and I would see that he recovered judgment and got his pay. Sufficient to say that the next morning the matting was laid, the table and chairs were furnished in good order, and I never heard of any difficulty about the allowance of the bills by the board of supervisors. I pursued the same policy in Madison and several other counties of the district, and never heard that I lost favor with anybody because I insisted on having a decent court. On the 3d of March, 1866, at a subsequent term of the court held in Warren county, Mr. Thomas F. Withrow, an attorney of the Polk county bar and my neighbor, came into court one morning just before noon in company with John A. Kasson, then a representative in congress from this district and a resident of the city of Des Moines. Mr. Withrow filed with the clerk of the court a petition for divorce in behalf of Mr. Kasson's wife, and asking for a divorce on the grounds that Mr. Kasson had been guilty of adultery. To this petition Mr. Kasson filed an answer admitting his guilt, and both parties asked for an immediate hearing of the cause. I dismissed the jury then impaneled and announced that the court would not adjourn but remain open for business, asking the clerk and sheriff to remain, and that the bystanders and others were at liberty to retire. I read over the papers carefully and told Mr. Withrow that I could not grant the petition upon the answer; that if he had any evidence it must be produced in open court as I must be satisfied of the existence of the facts alleged in the petition. Mr. Withrow said he had the letters of the defendant written to his wife from time to time, fully acknowledging his guilt, and he would return to the hotel and get his satchel containing these letters and produce them in open court if I required it. Mr. Kasson then begged of Mr. Withrow not to produce those letters, and turning to me said he would himself be a witness as to the facts and thought that ought to be sufficient. I told him I could not grant a divorce that would have the appearance of being granted merely upon the consent of the parties, that I wished to be satisfied fully that there was no collusion in the matter between himself and wife, and that he was in fact guilty as charged. He assured me that there was no collusion, that the charge was actually true and that the facts actually existed as charged against him. At this he broke down and professed almost to cry, and I told Mr. Withrow to prepare the decree of divorce. It was accordingly prepared, reciting that it was granted upon evidence of the truth of the allegations of the petition, and I accordingly signed the decree. Upon my return to Des Moines at the close of the session, the legislature then being in session, I was waited upon by one or more members of the general assembly, suggesting that there was a rumor that the divorce of Mr. Kasson's wife had been procured and granted simply by consent of parties, and they proposed to introduce a bill for an act to prevent such divorces in the future. I explained that the rumor was entirely unfounded and that the divorce had been granted upon satisfactory evidence offered in open court. I recite these facts at some detail because of their importance with reference to results, and what occurred that fall, 1866. Mr. Kasson was a candidate for re-nomination to congress. The opposing candidate was General G. M. Dodge, then a resident of Council Bluffs. I did not take any active part in this contest further than to express my preference for General Dodge, and that I could not consistently, with my views of propriety, support Mr. Kasson under the circumstances. When the conventions were held that fall for nominating delegates to the convention that should nominate congressmen, district judge, and prosecuting attorney, the Polk county convention, being under the control of Kasson's friends, nominated the same set of delegates to attend both the congressional and the district conventions. After very heated contests in the convention for nomination of congressmen, Mr. Kasson was defeated, and I was informed by the delegation that they would not support me for the nomination for district judge because I had refused to help them in the matter of nominating Mr. Kasson. The next day when the convention met for the nomination of judge and district attorney I went before the convention in person and withdrew my name from the convention, stating as a reason therefor that I could not with propriety be a candidate before that convention without the support of the delegates from my own county. The convention nominated Mr. Maxwell, then district attorney, for judge. My office did not expire until the ensuing January, but I at once sent my resignation to the Governor of the state, thus terminating my judicial career on August 1, 1866. In this contest for congress, Mr. H. M. Hoxie and Mr. Thomas F. Withrow, formerly warm friends and supporters of Mr. Kasson, had abandoned him and were active supporters of General Dodge. Upon my retirement from the bench, the members of the Polk county bar had a meeting and adopted very complimentary resolutions which they had enrolled and were kind enough to present to me as a testimonial of their approval of the manner in which I had discharged my duties as judge of the court. The salary of judge of the district court at that time was the meager sum of thirteen hundred dollars a year, out of which I paid my own expenses on the district. During my term of office as Attorney General I had spent a considerable part of my income in attending public meetings and traveling through the state, addressing public assemblies upon the issues growing out of the war. I had not accumulated sufficient means to pay for my homestead and I now determined, as far as practicable, to devote myself to my practice as an attorney and accumulate something for the future. During the administration of Governor William M. Stone, his private secretary had endorsed a number of warrants issued by the Treasurer of the United States in favor of the state of Iowa, known as "swamp land warrants." Governor Stone had entrusted the detail of the business of his office to his private secretary. These warrants came into the hands of the secretary and he assumed the responsibility of endorsing the Governor's name upon them from time to time, and having them cashed at the Second National Bank. At first he paid this money over to the State Treasurer, but as no inquiry was made as to the transactions and Governor Stone was paying but little attention to the details of business in the office, he cashed a number of these warrants and appropriated the money to his own use and purchased considerable real estate in his own name. On the first of January following, these transactions became public and the Governor repudiated the authority of the secretary to make the endorsements upon the drafts. He procured from the secretary mortgages upon considerable of the property purchased by him to secure so much of the proceeds of these drafts as remained unaccounted for. The grand jury indicted the secretary for a number of these transactions for forging the Governor's signature. This secretary applied to me through Mr. Withrow, about the time of my resignation as judge, to employ me as counsel to assist in his defense. The secretary had no money or means to pay me for my services and as he already had able and efficient counsel, I declined the employment. About the same time suits were brought to foreclose these mortgages given by the secretary, and also to hold the bank responsible for the moneys that had not come into the hands of the State Treasurer. Pending these suits of a civil character, by agreement of the parties and their counsel, the case was referred to me as referee. During the summer I occupied several weeks in taking the testimony carefully before a stenographer and reported the same with my conclusions of fact and law to the district court, which report was confirmed by the district court and upon appeal to the supreme court by the secretary, that court also affirmed my decision, and under these judgments the property was sold and the state partly remunerated for the loss. Governor Stone also solicited me to act as special prosecutor in prosecuting the indictments against the secretary for forgery, but in consideration of the fact that the secretary had failed to obtain my services in his defense because of his poverty, I declined to take any retainer or part in the prosecutions. I only recite these matters here because the secretary for his own purposes saw proper to make a number of virulent attacks upon me in various scurrilous articles that he published. As he was a man of no reputation and soon after left the state and died in obscurity and poverty, it is not necessary here to notice them. The indictments against the secretary were never tried, I think, for the reason that the trial would necessarily have exposed the fact of the Governor's carelessness and inattention to the detail of his official duties. The Governor was otherwise not to blame for these unfortunate results and was himself free from any taint of dishonesty or corruption. Notwithstanding my determination to retire from politics and devote myself entirely to the practice of law, the republican state convention, in the fall of 1867, without any procurement or solicitation upon my part, selected me as chairman of the state central committee. I conducted the canvass that resulted in the election of Colonel Samuel Merrill. The entire cost of this canvass, including the employment of a secretary to the committee, was only the sum of $800, one-fourth of which the candidate for Governor contributed. I make note of this, for the reason that in later years, and at the time of the present writing, these central committees of the states and of the nation, are expending thousands and hundreds of thousands of dollars upon the election of the candidate of their party. I also at the time I was chairman of the state central committee, furnished a team to Messrs. Thomas F. Withrow and F. W. Palmer, the latter then editor of the _Register_, to make a political canvass through the western half of the state. The very next year, 1868, Mr. Palmer became a candidate for congress in this district, Mr. Kasson being again a candidate for a seat in congress and again defeated in the nomination. I attended the congressional convention which was held at Council Bluffs that year, and was well satisfied with the result. In the summer of 1869 Judge George G. Wright, before that time one of the judges of the supreme court of the state of Iowa, and who had removed from Keosauqua and become a permanent citizen of Des Moines, called upon me to confer with me upon the subject of his election to the United States Senate. He was fearful that Mr. John A. Kasson, who had been a member of the house of representatives of the state the last previous session, would be a candidate for the state senate. He expressed himself as having no confidence whatever in Mr. Kasson's friendship toward him, and he desired me to be a candidate and seek the nomination for the position of state senator. I peremptorily declined, for the reason that I did not want to engage in any political fight or difference with Mr. Kasson, and I could not afford at that time to leave my practice for a place in the state senate. Judge Wright insisted that he must have a friend in the senate from Polk county upon whom he could rely, and urged me to name some one who could be nominated and elected. After canvassing the names of several gentlemen, I suggested the name of B. F. Allen, then the leading banker in western Iowa, giving as my reason for urging Mr. Allen's name that the friends of Mr. Kasson would not present Mr. Kasson's name in opposition to Mr. Allen at that time, and the further reason that the people of Des Moines would at the then coming session of the general assembly ask for an appropriation to commence the building of a permanent capitol, and that Mr. Allen by virtue of his influence through the western part of the state especially could probably do more than any other man to secure such an appropriation. Judge Wright replied that the name of Mr. Allen had been suggested, but that he was satisfied that that gentleman would not accept of the nomination because his business required his undivided attention. I suggested to Judge Wright that I thought I was better acquainted with Mr. Allen than himself, and that if a number of our friends would call upon Mr. Allen, one at a time, suggesting and urging him to be a candidate for the senate, in less than ten days he would not only be willing but anxious to receive the nomination. We accordingly pursued that course, and my prediction was verified. Mr. Allen became a candidate and received the nomination, but this did not prevent Mr. Kasson from again being a candidate for the nomination to the lower house. At the ensuing session of the legislature the desired appropriation for a permanent capitol at Des Moines was secured and Judge Wright was elected to the United States Senate, defeating William B. Allison who was then, for the first time, a candidate for that position. Mr. Kasson worked diligently to secure the appropriation for the capitol, as did also Mr. Allen in the senate and George W. Jones, Mr. Kasson's colleague, in the house. The citizens of Des Moines were very deeply interested in this appropriation for the permanent capitol, and every one, including the ladies, brought to bear all proper influence upon the members to secure their votes for it. The great event of the winter socially was a grand party given by Mr. Allen in the splendid mansion which he had just finished, situated on Terrace Hill, now the property of Mr. F. M. Hubbell. The ladies of the town also gave an old fashioned concert at Moore's Hall, and an amateur theatrical performance at its close, of which I had the honor to be the author. The play was a farce illustrating the absurd features of a general assembly of the state of Iowa whose members were one-half ladies and the other half gentlemen. The play represented a session of the general assembly of the state of Iowa in the year 1900. The old capitol building, then occupied by the legislature, was supposed to have fallen down and to have killed a number of the members of the sitting general assembly, and one of the bills discussed by the mock legislature was a proposed appropriation for the benefit of the surviving families of the members who had lost their lives in the destruction of the old capitol. The great discussion arose upon a motion to strike out the sum of sixty-two and one-half cents, and many of the speeches that had been made against the appropriation for the new capitol upon the question of economy were largely quoted from, by those opposed to the sixty-two and one-half cents. Another point made in the play was that upon the question of woman's rights. Dubuque county was supposed to be represented by a lady weighing over two hundred pounds, and her husband, a dwarf, then residing in the city, who weighed about seventy pounds. Whenever a vote was taken upon any question respecting the rights of their sex the legislature divided, the men voting on the one side and the women always on the other. The lady who was supposed to be the wife of the dwarf, whenever a rising vote was taken upon a question of this nature, seized her supposed husband by the coat collar and tried to compel him to stand up and be counted on the side with the ladies. The frantic efforts of the little fellow to desist and to vote with those of his own sex created uproarious applause and amusement for the audience, as did also the following part of the play: The lady supposed to be the wife of the dwarf arose and addressed the speaker upon a question of privilege. She said she had just received a telegram from home, stating that her youngest child was taken suddenly ill, and she requested the house to grant leave of absence for her husband, as it was very desirable that he should return home and care for the sick child. Another member of the house, a gentleman, arose and inquired whether the sick child was a boy or a girl. The lady responded with some acrimony that all her children were girls of whom she boasted she had seven, and was proud of it. The ladies of the city entered into this play with much spirit and performed their parts so admirably that it furnished a very rich entertainment for the winter. The bill making the appropriation for the erection of the permanent capitol finally became a law, and Mr. Kasson attempted to monopolize for himself all the glory of the achievement. He had a brass band serenade him at his house, and John P. Irish of Iowa City make a congratulatory speech to him as the hero that had accomplished so much for the city of Des Moines. In the year 1874 Mr. Kasson was again nominated as the republican candidate for congress and was successful in the election. In this contest he was opposed by the then editors of the _Register_, a newspaper at that time published by the Clarkson brothers. In the early part of September, 1874, Mr. J. C. Savery, a citizen of Des Moines at that time, and for several years a client of mine, called upon me and showed me several letters in manuscript, relating to Mr. Kasson's conduct while a member of the legislature of Iowa, and while a member of congress, and stated that he proposed to publish those letters as he was opposed to Mr. Kasson's election. He asked my advice as his attorney as to whether or not there was anything in the letters that would make him liable to a civil suit for damages in case of their publication. I advised him that if the letters were published and any suit was brought against him it would be necessary to show either the absolute truth of them or that they were published from proper motives and that he had a good reason to believe that the statements were true. As Mr. Savery had been my friend and client, and had not been at all prominent in political life, I advised him as a friend not to mix up in the contest and not to publish the letters, as he was a private citizen having no special interest in the question as to who would or would not be elected to congress. He, however, determined that the letters should be published and he gave them to the _Register_ for publication. These letters were a very severe arraignment of Mr. Kasson's political career, and he thought proper to commence suit in the district court of Polk county against Mr. Savery and the editors of the _Register_ for libel. Such a suit was brought October 21, 1874. Mr. Savery requested me to meet Mr. Clarkson for the purpose of consultation and with a view to my employment, in connection with Colonel Gatch, to defend the suit. I stated to them that the trial of the cause would involve a good deal of labor and time, that in the then state of political excitement, it would be very difficult to obtain a favorable result as the partisans of Mr. Kasson, if they secured a place upon the jury, would hardly give much weight to the testimony that might be produced. I signified, however, that I was willing to take the employment, provided I was paid liberally for my professional services. To this Mr. Richard Clarkson demurred very strongly, insisting that as Mr. Kasson was at least a political opponent and enemy of mine I ought to be willing to defend their case for an opportunity to ventilate the character of the plaintiff in the suit. I stated to Mr. Clarkson that if I engaged in that suit it would be for the purpose of performing my duty as an attorney and officer of the court, and that I should under no circumstances allow any personal matters of my own to influence what I might have to do or say in regard to the case; that the court room was not the place for a lawyer to gratify his personal feelings toward any of the parties to the litigation. This conference terminated without any agreement as to my employment. Afterwards, Mr. Savery came to me to see me alone and stated that Colonel Gatch had named a very small sum that he was willing to accept as compensation for assisting in the trial of the case. Mr. Savery urged upon me that he was then in poor circumstances financially and not able to pay any large fee; that he had been my client and paid me considerable sums of money in times past and urged upon me that I ought to stand by him now in the time of his trouble; that if I would accept of a like amount that Colonel Gatch had agreed to take for his services, he, Mr. Savery would pay half, and the Clarksons would pay the other half. I finally agreed to these terms. I tried the case. It consumed very considerable time in its preparation and trial. I copy here for information as to the character and scope of this case the opening statement that I made to the jury in regard to the issues involved, and the evidence that the defendants would offer in support of their defense. I always regarded the opening statement of a case as very important and that it should give to the jury a clear idea of the case they were to try, and of the facts upon which my client relied. I always believed strongly in the importance of first impressions, and I give this as a specimen of my skill in that behalf and for the further purpose of showing that it is utterly free from personal feeling or ill will toward the plaintiff. The following is the opening statement as made and reported and published at that time: With permission of the Court, Gentlemen: In a case like this, it is hard for jurors to divest themselves entirely of their relations, politically and socially, to parties, and come to the consideration of it as a dry question of fact under the instruction of the court. The petition that has been read to you selects from certain articles that were published during the political canvass last fall, three certain items of charges made against Mr. Kasson that it is supposed by Mr. Kasson and his friends cannot be proved. Why those three particular charges out of quite a number should have been selected and the others passed by, I do not know. Probably any one of the other charges damaged him as much as any one of these. But for some reason best known to the plaintiff, he has been willing to stand all the injury and all the damage they did; because he didn't care about having them investigated in court. (He has a right to pick out and say this one is not true, and the other is not true, I put you on the proof of this.) These three particular charges are set out, and they claim so much damages for saying these particular things about this particular individual. The answer I will read to you and then try to give you some idea of the evidence that will be introduced on the part of the defendants. [Here Mr. Nourse read the answer relating to the first charge, and continued.] The facts are, these articles were written by Mr. Savery, and published in the _Register_, which was conducted and published by the defendants, Mr. R. P. Clarkson and Mr. J. S. Clarkson. [Reads from petition again, beginning with the words: "Now, sir, this was the way you played your hand."] Mr. Nourse continued: That is the answer we make to the first charge, relating to what is called the Smoky Hill route. I will say, in order that you may understand the evidence, and the facts in reference to that business, that Mr. Kasson was our member of congress in 1866, as will appear by the testimony, living and residing in this town, having for his colleagues Messrs. Price, Wilson, Allison, Judge Hubbard, and Mr. Grinnell. At that time one of the most vital questions to the people of Iowa, especially to the people of this congressional district, was whether or not the roads running east and west through Iowa should connect with, and become a part of the great Pacific route, extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific ocean. Prior to 1866 congress had passed a law to aid the construction of the Pacific Railway. That law provided for several Iowa branches, and provided for a branch connecting with the St. Louis roads through Kansas, and provided that all these branches should unite at what is known as the one hundredth meridian, some distance west of Omaha. And a further provision in that bill was that the Union Pacific Railroad Company should build from the one hundredth meridian westward, meeting the road that should be built from California eastward. That was the Union Pacific Railroad proper. It will appear in evidence, gentlemen, that Mr. Kasson, up to the very moment, the very day and hour on which he gave this vote in congress, had publicly and privately expressed himself in favor of the Omaha route, and delivered a public lecture against the Smoky Hill route, and explaining to the people of this locality the great advantages they were to derive from being upon the main line of this great thoroughfare. It will further appear in evidence, gentlemen, that the Kansas company, with the Pennsylvania Central road--in combination with the St. Louis interests--devised a scheme, in the winter of 1866, whereby they proposed to make the Kansas road, connecting with St. Louis, the main branch of the Pacific road, and thus entirely defeat the building of the roads westward to the hundredth meridian, connecting with the Iowa roads. That was the scheme that was undertaken, and a bill having that object was rushed through the senate and came to the house of representatives, when Thaddeus Stevens took charge of it. The friends of the bill made a strong combination, refused to let it be referred to a committee, and refused even to allow it to be printed for the information of the house, and put it upon its passage under the spur and whip, crushed out debate, and crushed out explanation and discussion. Mr. Kasson was the only member of the house of representatives from Iowa that was permitted by Thaddeus Stevens, who had the floor, to occupy the time of the house, and to the surprise of everyone Mr. Kasson was found to have gone over to the enemy. We have the depositions of Hiram Price and James F. Wilson, and the _Congressional Globe_ that will explain to you his false position. Mark the explanation Mr. Kasson attempted to make on the floor of congress. He based his defense simply on the claim that the Kansas branch road would make a _rival road_ and afford competition. This, gentlemen, will appear in evidence when we come to investigate this matter. It does not answer the proposition and but for the fact that the money was speedily raised and the road built from Omaha to reach the hundredth meridian, before the Kansas branch got their road built there, we would have lost everything; we would have lost all that congress had granted to us, to build the road up the Platte Valley. This has been carefully concealed by Mr. Kasson in all his explanations and in all his discussions and he has, with his oily, deceptive subterfuges, tried to hide this enormity of his past life from his constituents. We hope, gentlemen, aided by the evidence of these members of congress, intelligent men, honest men, who have stood by the people of Iowa--we hope, with their depositions and the circumstances, and the evidence contained in the _Congressional Globe_, to show this matter up to you. We will prove to you by men who were on the ground that no sufficient motive could honestly have induced that man to have cast his vote in the way he did; that it was a surprise upon every intelligent man that knew what his pledges and promises and professions had been up to that time. Now, when this man offered himself as a candidate for congress last fall a year ago, one of the defendants in this case, who never was a candidate for office in his life, who had no interest in politics whatever, except as a citizen interested in our material interests, in our city, in our state, took the responsibility upon himself to ask Mr. Kasson through the public press to explain this, his extraordinary conduct and his treachery to his constituents; he got no answer except the insufficient one, the deceptive one, that Mr. Kasson wanted a rival railroad. Again, gentlemen, it will further appear in evidence that this was an additional subsidy of lands, that instead of connecting with the main line at the one hundredth meridian, this Kansas company was authorized to change its route and build the road to Denver, from Denver up to Cheyenne, and receive all the lands on either side of whatever route they may fix upon, and not requiring them to unite with the main line until they got fifty miles west of Denver. That they received on the line from Denver to Cheyenne the heart of the Territory of Colorado. That was a subsidy, and that the road got that subsidy, and that the parties who passed the bill undertook to deceive the members of congress in regard to it. Now, gentlemen, this is all there is on this first matter. This publication was made, public attention was called to the fact that one of our members of congress, when asked how he would explain Mr. Kasson's vote, said he didn't know; but he could have taken twenty-five thousand dollars for his vote. That statement was made public by Mr. Savery in this communication to the citizens of this congressional district. Now this is the first matter which Mr. Kasson has chosen to bring before you, and to make an issue, and claim for damages to his character. Now we cannot prove--Mr. Kasson knows--we have no facilities for proving who was around there, or what money they had, or the means by which that bill was passed by congress. We can show you, gentlemen, only this one thing, that as a citizen of Iowa and as a representative of Iowa he betrayed his constituents wantonly; that he was in a scheme in which there was money; that is all; that this communication was made to the public, stating the bare facts at a time when it was necessary for the public to know them and by a man who had no interest in maligning Mr. Kasson, or injuring him. Savery had no personal feeling, and had no personal animosity towards him, but he felt, as a citizen, some indignation towards the man for the course he had pursued in congress. So much, gentlemen, for the first charge that was made. You are to judge whether that communication at the time it was made, and under the circumstances it was made, was justifiable. You are to take all the facts, and all the testimony with regard to it. Now as to the second matter that is set out in the answer. Mr. Barcroft: Will you just tell the jury whether the bill that Mr. Kasson voted for under the Iowa Railroad were not built on the continuous line? Mr. Nourse: I have already stated, that but for the extraordinary efforts by which money was raised, and the road pushed to the hundredth meridian first and this scheme defeated, we would never have been on the main line. But no thanks to Mr. Kasson for it. We are on the main line because these men went to work with superhuman energy to get to the hundredth meridian first, and they got there first, and that is the reason we are on the main line. If we had not reached it before they did, we would not have had a dollar of money with which to have built our line, and the other would have been the main line. That is the fact as it will appear conclusively from the testimony in this case. Gentlemen, I invite your special attention to the second charge, for if I can succeed in getting the jury to understand this question it is the end of the plaintiff's case. Fortunately for us on this question we have pretty conclusive proof, and with all the gentleman's ingenuity and that of his counsel, he will not be able to escape. We will show you, gentlemen, that in the year 1868 the old Des Moines Valley Railroad Company had forfeited her rights to the grant of lands that had been granted to her in the year 1858, by reason of not building the road as the original act required. The people of Boone county were dissatisfied because the Des Moines Valley Railroad Company had surveyed their road west up by Grand Junction, instead of going up the Des Moines river. Mr. Orr introduced a bill called the resumption bill, No. 139, in the house of representatives. That bill was read the first and second times, was ordered to be printed, and was referred to the railroad committee, of which Mr. Kasson was a member. The railroad committee prepared a substitute for that bill, as is set out here, in which they provided for a release of the company from all forfeitures and still allow them to have the lands and to build their road upon certain terms and conditions, and reported that bill back to the house of representatives as a substitute for house file No. 139. That substitute, gentlemen, is in Mr. Kasson's own handwriting, and we will be able to produce it here and show you the bill as he reported it originally to the house of representatives. The records will show you, gentlemen, that after that bill came in, after this substitute was reported, Wilson of Tama county, with another gentleman constituting a minority of the committee on railroads, made a minority report in which they recommended what was called the "Doud amendment," or the Granger clause of that bill, in which they provided as set out in the answer: "that the company accepting the provisions of this act was at all times to be subject to legislative control." I will give you the very language of the amendment as it now appears in the law, so you may get the idea fully. [Reads.] "The company accepting the provisions of this act shall at all times be subject to such rules, regulations and rates of tariff for transportation of freight and passengers as may from time to time be enacted by the General Assembly of the State of Iowa." The minority of the committee recommended that amendment, and it was adopted; and it was the only amendment that ever was adopted by the legislature. We will prove to you, gentlemen, that a forgery was committed, and the following words interpolated into that bill: "But the non-acceptance by the Des Moines Valley Railroad Company of this act shall not prevent all the foregoing provisions thereof from having the same operation and effect as if the same had been accepted by said company;" and we will prove to you that these words were agreed upon between Mr. Kasson and the railroad company's attorney, in a private room in the Savery House, and that he agreed to put them in the bill, and the attorney testifies that the provision escaped criticism. And this is the second charge: We charge him with so manipulating that bill as purposely to defeat the will of the legislature. That he did it fraudulently, and that he did it corruptly will be proved to you beyond a doubt; that this charge was made, honestly believing it to be true, in order that the people of this congressional district might know the character of the man that was asking for their suffrages. After he voted against Wilson's amendment, and failed to honestly defeat it, we are prepared to show that by an agreement between him and the general attorney of the road, he undertook to get this nullifying clause into the bill, and that he did get it in the bill, and that he did not get it there by the vote of the house. Mr. Barcroft: You do claim that you have any such allegation in your answer? Mr. Nourse: I claim that what we charge Kasson with was that he manipulated that proviso through the legislature, and we propose to prove it. We propose to prove that it came _from him_ and originated _with him_. We may have other evidence on this point more full and complete that it is not necessary now to take the time to detail. The third specification, gentlemen, relates to the vote of Mr. Kasson and his conduct with reference to the C., R.I. & P.R.R. Co. And here, fortunately, I can say to you that we are not without direct and satisfactory testimony. We thought that we could prove that he had taken money on both sides from both parties in the case, but we haven't succeeded fully. We have evidence, however, of this state of facts: That Mr. Kasson in the early part of that session voted for a bill that had for its purpose and object the helping of Tracy, who was then the president of the road, to retain his power and his place as president, and to complete the road from here to Council Bluffs; that a bill for that purpose was passed in the early part of the session and approved on the 11th of February, and that Mr. Kasson voted for it. Thus far all was right. It will further appear by the evidence that the legislature had a recess of a few weeks after that, and that Kasson disappeared from here and turned up in Wall street, New York; that he was found in conference with the men connected with the Northwestern Railroad and who had bought up the stock of the Rock Island road, with a view of obtaining control of it, who were anxious to secure the repeal of the Tracy bill. We will prove to you that Kasson promised these men his influence to have that bill repealed; that he came back to Des Moines and was in conference with them, promising them his aid, that he subsequently changed his mind and abandoned them, that they didn't succeed; and that Mr. Tracy out of sheer gratitude, as Kasson claims, offered him five hundred dollars in money; that he (Kasson) took the money, but stipulated that it should be called a retainer. In his own deposition Kasson swears he got the money. But he says he didn't get the money until after the legislature adjourned, and when it was offered to him as a present, he said he couldn't accept of it unless it was offered to him as a retainer; and that Mr. B. F. Allen, who offered him the money, went away and came back again, and said that he could take it as a retainer; and that he supposed that Allen had seen Mr. Tracy. This is the way Kasson gets out of this. We will prove to you by Mr. Tracy that he never had retained Mr. Kasson, or authorized anybody else to retain him for the company; that he never requested Kasson to perform any professional services for that road; that he never performed any professional services for the road, and that he had been out of the practice of the law for years. It will further appear in evidence that Mr. Kasson has not practiced law since 1860; that this attempt to make it a retainer is simply a subterfuge to cover up the taking of pay for his services in the legislature, to a railroad corporation. Now, this all came to the knowledge of these defendants, and they proposed, in good faith, to publish to the community the facts in regard to Mr. Kasson's conduct. It is said by plaintiff's attorney that they will show to you that the Clarksons were the personal enemies of Mr. Kasson. I will say to you, gentlemen, that it is not true, and that I don't believe they will prove it; I don't believe in this community they can prove a thing that is not true. On the contrary, the Clarksons never had any personal or political difficulty with Mr. Kasson whatever. Every motive on earth that could induce men to act through favoritism was upon the other side of the question. Mr. Kasson had no desire to face his accusers, or subject himself to an examination before the jury. He was not present at the beginning of the trial and had taken the precaution to have his own deposition taken in New York upon interrogatories doubtless prepared carefully by himself, as the interrogatories disclosed nothing as to the explanation he had invented for the purpose of rebutting the testimony against him. This would avoid any cross-examination. After the defendant's testimony had been introduced in part, however, the evidence seemed to make quite an impression against the plaintiff's cause and his counsel in desperation telegraphed to him requiring him to come at once to Des Moines. After a few days, he put in his appearance and I immediately had a subpoena issued and served upon him, requiring his attendance as a witness. After we closed our evidence, Mr. Kasson disappeared between two days and we searched for him in vain in the state. His counsel, Mr. Barcroft, offered his deposition taken in New York, then as rebutting testimony, when the following colloquy occurred, which I here quote from the notes of the official reporter: Judge Nourse, for the defense, asked to have Mr. Kasson brought into court, stating that a subpoena had been issued for him, and as he was not present, asking an attachment for him. Mr. Barcroft replied: "Whether he will be here or not, I don't know. I think he is out of the state. I don't know that he will be here, and I don't know that he will not, but think the probabilities are that he will not. We don't claim the right to read his deposition if he is present. He is not present, and is not in the state. I don't expect him to be here." The deposition was then read. As already anticipated, the jury could not agree upon a verdict. Six of Mr. Kasson's political friends upon the jury insisted on finding in his favor, and six who were not his political supporters and friends, some being democrats and some republicans, insisted on not finding a verdict in his favor. The case went over the term and was afterwards compromised upon what terms I never understood, except that the plaintiff dismissed his suit and probably paid the costs, and Mr. Savery advised me that as part of the terms upon which the suit was to be dismissed, Mr. Kasson was to make a political speech at Moore's Opera House and Colonel Gatch and the Clarksons were to occupy the platform as indicative of their friendly appreciation of that gentleman, and I also with Mr. Savery was entitled to a like honor. Mr. Savery did not appear upon the platform and I utterly refused to recognize the right of anyone to contract for my appearance there, and I was conspicuously absent. Mr. Savery paid me his half of the fee that I was to receive for my services, and upon presenting my bill for the other half to Mr. Richard Clarkson, I found he had charged me up for printing the speech I had made to the jury, having at my request printed the revised copy of the speech in pamphlet form, and thus he squared the account, never paying me one cent for my services in the case. [Illustration: _707 Fourth Street, Des Moines_, For twenty-seven years the home of Charles Clinton Nourse] CHAPTER V SOME IMPORTANT LAW SUITS It is not within the scope or purpose of this writing to enter into or discuss the merits of the various suits in which I was employed. I cannot, however, give any idea of the fifty years of my life during which I was engaged in a number of important suits, without reference to their nature and character, and the management to which I attributed important results. In the latter part of the year 1864, whilst in attendance at the supreme court at Davenport, I was retained by the Chicago & Northwestern Railroad Company, in company with Mr. Thomas F. Withrow, to assist the general counsel of that corporation in a suit, then recently brought in the United States circuit court for the southern district of Iowa, enjoining the company and its agents and employees from putting a certain span of their bridge across the Mississippi river at the town of Clinton, Iowa. Mr. James Grant of Davenport and a Mr. Lincoln of Cincinnati had been employed by the river interests to prevent the completion of this bridge on the ground that it would prove an obstruction to the navigation of the river. Mr. Withrow and myself spent a day in examining the alleged obstruction to navigation, the company furnishing us a steamboat in which we passed through the piers on which the drawbridge was to be placed. We returned to Des Moines late Saturday evening. The United States circuit court at Des Moines met the following Monday. On Sunday Mr. Withrow went to his office and carefully examined the statutes of the United States relating to the powers of the court in granting injunctions. He sent for me in the afternoon. On examination we ascertained that the statute of the United States contained a peculiar provision, not known to the practice in our state courts. It provided that when an injunction was granted in vacation by the judge of the district court of the United States, it should remain in force only until the close of the ensuing term of the circuit court; that if the injunction was granted by one of the judges of the supreme court or a judge of the circuit court of the United States, it should remain in force until it was dissolved by the order of the court. We immediately opened telegraphic communication with General Howe, who was then attorney of the Chicago & Northwestern Railroad Company, and had in charge the defense of the case. He and Judge Grant, it seems, had been engaged in taking depositions and procuring evidence with reference to the question of obstruction of the navigation by the existence of these piers in the river, and both General Howe and Mr. Grant appeared to be acting upon the hypothesis that it was necessary for the defense to make a motion and showing for the dissolution of the injunction. We called the attention of General Howe to the provisions of the United States statute, and as we were well acquainted with the peculiarities of Judge Grant we advised that if we did nothing upon the part of defense at the ensuing term of court, it was probable that Grant would take no action in the matter and the injunction would stand dissolved at the close of the term by operation of law. On examination of the question General Howe agreed with our conclusions, and we then arranged that he take the train on Monday morning and come as far as Ames, Iowa, bringing with him all evidence, depositions, and papers that we might need in case there was to be any hearing before the court; that General Howe should occupy a boxcar at Ames and not subject himself to personal observation, whilst we would take charge of the interests of our client at Des Moines and do nothing save to let the law take its course, and we would advise General Howe by telegram if Judge Grant woke up and attempted to obtain any order of court continuing the injunction. Judge Grant was in attendance upon the court, and several times inquired after General Howe, stating that he was expecting him daily. Day after day of the term passed and nothing was done. Finally, the business of the term being disposed of, Justice Miller, then justice of the supreme court of the United States and presiding, announced that if there was no further business before the court the term would be adjourned. Judge Grant addressed the court and stated that he had been waiting during the entire term expecting the appearance of General Howe; that he understood that Messrs. Nourse and Withrow had been employed in behalf of the defendants, but no motion had been filed with reference to the injunction in the case against the bridge company or railroad company, and he wished to know whether or not we intended to do anything. Mr. Withrow looked at me and placed upon me the responsibility of replying to judge Grant's remarks. I said that it was true that Mr. Withrow and myself had been employed in the case, but only as local counsel and the only authority we had was to act under the instructions of the general counsel of the railroad company, General Howe; that we had no authority or direction to file any motion in the case, and I added very meekly that if any harm should come to our clients by reason of any neglect in the matter the responsibility would rest entirely with General Howe and not with my Brother Withrow and myself. Upon this Judge Grant announced that he had to go to Washington City upon professional business immediately upon adjournment of the court, and he would not consent that any motion would be heard in regard to the injunction matter in vacation. This closed the event and the court adjourned sine die. As Judge Miller passed out of the court house down the stairs, Judge Grant having previously left the room, Mr. Withrow could hardly contain himself and burst into uproarious laughter and attracted the attention of Judge Miller, who looked over his shoulder and remarked good-naturedly that he supposed Judge Grant did not understand us. As previously arranged, the mechanics engaged in the bridge construction had carefully prepared their timber and every bolt necessary for the span that should make up the drawbridge between these two piers. Judge Grant went his way to Washington, and upon his return to Iowa three weeks afterwards he found the cars in operation crossing the bridge. He immediately went to Judge Love, and making the necessary affidavits for contempt of court, obtained warrants for the arrest of the parties engaged in constructing the bridge. Without disclosing what our knowledge and view of the law was upon the subject, the parties at once gave bond and security for their appearance at the next term of court to answer the charge of contempt. When the next term of court convened, Justice Miller and Judge Love presiding, I made the necessary motion to discharge the defendants upon the ground that the injunction had been dissolved by operation of law immediately upon the adjournment of the prior term of court, and there being no injunction in force, the completion of the bridge did not constitute any contempt of court. The motion was sustained and the defendants discharged. Judge Howe and Judge Blodgett of Chicago were so delighted with the result, that they telegraphed to Chicago for a case of wines and inviting Judge Grant and Mr. Lincoln of Cincinnati, who represented the plaintiffs in the case, into our room, we spent a very merry evening together and all seemed to enjoy the evening save Judge Grant who could hardly forgive himself for his over-confidence which had resulted fatally to his clients. During the evening many excellent anecdotes were indulged in: among others was one by Judge Blodgett for the benefit of plaintiff's counsel. He said in the early history of the lawyers who were in the habit of traveling the circuit in Illinois, they had a gentleman come among them who would never admit that he had made a mistake. The attorneys were accustomed to amuse themselves in the evening at the hotel, and among other amusements they had a game called "kicking the slipper," which consisted in inducing some green victim to put a slipper upon one foot and attempt to throw it into the air and kick the slipper with the other foot before it reached the floor. One evening they induced the over confident attorney to undertake the experiment, with the result that he came flat upon the floor in the attempt to kick the slipper with the other foot. The other lawyers thereupon greeted him with a hearty round of laughter, but he sprang to his feet and said to them, "Now, gentlemen, you needn't laugh, you needn't think you fooled me, for I want you to understand that I had no sooner struck the floor before I understood that it was a trick." Mr. Lincoln was a merry, good-natured man and enjoyed this anecdote at his expense very much, but Judge Grant hardly saw the application of Judge Blodgett's anecdote. At the next session of congress the railroad company obtained the passage of a law constituting the bridge a part of the mail route of the United States, and the court subsequently dismissed the plaintiff's case. Thus we were successful in gaining our case by knowing when it was best to do nothing. The use of the bridge was invaluable to our clients, and the railroad company sent me a draft for two hundred dollars as compensation for the short speech I had made advising Judge Grant in the court that we had no instructions to do anything in the case, and the responsibility of our failure to do anything, if injurious to our client, would rest with General Howe, attorney in chief of the road. Whilst upon this question of management I will give you an account of another case of some importance that resulted in our complete success because we did something that we did not learn out of any of our law books. A certain young woman in the last stages of consumption had been turned out of the house of her near relatives, and compelled to take up her quarters in a second-class hotel in Des Moines during her last sickness. She had made a will in which she willed to the Catholic priest of the city, Father Brazil, a valuable tract of land for the use and benefit of the Catholic church. After her death her relatives, who had neglected her shamefully during her sickness, brought suit to contest the validity of this will upon the ground of undue influence on the part of Father Brazil, and mental incapacity on the part of the deceased. Judge Kavanaugh, a young bachelor then about thirty years of age and a member of the Catholic church, and since then judge of the court in Chicago, Illinois, had been employed by Father Brazil to defend the suit, and he subsequently came to me and retained me to assist him in the trial of the cause. During the sickness of the deceased she had employed a professional nurse, a young woman about thirty years of age. We were informed before the trial came on that the relatives who were contesting the will had been very courteous and kind and generous toward this young nurse woman, and during the holidays had made her valuable presents in consideration of her kindness to the deceased. At the opening of the term I noticed this young woman came into court, receiving the courtesies and attention of Judge Cole, who was counsel for the relatives that were contesting the will. She was rather a handsome woman, evidently intelligent and quick-witted, rather fond of admiration, and as she was to be the star witness for the other side of the case, I at once made up my mind that the whole case must turn upon her testimony. As the deceased had been frequently under the influence of opiates, administered by the physician for the purpose of relieving her suffering from time to time, it would be a very easy matter for a young woman gifted as this one was with facility of speech, to make the most of the incoherent utterances of the patient while under the influence of opiates. I foresaw that it would not do to subject this young woman to a severe cross-examination or say anything that implied that we doubted her honesty or veracity, and yet something must be done or we were sure to lose our case. I took my young bachelor friend, Judge Kavanaugh, to one side and told him wherein we were in danger, and as he was a member of the same church and was himself an Irishman, and had no doubt "kissed the Blarney stone," it was absolutely necessary for him to cultivate the acquaintance of this witness, even to the very verge of proposing matrimony. I told him I could easily attend to the law of the case, the cross-examination of the witnesses, but this witness was outside my jurisdiction. He readily agreed to undertake the part of the case that I assigned to him. He accompanied the lady to and fro from her hotel at every adjournment or sitting in the court, and she evidently was very much pleased with his attentions. I cautioned him not to talk too much about the case, but talk of other things that he would find probably more agreeable subjects of conversation to the witness and to himself. He performed his part so admirably that when Judge Cole called upon his star witness she proved a flat failure upon his hands. She said yes in answer to his questions, that when the deceased was under the influence of her opiates she was a little flighty, but that amounted to nothing, that when the influence of the opiate was gone she was perfectly rational and capable of understanding what she was doing at all other times. The result was that the jury found a verdict in our favor and the will was sustained. Judge Given, however, who was a member of the Presbyterian church, seemed to be disappointed at the result of the suit, and set aside the verdict and granted the parties a new trial. From this action of the court we took an appeal to the supreme court, and the supreme court reversed Judge Given's decision, holding that there was no evidence that would have justified the jury in finding against the validity of the will, and they remanded the cause with orders to the district court to render judgment in our favor. In conversation with Father Brazil after the case was over we were discussing the probable reasons that induced Judge Given to set aside the verdict of the jury. I suggested that perhaps he had been reading Eugene Sue's remarkable work called _The Wandering Jew_. I asked Father Brazil if he had ever read that book. He smiled pleasantly and said yes, and when I expressed my surprise that he should indulge in such literature, he remarked very calmly that he always thought best to know what the world was saying about his church and people. I will give here also next an account of the most important criminal case I ever defended. A man by the name of Yard had shot and killed a party by the name of Jones. He claimed that he pointed a shotgun over the shoulder of his wife at the time Jones was approaching his wife about to commit an assault upon her for an illegal purpose, when he fired the gun and Jones fell dead as a result. Jones had come onto the premises where Yard and his wife resided, having in each hand a bucket with which he was supposed to be intending to go to a well for water. The buckets were found some distance, probably twenty-five or thirty steps from the door, and the prosecution claimed that the buckets indicated the place at which the deceased was at the time he was fired upon and killed. Yard and his wife were both in jail at the time I was sent for, and the first thing I did was to enjoin upon them the necessity of absolute silence and refusal to answer any questions or to communicate with any party or parties who might possibly thereafter testify against them. Upon a preliminary trial before the justice I waived an examination of the case and had the defendants enter bail for their appearance at court. A man by the name of Smith, who was the owner of the gun with which the deceased was shot and who had loaned it to Yard only a few days before, was indicted with Yard and his wife as accessory to the crime. As the defense in this case would depend entirely upon the testimony of Yard and his wife I at once appreciated the absolute importance of having these parties tell the exact truth without equivocation or invention. My experience as a lawyer had taught me that persons deeply interested in the result of the trial, participating in a transaction such as the killing of another, are subject to such a state of nervous excitement that they frequently do not remember with any degree of accuracy the collateral facts and circumstances attending the more important events, and persons of ordinary intellect imagine it is important that they should be able to recollect and answer accurately every question that is made in regard to the collateral facts and circumstances attending the principal event, and almost invariably they invent answers to such questions and pretend to know what really they do not know and do not recollect. The result is that they involve themselves in contradictions and impossibilities, and let confusion destroy even the reliable and truthful parts of their evidence, and this was what I feared in this case. I was accused by some members of the bar and outsiders of training these parties as witnesses in their own behalf, and in one sense of the word it was true, but I only trained them to tell the truth, carefully eliminating from their story and had them eliminate everything that I was satisfied upon thorough examination was the result of their invention instead of their recollection. I first examined each of the parties separately and took down their statements carefully, and after comparing them tried to make up my mind as to what was absolutely true and as to what part of their story was invention. I then brought the parties together and discussed with them such parts of their story as I was satisfied had been supplied by them and had them admit and concede that they did not distinctly recollect the matter as stated. I repeated this process the third time. In some manners the man and his wife differed as to their recollections as to some things that had happened, and when I was satisfied that the difference was honest I made no effort to correct or to reconcile their statements, for my experience also taught me that absolute coincidence in every particular of their statements would tend rather to discredit than to confirm the truth of what they related. Another difficulty in the trial of the case was the excitable temperament of Mrs. Yard, and what I feared most was that the prosecutor by severe cross-examination might make her angry and she would display some temper and make some statement that would injure her case. When she was upon the stand under cross-examination by Judge Given, who was then the prosecuting attorney, I kept my eye upon the woman carefully. She was under examination at least three hours, and only once did the prosecutor succeed in exciting her so that she developed any passion. He said to her in a very abrupt and preëmptory manner, "Now please turn and face that jury and tell them that you removed those buckets from the doorstep to the place where they were found." As she turned in a passion to face the jury, flushed with excitement, I was fortunate enough in catching her eye and fixing her attention a moment, when her passion subsided, and in a very calm lady-like way she said, "Gentlemen, I did remove those buckets from the doorstep and place them out in the yard just as I have heretofore related." She said this in such a calm lady-like way that I was satisfied we had gained our case. I proved, of course, the bad character of the deceased and that he was a bad and dangerous man, and also the good character and reputation of the husband, which indeed had been and was unimpeachable up to that time. I examined in this case over seventy witnesses in behalf of the defense. The jury retired and were only out an hour or less, when they returned a verdict of not guilty. In the latter part of the administration of Cyrus Carpenter as Governor of the state, the State Treasurer was also treasurer of the Board of Trustees of the Agricultural College. The two offices had no legal connection, and it was merely an incident that the same man had been elected to both positions--the one by the people of the state, and the other by the Board of Trustees of the college. The Trustees of the college in making their annual report to the legislature reported that their treasurer had proved a defaulter to the sum of about $27,000, and that they had, in order to secure the college, taken from him deeds for all his real estate including his homestead--all of the property save his homestead having, as they understood, been purchased by their treasurer with funds belonging to the college. About nine o'clock one evening I received a visit from the deputy treasurer of state who informed me that the legislature, then in session, had passed a joint resolution, appointing a committee for the purpose of investigating the question as to what funds of the Agricultural College had been used, and also as to the proper administration of the funds belonging to the state in the state treasury; that the Treasurer of State and of the Agricultural College, being the same person, was about to be examined the next day by this committee of investigation, and upon advice of his friends he wished to employ counsel, and wished that I would act as his counsel in the matter, and particularly the deputy wished me that night to go with him and have a consultation with the treasurer. I accordingly accompanied him to the house of the party. I found him to be an old man probably between sixty and seventy years of age, white hair and beard, blue eyes, a fine stalwart frame, but laboring under intense excitement. I listened carefully to his story, in which the deputy frequently interpolated or supplemented the statements. The care with which both parties persisted that the funds were not state funds, but it was only the funds of the Agricultural College that had been wrongfully used or appropriated, made me fear that neither the principal nor his deputy were telling me all that they knew. I felt as Shakespeare says in one of his plays, "Methinks the person doth protest too much." We were standing in front of the fireplace and the light of the fire threw a peculiarly bright light upon the countenance of the treasurer, and the deputy remarked, "Now you understand these funds were in the hands of the treasurer of the Agricultural College, and that he did not use the state funds. If he was defaulter as Treasurer of State he could be punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary, but if he was only defaulter as treasurer of the Agricultural College that would be a different affair. Is it not so?" The State Treasurer was eyeing me very earnestly and watching carefully for my answer to the deputy's question. My answer was that I was not prepared to say that that was true, and the State Treasurer turned still paler and more nervous because my answer was not satisfactory. My conference lasted until after midnight. I returned home feeling very anxious for the old man, but still satisfied in my own mind that I had not heard the entire truth. The next day the committee of investigation, consisting of members of the house and senate, convened, and I was present when the State Treasurer was examined by them. The story was told very much as it was told to me the night before, some questions of a general nature were asked, but nobody seemed to understand the importance of knowing when and what particular fund had come into the hands of the treasurer as custodian of the funds of the college, or when or what particular amounts had been used or confiscated by him. The committee adjourned until next morning. That afternoon the house of representatives had passed a joint resolution requesting the Attorney General to give an opinion as to whether or not a defalcation by the treasurer of the Agricultural College funds constituted a crime, and also instructed him that in case it constituted an offense he should at once commence a prosecution against the party in question. Fortunately, this action of the house of representatives offered me a good excuse or pretext at least, to have the treasurer refuse to answer any further questions by the investigating committee, and we accordingly withdrew him from the witness stand. Within the next day or two the deputy came to me and showed me a lot of memoranda made on slips of paper in his handwriting, containing certain figures, the aggregate of which amounted to the sum for which it was claimed the treasurer of the Agricultural College funds was in default. The deputy advised me that these slips had been kept in the state treasury vault and had been counted as cash items from time to time. Within a few days after that I had an interview with Dr. Welch, the president of the Agricultural College, and he stated to me that he was not satisfied that the funds that had been used by the treasurer were Agricultural College funds at all, and that the loss was saddled onto the college very much to the embarrassment of that institution, as they now had to wait for their money until such time as the property which had been turned over to the trustees could be turned into cash. He said he had a letter in his possession written by the deputy stating that the treasurer was away from home at that date and that he had not drawn the $30,000 theretofore appropriated by the legislature for the benefit of the college, but that the treasurer would return in a short time and that he would advise the president on his return. At my request the president furnished me this letter and its date, and I found upon comparing it with the date of the warrant drawn in favor of the treasurer of the Agricultural College for the $30,000 and the cancellation of that warrant; that is, when it was marked paid, that there was a wonderful correspondence between the date of the letter and the date when the warrant was marked paid. The deputy, at my request, had given me these slips of paper containing this memoranda and I had carefully locked them away in my iron safe, thinking that possibly they might be of future use. At the next term of the district court of Polk county the grand jury found two indictments against the State Treasurer, one as defaulter to the state of Iowa as Treasurer of State, and the other as defaulter to the State Agricultural College, but examining the minutes of the grand jury, I found that there was no evidence whatever before the grand jury that the State Treasurer had used any state funds at any time for any purpose, and the indictment of him as such a defaulter was not justified by any testimony taken by the grand jury. I immediately suspected that there was a secret hand at work intending that this old man should be convicted, if not of one offense, then of the other. Upon investigation I found that there had been some informality and illegality in drawing and impaneling the grand jury that found these indictments. On proper motion in court I had both indictments quashed and the matter continued for the action of the grand jury at the succeeding term of court. At the next term of court a new grand jury was impaneled, the foreman of which was a personal friend of the treasurer and a very honorable gentleman. He took occasion to suggest to me that it was very painful to him to have to find indictments against my client, the treasurer, but that he should certainly perform his duty in that respect. I said to him that that was all right, but it was not right for a grand jury to find an indictment against any man without some evidence before it, tending to show he was guilty of the particular crime for which they found their indictment, and told him that the former grand jury had indicted my client for defalcation as Treasurer of State without a particle of evidence, save and except that as treasurer of the Agricultural College board he had made default as to that fund. The result was that this grand jury brought in an indictment only against my client as defaulter as treasurer of the Agricultural College, and for unlawfully using and converting to his own use the funds of that institution. The case was continued from term to term for several years, and in the meantime the property that had been turned over to the trustees had been converted into money, and the loss of the State Agricultural College had been made entirely good. Still the indictment remained against my client and had to be tried and disposed of. The old man had given up his house and his home and there was much sympathy existing in the community for him, and a general impression got abroad that he was the victim of others who had unloaded some very unprofitable property upon him and induced him to invest in it with the expectation that it could be re-sold to advantage and the money refunded before it should be called for. Whether this was true or not and who the parties were that had induced the old gentleman to betray his trust, I do not know and have never tried to ascertain. The time came finally that the man was to be put upon his trial. He came into my office the day before the case was to be called for trial, looking pale and haggard, told me he had bid his wife good-bye and his boys and that he was prepared for the worst, that he supposed there was no hope for him, that he could endure it but it was hard on the family at home. I invited him into my private room and seating him at the opposite side of my table I said to him that for the sake of his wife and children I had made up my mind that he should be acquitted. He looked at me incredulously and asked what I meant, and how it was possible for him to escape conviction. He said he had already confessed his fault and they had his confession all taken down in writing before the investigating committee. I stepped to my safe and took out the memoranda that I had obtained from his deputy and laid them down before him. Looking him fully in the face, I said, "Tell me what those papers mean?" He asked me where I got them, and said he supposed they had been destroyed long ago. I told him no, that I carefully preserved them because it might be, as I thought, for his interest at some time or other to tell the truth, that there had been enough lies told about the business, and now probably the truth might save him. He asked what I meant. I said to him, "Here is a memoranda of the amounts that you took out of the safe that belonged to the state of Iowa. They never were in your hands as treasurer of the Agricultural College and you know it and you have known it all the time. You thought I was deceived, but I was not. I have known the truth and I hoped the time might come when the truth might benefit you more than the falsehood." I showed him the letter written by the deputy to President Welch. I had a memoranda of the date of the cancellation of the $30,000 warrant issued to him as treasurer of the Agricultural College. I looked him fully in the face and said, "You never had that money in your hands, you never received it, you were not at home when that warrant was cancelled, and you know it." He sighed deeply and said, "That is true, but I told a different story and now what am I to do?" I said to him, "All you have to do is to tell the truth." The old man took courage and told me that I had guessed the truth and it was true that he had never used a dollar of Agricultural College funds. Upon the trial I introduced in evidence the memoranda that had been kept in the safe of the State Treasurer, I introduced the warrant that had been issued by the auditor to the treasurer for Agricultural College funds, I proved by Dr. Welch the letter that had been written him by the deputy and the date of the transaction, and I satisfied the jury beyond a doubt that my client was not guilty of the only crime for which he then stood indicted, to-wit, defaulter to the Agricultural College funds. Judge Leonard, then upon the district bench, had been former prosecutor in the district and did not listen with complaisance to any defense which tended to acquit an accused person, but after wrestling with him for quite awhile he finally admitted my defense and the testimony sustaining it, and instructed the jury flatly that the defendant was not on trial as defaulter to the funds of the state of Iowa, but as defaulter as treasurer of the Agricultural College funds, and they must find him guilty of the latter or they must acquit him, and the jury brought in a verdict of not guilty. This result created quite an excitement in the community and throughout the state, and I acquired some reputation as a criminal lawyer, but few persons understood the real nature of the defense that was made or how it was that the defendant was acquitted in the case, and attributed it to some extraordinary ability upon my part, whereas in truth and in fact I only gained my case by insisting upon my client telling and proving that which was true and abandoning a falsehood that I suspected then and have ever since believed was invented for him in order that other persons should not be suspected of any guilty knowledge of what had really occurred. My client returned to his home, to his wife and children, at least free from a record of conviction for a felony. CHAPTER VI VISITS VIRGINIA RELATIVES Soon after the close of the Civil War I went to Washington, D.C., for the purpose of arguing a case then pending in the supreme court of the United States. The court made an order advancing some important cases in which I think the government was interested, and this necessarily delayed the hearing of the cause in which I was engaged and left on my hands a week or more of leisure. I determined to improve the opportunity by going to Harper's Ferry and to Shepherdstown, West Virginia, for the purpose of finding and visiting some of my mother's relatives. I had an uncle, Charles Cameron, who had lived at Harper's Ferry when we left Maryland in 1841. I took the train to Harper's Ferry, and upon my arrival there ascertained from the hotel clerk that my uncle Charles had died a short time before the Civil War and that his family had removed to Washington. I asked the clerk if he could point out to me some old resident of the place from whom I could obtain information. Whilst talking with him a man entered the office to whom he recommended me as a person that could tell me all about Harper's Ferry before the war. From this gentleman I learned that my uncle, John Cameron, was living with a married daughter several miles over on the Maryland side, just under Maryland Heights. I walked out to the place and had a most delightful visit with him and his daughter, and son-in-law and family. My uncle was a tall, splendidly framed man, a fine specimen of the old Virginia gentleman, over six feet in height, with his faculties unimpared, a fine physique, and was then ninety-three years of age. He went with me the next day over to Shepherdstown, West Virginia, where we found still living and in fine health my uncle, Daniel Cameron, and wife, their daughter, their granddaughter, and their great-granddaughter, all living under the same roof. When Sunday came I went with my cousin to church and she took me to the Methodist Church South. At dinner that day I asked my uncle John if he had been to church. He said, "Certainly, sir." I asked him what church he attended. He answered, "The Methodist church." I turned to my cousin Susan and asked her if we had been to the Methodist church. She said, "Yes, _the_ Methodist Church South." I said to my uncle, "Then you were at the Methodist Church North?" "I attended, sir, the Methodist church of the United States of America." My cousin stepped upon my toes about this time under the table, from which I took the hint that the question of church north and _the_ Methodist church was rather a delicate subject to discuss in the family. I was pleased to find that my relatives had all been true to the cause of the United States and were earnest Union people, except the sons-in-law, who, being young men, were compelled to go into the rebel army. I visited some of the old places where my father had formerly resided and where he had taught school, and I also visited the grave of my mother and grandmother Cameron in the village churchyard adjacent to the old brick building where I had attended Sunday school when a child. I had arranged with a gentleman who had married my cousin, Ann Cameron, to go with him the next day by way of Sharpsburg, over to Boonesboro, Maryland, but that evening I received a telegram from the clerk of the supreme court advising me that my case would probably be called Monday or Tuesday, and I hastened back to Washington. After disposing of my business in Washington I made a visit to my brothers at Rushville, Ohio. Whilst here we received news of the nomination of General George B. McClelland as democratic candidate for the presidency in opposition to Mr. Lincoln, who had been nominated for his second term. An old acquaintance, Charles Wiseman, who was postmaster at Lancaster, came to see me at Rushville and told me they had posted me for a political speech that night, and he compelled me to go with him and fill the appointment. I found in Lancaster many old friends and acquaintances, boys who had been with me at school, and they gave me a hearty greeting. The old court house was filled to overflowing that night and I dispensed to them for over two hours the gospel of true Republicanism and loyalty to the country. We had a very enthusiastic meeting, and my old friend, John D. Martin, especially gave me a very hearty commendation. Before my return home I also visited Millersburg, Kentucky, to see my sister Susan and her family. Her husband, William Vimont, had suffered some during the war. His negro cook and her grown boy had been emancipated by their own will, the fugitive slave law being then practically inoperative. Morgan, in his raid through the country, had also stolen Vimont's fine horse, which served somewhat as an antidote for the wrong that he felt had been visited upon him by the Union people. In passing over from his house to the village of Millersburg two incidents occurred which served to illustrate the state of affairs at that time in Kentucky. Upon reaching the turnpike near Mr. Vimont's house we met one of his uncles riding in a buggy, just coming out of the gate which led to his residence, and he informed us with much feeling and passion that when he woke up that morning he discovered that there was not a nigger on his place, that he had no nigger at home to cook his breakfast for him, and that he had to "hitch up his own horse, sah." This last item appeared to be the culmination of his grief. A few hundred yards further we passed a blacksmith shop, and upon the large door that constituted the entrance to the shop we found in red chalk the image of a man drawn, and the door within the lines of this image was full of bullet holes. Mr. Vimont informed me that the blacksmith, who was a violent secessionist, had been accustomed to amuse himself by drawing upon the door of the shop the outline of a person, calling it Lincoln, and then standing a short distance away, revolver in hand, gratifying his rebel heart by filling the image full of bullet holes. It was during this visit to my brother-in-law that I urged upon him the propriety of selling his little farm and purchasing land in some western state and removing his family thither, which he finally did a few years later, when he removed to Tuscola, Illinois. I attended religious services in the village on the Sabbath, and was much interested in hearing a sermon from the text, "Be not deceived, God is not mocked, for whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap." The sermon that the minister preached was by no means the same as my thoughts framed from this text when I thought of the desolation that I had witnessed through this state, and the effects of the dark shadow that was just then lifting from one of the fairest lands that a benevolent Creator had ever prepared for a people, but which the stupidity and cupidity of man had cursed with human slavery. The preacher appeared to be perfectly blind as to the crop that his audience had reaped from the fearful sowing of their fathers, or dared not mention even had he thought of it. CHAPTER VII PLEASURE TRIP TO COLORADO In the summer of 1872 I joined a party of friends for the purpose of visiting Colorado. The party consisted of Judge Byron Rice, Doctor Ward, Alexander Talbott, Mr. Weaver, a druggist, and Monroe, a clothing merchant, and myself. We went by rail to Denver. We took with us a tent cloth, some blankets, buffalo robes, and bedding. At Denver we purchased a three-seated spring wagon and a pair of good mules. We also hired a teamster with another pair of mules and wagon, and bought a camping outfit, cooking utensils, and provisions. From Denver we went south to Colorado Springs. Our first camp south of Denver was at a place called Haystack Ranch, so called because there had never been a haystack on the ranch, but three immense boulders bore a striking resemblance to three haystacks, in the vicinity of which a settler had erected his buildings. A small mountain stream supplied him with the facilities of irrigating his land. He had built a fine large milk house, paved with flagstones and so arranged that he could turn the mountain stream of ice cold water on the floor of the building and thus regulate its temperature. He also had built an overshot water wheel with a small trough or flume and through this trough he turned the water onto his wheel from time to time as he wished it, and utilized its power to churn his butter. He milked about thirty cows, which he told us were fed entirely upon the buffalo grass in the valley near by among the foothills, and that he sent his butter twice a week to the city of Denver. The man was evidently living an easy, pleasant life, and getting rich without any severe toil or drudgery. The town of Colorado Springs was then a single street with a few straggling houses. Within a few miles of it we found the newly laid out city of Manitou. The surveyors were still at work surveying the streets. One large hotel was in course of erection and the valley up Cheyenne canyon contained about two hundred tents filled with invalids and health seekers. In this canyon could be found mineral waters of any temperature and almost any ingredients; principally iron, sulphur, lime, and soda. On a beautiful plateau of ground near where the hotel was being erected we pitched our tent and made our camp for several days. We finally concluded to make the ascent of Pike's Peak. Besides the two mules that we had bought, we hired some ponies accustomed to the trail, except that Mr. Monroe, one of our party, declared that he was able to walk, and refused to be provided with other transportation. We proposed to go up the mountain to the timber line the first day, and stay all night, and the next morning attempt to reach the summit by sunrise, for the purpose of enjoying what we were assured would be a most magnificent view of the country. Judge Rice and myself were a little late in procuring our ponies, and the other four of the party started in advance of us, Monroe on foot. "Halfway," as it was called, up the mountain, we stopped for rest and refreshment at a little log shanty erected by two enterprising young men, who there supplied luncheon and sleeping accommodations to the traveling public. The trail at that time was barely visible to the naked eye, and the climbing was difficult and somewhat dangerous even with our trained animals. Several hundred yards before we reached the timber line, so-called, we found Monroe lying in the path and apparently almost lifeless. The rare mountain air had scarcely left him oxygen enough to preserve life, and he had succumbed to the inevitable. We found near the timber line a shelving rock or rather a large cavity in the rock, where we took up our quarters for the night. Carrying Monroe to this place and wrapping him in blankets, we infused life into him by administering several doses of brandy, of which Judge Rice fortunately had a small flask. A large pine tree had fallen across the outer edge of this rock against which we could place our feet to prevent slipping over its edge, and here we all tried to sleep. A fearful thunder storm came up in the night, but fortunately the storm was below us. It was indeed a grand sight to see the forked lightnings darting through the clouds below us, without any apprehension of their finding our retreat. Our sleep, however, was very indifferent. We had been in the territory only about ten days and our breathing apparatus had not adjusted itself to the necessities of a life in these altitudes. We fairly gasped for breath. In the morning when we awoke we found that we could take our ponies no farther on the trail, for there was none visible to the eye. The remainder of the journey to the top of the peak was necessarily a climbing over huge rocks scattered here and there without reference to the convenience of adventurers. We could walk or rather climb about one hundred feet between rests and then fall down under the shadow of a great rock to recuperate enough strength for a venture of perhaps a hundred feet more. After climbing about four or five hundred feet or more in this manner we each began to feel a roaring in the ears and a nausea of the stomach, and at last had the discretion to call council in which we unanimously concluded with old Falstaff, one of Shakespeare's heroes, that the better part of valor was discretion, and we concluded to return to the valley below and forego the magnificence of a sunrise view from the top of Pike's Peak. When we got back upon our way as far as the timber line where we had hitched our ponies, I found my pony had taken "French leave" and gone down on the trail without waiting for my valuable company. I was doubtful at first whether I should be able to walk to camp, which was then over eight miles from the place of our night's adventure, but I had not proceeded down the mountain a mile before my strength returned to me and my lungs filled with sufficient oxygen to restore my vigor. We all got back to camp safely, even including the dilapidated Monroe, and the consensus of opinion was that we were glad we went up Pike's Peak, but were more satisfied with the reflection that we did not have to go again. After another day's rest we took to the road with our mule teams and wagons, passing over a beautiful mountain road up Cheyenne canyon. Every few hundred yards we passed some beautiful cascade or water fall, formed by the dashing waters of some mountain stream supplied from the eternal snows that crowned the mountain peaks around us. Our road lay through the so-called South Park. On the high table lands before we reached this park we passed through a forest of petrified wood. At one cabin, occupied by a gentleman who kept a small hotel, we found the foundation of his house made of this petrified timber, and his chimney and fireplace of the same material. We gathered a few specimens that we afterwards brought home with us. In South Park we passed what was called the salt works. Here some English capitalist had built an immense plant for manufacturing salt. A natural spring that threw a constant stream of salt water, probably ten or twelve inches in diameter, supplied the water from which the salt was to be made. Large and commodious buildings with evaporating apparatus had been erected. An expenditure of probably fifty or one hundred thousand dollars had been made. There was only one difficulty about this Utopian enterprise and that was that the salt had to be manufactured so far from civilization that it cost more to transport it than it would be worth when it reached the market, hence the enterprise had been an ignominious failure and had been abandoned. Leaving this point we passed through the South Pass of the Rockies and on to the headwaters of the Arkansas river. We went up this river to the town of Granite, that had been a thriving mining village when placer mining in these parts was profitable; thence we went to Twin Lakes, two small beautiful lakes of water among the mountains, where we camped and supplied ourselves with mountain trout. On the way we frequently shot mountain grouse. With our breakfast bacon and most excellent flour and potatoes, and our own improvised cooking and our excellent appetites, we all fared sumptuously every day. We returned via another route, passing through Fairplay. Returning to Denver we sold our team and wagon for just its original cost, and paid our teamster with his outfit four dollars a day. We had kept an accurate account of our expenditures and found that $1.50 a day for each of us had paid all of our expenses, including our transportation, for our three weeks' trip. We made a trip then by rail and stage line, going first over to Idaho Springs, visiting that beautiful little valley, and some of our party going as far as Georgetown. Returning to Denver, we all came home by rail well satisfied with our trip, but when we struck the blue grass regions of Iowa and its fields of ripening corn, with the memories of the homes that we were nearing our hearts were made glad that we lived in a land of civilization and plenty. CHAPTER VIII CENTENNIAL ADDRESS In the year 1876 the patriotic citizens of the state of Pennsylvania, and especially of the old city of Philadelphia, had conceived the idea of a world's fair to commemorate the great event of the world; to-wit, the declaration of the independence of the American colonies from the mother country. In planning this great exhibition the managers had invited the governors of the several states of the Union to appoint, each, one of their citizens to deliver an address in behalf of their state, giving something of its history and settlement, its resources and possibilities. In pursuance of this plan Governor Samuel J. Kirkwood of Iowa did me the honor to appoint me to make the address in behalf of Iowa. I prepared such an address with considerable care, and delivered the same upon the exposition grounds on the 7th day of September, 1876. My cousin, Henry Clay Cameron, who was then professor of Greek at Princeton University, did me the honor to visit me at Philadelphia at this time and took luncheon with my wife and myself upon the exposition grounds; also Samuel F. Miller, justice of the supreme court of the United States came from Washington and was present on that occasion, and many other distinguished men. Among other gentlemen present were official representatives of a number of the governments and nations of Europe. The legislature of Iowa printed at the state expense some twenty thousand copies of this address, that were thereafter distributed among the people of the state. I have sent at their request to a number of the libraries in the different states printed copies of this address, and now the supply has been about exhausted and the document is about out of print, and I think I should give here a short synopsis of it. [Illustration: _Charles Clinton Nourse_ From Photograph by W. Kurtz, Madison Square, New York, 1876] The following is the introductory matter, stating something of the discovery of the territory that now constitutes our state: Mr. President, and Ladies and Gentlemen: On the 13th of May, A.D. 1673, James Marquette and Louis Joliet, under the direction of the French authorities of Canada, started from the Straits of Mackinaw, in their frail bark canoes, with five boatmen, "to find out and explore the great river lying on the west of them, of which they had heard marvelous accounts from the Indians about Lake Michigan." From the southern extremity of Green bay they ascended the Fox river, and thence carried their boats and provisions across to the Wisconsin. Descending that stream, they reached the Mississippi on the 17th of June, and entered its majestic current, "realizing a joy," wrote Marquette, "that they could not express." Rapidly and easily they swept down to the solitudes below, and viewed on their journey the bold bluffs and beautiful meadows on the western bank of the stream, now revealed for the first time to the eyes of the white man. This was the discovery of Iowa. The address then proceeds to give a short account of the first settlements in Iowa at Keokuk, Burlington, Davenport, and Dubuque, and also the settlements afterwards made at Council Bluffs and Sioux City, and cites the various treaties made from time to time between the government of the United States and the Indians, extinguishing the Indian title. It also gives something of the topography of the country, and in regard to its resources and the natural fertility of the soil it contains the following: We have now on exhibition in the Centennial buildings 15,000 pounds of Iowa soil, selected from forty-five different counties of our state. This exhibition shows a vertical section of the natural formation of the earth to the depth of six feet from the surface. The selection has been made from _five_ several _groups_ of _seven_ counties each. The counties have been classified according to their contiguity, or natural location, as the northwest, northeast, southwest, southeast, and central. These specimens of strata are exhibited just in the condition they existed in the earth. The strata, undisturbed, have been transferred to glass tubes six inches in diameter and six feet in length. These tubes are encased in black walnut, and each labeled with the name of the county from which the strata have been taken. The object has been in good faith to show the world what Iowa really is, without exaggeration, and without room for cavil. Here is the formation from nature's own laboratory. Behold, what hath God wrought! The address also particularly gives an account of our school system, our state university and agricultural college, our benevolent institutions for the unfortunate classes, also the extent of our newspaper publications. It discusses to some extent the questions arising out of the Civil War and the heroism of our troops. On this subject the address contains the following: It is impossible, in the reasonable length to which this paper should be limited, to write even a summary of the battles in which Iowa soldiers took part. The history of her troops would be substantially a history of the war in the south and west. To recount a portion of those battles and sieges would be to give a partial history to the neglect of others, equally deserving of honorable mention. A task alike impossible would be to give here the names of the heroes, living and dead, who distinguished themselves by their courage and valor. Our efficient Adjutant General has preserved in the archives of his department, the material from which this glorious history will one day be written, for the honor of the state and the inspiration of the generations that shall come after us. In the adjutant's department at Des Moines are preserved the shot-riddled colors and standards of our regiments. Upon them, by special authority, were inscribed, from time to time during the war, the names of the battle fields upon which these regiments gained distinction. These names constitute the geographical nomenclature of two-thirds of the territory lately in rebellion. From the Des Moines river to the Gulf, from the Mississippi to the Atlantic, in the mountains of West Virginia, and in the Valley of the Shenandoah, the Iowa soldier made his presence known and felt, and maintained the honor of the state and the cause of the nation. They were with Lyon at Wilson's Creek, with Tuttle at Donelson. They fought with Siegel and with Curtis at Pea Ridge; with Crocker at Champion Hills; with Reid at Shiloh. They were with Grant at the surrender of Vicksburg. They fought above the clouds with Hooker at Lookout Mountain. They were with Sherman in his march to the sea, and were ready for battle when Johnston surrendered. They were with Sheridan in the Valley of the Shenandoah, and were in the veteran ranks of the nation's deliverers that stacked their arms in the national capital at the close of the war. The address concludes as follows: Iowa hails with joy this centennial of our nation's birth. She renews her vows of devotion to our common country, and looks with hope to the future. The institution of slavery, that once rested as a shadow upon the land, that was fast producing a diverse civilization dangerous to our unity and nationality, has been forever abolished. This centennial exhibition of our national greatness and material progress must re-awaken in the mind and heart of every American emotions of profound love for his country, and of patriotic pride in her success. Surely no American would consent that such a civilization as is evidenced here should perish in the throes of civil war. If there be anything in the history of Iowa and its wonderful development to excite a just pride, the other, and especially the older states of the Union may justly claim to share in it. Such as we are, the emigration from the other states made us. Our free soil, free labor, free schools, free speech, free press, free worship, free men and free women, were their free gift and contribution. Iowa is the thirty-year old child of the republic that celebrates the first centennial of its birth. Our state is simply the legitimate offspring of a civilization that has found its highest expression in building up sovereign states. Iowa was not a colony planted by the oppressions of the parent government, and that threw off her allegiance as soon as she gained strength to assert her independence; but she was the outgrowth of the natural vitality and enterprise of the nation, begotten in obedience to the divine command to multiply and replenish--born a sovereign by the will and desire of the parent, and baptized at the font of liberty as a voluntary consecration of her political life. Not a sovereign in that absolute sense that would make the federal government an impossibility, but sovereign within her sphere and over the objects and purposes of her jurisdiction, with such further limitations only upon her powers as render an abuse of them impossible, to the end that the personal liberty and private rights of the citizen should be more secure. This wonderful exhibition of mechanical skill, of cunning workmanship, and of the fruits of the earth, is but the evidence of the existence and character of the people that have produced them. The great ultimate fact that America would demonstrate is the existence of a people capable of attaining and preserving a superior civilization, with a government self-imposed, self-administered, and self-perpetuated. In this, her centennial year, America can exhibit nothing to the world of mankind more wonderful or more glorious than her new states--young empires, born of her own enterprise, and tutored at her own political hearthstone. Well may she say to the monarchies of the old world, who look for evidences of her regal grandeur and state, "Behold, these are my jewels." And may she never blush to add: "This one in the _center_ of the diadem is called IOWA." CHAPTER IX TEMPERANCE AND PROHIBITION In giving a further account of the activities of subsequent years it will be almost impossible to preserve anything like a chronological order of events, and it will be necessary to take up certain subjects or topics that employed much of my time and energies, and probably as important as any other part of my life was my connection with the subject of temperance and prohibition. The code of Iowa enacted in 1850 took effect July 1, 1851. Under the head of "Intoxicating Liquors" it enacted as follows: "The people of Iowa will hereafter take no part in the profits of the sale of intoxicating liquors." It then provided that the establishment of any place for the sale of intoxicating liquors to be drank on or about the premises should constitute a public nuisance, and enacted penalties against the sale of intoxicating liquors to be drank on or about the premises, and provided for the abatement of such nuisances and the punishment of all persons violating the provisions of this statute. This code was very excellent in the principle upon which the law was based; to-wit, that the people and government ought not to be a party to or share the profits of the sale of that which was the cause of so much poverty and crime, and the statute aimed at the destruction of the places of resort where the habit of drinking such liquors was contracted and promoted; but in its practical operation the law itself and its provisions were a failure. The words, "To be drank on or about the premises," involved two uncertainties--first, as to the meaning of the words "on or about," and secondly, as to the guilty knowledge or intent of the vendor of the liquors when he made his sale, as to the manner and where the purchaser intended to drink. Courts and juries gave very different and very liberal interpretation in the application of this law to different cases, and many of our judges and justices were not well educated in the idea that the sale of intoxicating liquors as a beverage was really a crime against the community and against humanity. As a result of these uncertainties of the law, the people of the state in 1854 elected a legislature, the majority of the members of which were pledged to enact a statute of absolute prohibition. Such a statute passed both branches of the general assembly, and was approved by Governor Grimes. The settlements in the larger towns along the Mississippi river and in several of the interior counties embraced very many Germans and other persons of foreign birth, accustomed to the use, not only of intoxicating liquors, but to places of resort where the same could be drank at their leisure and pleasure. The result of this foreign demand was a fatal amendment to the statute of 1854-5 known as the "Wine and Beer Clause," which permitted the licensing and sale of beer and native wine made from the grapes or other fruits grown within the state. The practical result of this law was the establishment of the saloon in charge of keepers who paid no respect to the law and sold all kinds of intoxicating drinks under pretense of beer and native wine. During our Civil War the people of the state were so absorbed in the progress of events that involved the existence of our nationality that they gave but little attention to local state and police legislation, but soon after the close of the war, the thought of the people was directed to the great curse of the licensed saloon and its effects upon the morals and habits of our people. In order that the policy of the state with reference to this matter might not be subjected to the caprice of political party conventions and elections, the people demanded and sought to enact an amendment to the constitution of the state that should embrace to its fullest extent a provision prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors as a beverage within the state, including not only alcoholic liquors, but also malt liquors. In order to secure such a provision by way of amendment to the constitution it was necessary to secure the election of two successive general assemblies to pass upon such an amendment, and to secure a vote of the people endorsing and adopting the same at a subsequent election. The provisions of our constitution on the subject of amending the same were as follows: Any amendment or amendments to this constitution may be proposed in either house of the general assembly; and if the same shall be agreed to by a majority of the members elected to each of the two houses, such proposed amendment shall be entered on their journals, with the yeas and nays taken thereon, and referred to the legislature to be chosen at the next general election, and shall be published, as provided by law, for three months previous to the time of making such choice; and if, in the general assembly so next chosen as aforesaid, such proposed amendment or amendments shall be agreed to by a majority of all the members elected to each house, then it shall be the duty of the general assembly to submit such proposed amendment to the people in such manner, and at such time as the general assembly shall provide; and if the people shall approve and ratify such amendment or amendments by a majority of the electors qualified to vote for members of the general assembly, voting thereon, such amendment or amendments shall become a part of the constitution of this state. In pursuance of the provisions of this constitution the eighteenth general assembly of the state of Iowa, to-wit, in the year 1880, adopted as an amendment to the constitution of the state the following: "No person shall manufacture for sale, or sell, or keep for sale as a beverage, any intoxicating liquors whatever, including ale, wine and beer. The general assembly shall by law prescribe regulations for the enforcement of the prohibition herein contained, and shall thereby provide suitable penalties for the violation of the provisions hereof." This amendment, by omission of the clerk of the house of representatives, was not entered in full upon the journals of that body. It was, however, embraced in a joint resolution of the two houses and fully identified by its title upon the journal of the house and senate, and the vote adopting the same was duly recorded by yeas and nays as required by the constitution. The publication of this action of the eighteenth general assembly was duly made in the newspapers prior to the election of the nineteenth general assembly, and at the session of that body another joint resolution was passed in both houses embracing the amendment and reciting the action of the eighteenth general assembly thereon, and this joint resolution passed both houses, and the yeas and nays were fully recorded, and proclamation was made by the Governor of the state, and the people of the state at a subsequent election held on June 27, 1882, after a vigorous canvass of the merits of the question, endorsed and adopted the amendment by nearly thirty thousand majority. On the 26th day of August, 1882, a pretended suit was brought in the district court of Scott county by a brewing establishment owned and operated by Koehler & Lange against a saloon keeper by the name of Hill, in the city of Davenport, upon an account for beer sold by the brewer to the saloon keeper, and the saloon keeper set up by way of defense that he bought the beer and it was sold to him for the purpose of being sold as a beverage and that the sale was unlawful and contrary to the provisions of the amendment to the constitution. That this suit was a mere conspiracy for the purpose of having the amendment to the constitution declared void there can be no question. The judge of the district court of Scott county was opposed to the amendment personally and politically, as were also the attorneys that conducted these proceedings. The principal answer of the saloon keeper was to set up the constitutional amendment and the brewer replied stating that the constitutional amendment was not legally adopted, especially because the amendment had not been spread upon the journals of the house of representatives of the eighteenth general assembly verbatim, but that it had only been embraced in a certain joint resolution of the two houses. The judgment of the district court was against the brewer for the beer, and he took a pretended appeal therefrom to the supreme court of the state. When the case reached the supreme court J. A. Harvey, Esq., who had been an active man in the general assembly in favor of the amendment, and who was also an avowed prohibitionist and friend of the amendment, was employed by the Women's Temperance Union of the state to appear in the case and argue the matter before the supreme court, involving the legality of the amendment. The Women's Temperance Union also employed Judge William E. Miller, an ex-judge of the supreme court of our state, who prepared and filed in the case a printed argument. I was at that time absorbed in my own private practice and had a case on trial in the district court, and was unable to attend the session of the court at which the case was argued. I had been very active in the canvass pending the adoption of this amendment at the popular election, and had spent much time in making speeches before the people in its behalf. I had promised Mr. Harvey that if my other professional engagements would admit of it I would assist him in the oral argument before the supreme court. To my great surprise, and to the surprise and consternation of the people of the state, the majority of the judges of the supreme court decided that the amendment had not been legally adopted, giving as their chief reason therefor the failure of the eighteenth general assembly to have spread upon the house journal a verbatim copy of the constitutional amendment at the time it was adopted by that house. As soon as this decision was made known I prepared and filed in the supreme court of the state a petition for a re-hearing of the case. This re-hearing was granted. The Governor of the state employed Senator James F. Wilson of Fairfield, and Hon. John F. Duncombe, of Fort Dodge, to appear and make oral argument in behalf of the amendment. I also appeared in the case at my own request and upon my own motion and argued the case orally at Davenport on the final hearing. Two of the judges of the supreme court; Judges Seevers and Rothrock, were not friends of the amendment, and I think, in sentiment, were opposed to it. Judge Day's action in the matter in agreeing with Messrs. Seevers and Rothrock was a surprise to his friends, but I have no doubt his decision was honestly made. I think this re-hearing might possibly have resulted in a favorable opinion from a majority of the court had it not been for the intemperate zeal of a portion of the public press, particularly the Des Moines _Register_ edited by the Clarksons in which the majority opinion of the supreme court was denounced. The judges who constituted the majority of the court could scarcely be expected to change their views and opinions under the pressure of the brutal attacks that were made upon them through the press. Judge Beck, the fourth judge of the court, had delivered a very able dissenting opinion sustaining the constitutional amendment. That the decision of the supreme court upon this question was radically wrong, I have never entertained the least doubt in my own mind. The supreme court in its majority opinion recognized the fact that the only proper and legal evidence of the final action of the legislative body in the enactment of its laws must be found in its enrolled bills, duly certified by the presiding officers of the senate and house of representatives respectively. The authorities were uniform, and no court had ever before undertaken to examine the journals of a legislative assembly for the purpose of contradicting and falsifying the duly certified action of the legislature by its presiding officer. Every bill that passes the general assembly of the state is duly enrolled by the clerk elected for that purpose by the house in which the bill originated. It is then supposed to be carefully examined by the committee on enrolled bills and reported in open session of the house, and is then presented by the clerk or secretary to the several presiding officers in open session for their signatures, and thence in the care of the proper committee on enrolled bills is presented to the Governor for his approval. To go behind this official action of the two branches of the legislature and undertake to examine and criticise the action of the clerk in recording or failing to record any part of its proceedings, by the courts of the state, is simply to destroy the independence of the law-making power, and is nothing more or less than usurpation on the part of a coördinate branch of the government. The constitution of Iowa in its provisions in regard to an amendment of that instrument selects, first, the two houses of the general assembly, secondly, the executive of the state, and thirdly, the people of the state, the source of all political power, and entrusts to them and them alone the power to amend its organic law. This amendment originated with and was carefully prepared by and approved by both branches of the eighteenth general assembly, and subsequently by the nineteenth general assembly, there can be no question; that it was then submitted to a vote of the people, voted and approved by the people by a large majority, was then proclaimed by the Governor of the state in his proclamation as part of the organic law of the state, there was no question, and I do not hesitate to say, after years of thought and deliberation upon this matter, that the decision of the supreme court of the state in the case of Koehler & Lange against Hill was simply usurpation. During the pendency of this re-hearing and before the final arguments in the case Mr. Hill, the saloon-keeper of Davenport, attempted to defeat the re-hearing by asking the court to strike from the files the petition for rehearing and denying the authority of the attorneys who had filed the same to act in his name. The Governor of the state, after the final disposition of the cause, appropriated $750 to the three principal counsel engaged in the re-hearing, and sent me one-third of the amount; to-wit, $250 for my services in the matter. The constitutional amendment thus attempted to be rendered null and void by the opinion of the supreme court in the case of Koehler & Lange against Hill was really only an amendment to the constitution enjoining upon the legislature the duty of enacting a prohibitory liquor law, and forbidding the enactment of any statute authorizing the license and sale of intoxicating liquors as a beverage. The immediate effect of the decision of the supreme court was to arouse the people of the state to an assertion of their rights in regard to these matters; consequently they elected a general assembly in the fall of 1883, a large majority of whose members were pledged to give the people, by legislative enactment, a law such as the constitutional amendment required, and in pursuance of that purpose the twentieth general assembly enacted the prohibitory law, chapter 143, page 146 of the laws of that session. This law was popularly known as the Clark law, taking its name from the fact that it was introduced into the senate by Senator Clark of Page county. He was not, however, the author of the law, and was only entitled to the credit of having introduced it as a member of the senate. Some time before these events there had been organized in the state of Iowa a temperance league, with its headquarters at Des Moines. Mr. J. A. Harvey, before referred to, and myself, with Louis Todhunter of Indianola, had been appointed by the Temperance League a committee to draft a prohibitory law and secure its passage by the twentieth general assembly. Another effect of the decision of the supreme court in the Koehler & Lange case was the retirement of Judge Day from the supreme bench of the state, and the election of Judge Read of Council Bluffs in his stead. I was a delegate to the republican state convention from Polk county. I did not sympathize with the idea of the defeat for renomination of a judge of the court on the simple ground that his decision or action as judge did not meet with the approval of the people, but I could not, with my ideas of right and justice, approve of the renomination of any judge of the court that had assumed the prerogative attempted to be exercised by the majority of judges in the Koehler & Lange case, and I cordially supported Judge Read for the nomination. I had assisted Mr. Harvey in framing the prohibitory law that was enacted by the twentieth general assembly, part of which was written by myself. I did not entirely agree with the committee, however, in providing as that statute does that the prosecuting witness or party filing informations for a violation of the law should take to his personal use any part of the fines or penalties provided for in the statute. I disliked that feature of the law for the reason that I anticipated that bad men, for the sake of personal profit and gain, would bring the law into disrepute. The State Temperance League undertook to provide, to a greater or less extent, for the prosecution of offenders under this law of the twentieth general assembly. I was on the committee appointed by the League and was chairman of the committee that had advisory powers in regard to prosecutions undertaken or promoted by the officers of the League, and as chairman of that committee I had occasion, a number of times, to defeat the purposes and plans of those who sought to use the authority of the League for some ulterior purpose. The most serious case of this kind that arose during my administration related to the effort of a certain whiskey trust to use the prohibitory law as a means of destroying an industry established in Des Moines by invitation of its business men just prior to the taking effect of this prohibitory law of 1884. One of the chief men in encouraging the establishment of the International Distillery in Des Moines, so-called, was J. S. Clarkson, editor-in-chief then of the Des Moines _Register_. This International Distillery was an alcohol manufactory, established by a man by the name of Kidd. Before he invested his money in the plant he had taken the precaution to consult with a number of prominent citizens and prohibitionists of the city of Des Moines, to know whether or not his enterprise would at all be affected by the constitutional amendment or the statute that might be passed in pursuance thereof. Pending the action of the general assembly upon the constitutional amendment, the Des Moines _Register_ had insisted upon some legislative interpretation of the meaning and effect of the proposed amendment upon the question of the manufacture of alcohol within the state as an article of commerce, for the purpose of shipping the same to the markets abroad and not to be sold within the state. In pursuance of the suggestion of the Des Moines _Register_, the state senate of Iowa in 1882 adopted the following explanatory resolution as to the meaning and intent of the amendment then pending, and thereafter to be voted upon by the people, as follows: Whereas, doubts have been suggested as to the true intent and meaning of the joint resolution agreed to by the 18th general assembly, and by this general assembly, as proposing to amend the constitution of the state so as to prohibit the manufacture and sale of intoxicating liquors as a beverage within this state; and Whereas, it is desirable that such doubts should be removed as far as practicable before said proposed amendment is voted upon by the people; therefore, Be it resolved by the senate, that said proposed amendment was and is designed and intended to prevent the manufacture within this state, for sale within this state, as a beverage, all intoxicating liquors, including ale, wine and beer, and to prohibit the selling of such liquors within this state for use as a beverage, and to prohibit the keeping of such liquors for sale as a beverage within this state; and was not designed to prohibit the manufacture for sale, or keeping for sale, of such liquors for any or all other purposes. A short time before this resolution was passed a meeting of the board of trade of the city of Des Moines was held with reference to the same matter. It was attended by many of the most prominent prohibitionists of the city, and all concurred in the view of the amendment afterward taken by the senate. The sense of the meeting was expressed by a resolution reported by a committee, consisting of T. S. Wright, J. S. Polk, and J. S. Clarkson, and adopted with but one dissenting vote. The resolution is as follows: Whereas, the agitation of the proposed amendment to the constitution of this state, prohibiting the manufacture of alcoholic liquors for sale, is creating doubt and uncertainty in the minds of capitalists proposing to invest a large amount of means in the manufacture of alcohol in this city; and Whereas, we are satisfied the great majority of the people of the state do not construe such amendment as prohibiting the manufacture of alcohol for exportation, but that it simply prohibits its manufacture for sale as a beverage in the state, a view in which the leading friends and the most of the supporters of the amendment concur; and Whereas, we are sure the people of the state would vote down overwhelmingly any amendment absolutely prohibiting the manufacture of alcohol; therefore be it Resolved, that the Des Moines Board of Trade accept the interpretation of the leading friends and supporters of the amendment, that it intends only to prohibit the manufacture for sale of alcoholic liquors in the state as a beverage, pledges itself to the support and defense of capitalists investing in such manufacturing as against all doubts as to the real meaning of the amendment, and further, that we will lend our active influence toward securing such legislative expression as will put upon the amendment the construction that it will only prohibit the manufacture of such liquors for sale as a beverage in the state. This meeting of the board of trade, which was attended by many of the prominent prohibitionists of the city and of the state, I did not attend, though invited to be present. In pursuance of the encouragement thus given to Mr. Kidd, and prior to the taking effect of the prohibitory law of 1884, Mr. Kidd expended several hundred thousand dollars in the building of his plant for the manufacture of alcohol at the city of Des Moines, Iowa, and continued such manufacture without interruption until certain prosecutions were commenced against him at the instance of the Western Export Association, a whisky trust organized by the distillers of the United States to prevent an excess of alcohol being manufactured, and by this means to regulate and keep up the price of the article. After the decision of the principal suit undertaken in this behalf, in which I. E. Pearson and a man by the name of Loughran were nominal plaintiffs and the International Distillery and Mr. Kidd were defendants, a decision adverse to the distillery was obtained and the defendants took an appeal to the supreme court of the state. Mr. Kidd and his attorney called upon me and reminded me of the fact that our firm, consisting of B. F. Kauffman and myself, had given them a written opinion to the effect that the law of 1884 did not make it unlawful to manufacture alcohol in this state as an article of merchandise, to be shipped and disposed of beyond the limits of the state, and Mr. Kidd appealed to me to know if I was willing to accept of a retainer to argue that question in the supreme court of the state on his appeal, suggesting that he thought it my duty to do so as a lawyer, and asked if I was afraid to perform my duty in that behalf. I told him that I was not afraid and accepted of the employment. As soon as this became known to the Des Moines _Register_, its editors commenced a series of abusive articles against me, containing misrepresentations and insinuations, and for some reasons best known to the editors of that paper and of which I am not advised, they became very active in trying to promote the success of this prosecution against the distillery and to destroy the same. These articles of the State _Register_ created, of course, quite an inquiry among the friends of prohibition in the state, and they wrote a number of letters to Mrs. A. E. McMurray, secretary of the State Temperance League, making inquiry in regard to the matter of my employment. She accordingly wrote a letter to me upon the subject and I answered the same very fully, giving a history of the whole controversy, and particularly the motives of the men that were trying to destroy Kidd and his enterprise. Though the letter is somewhat in detail, yet, as it is a complete answer to all of the criticisms that have been made of my professional conduct in this matter, I give it here in full: DES MOINES, IOWA, MARCH 19, 1887. Mrs. E. A. McMurray, Secretary of Iowa State Temperance Alliance: I have your communication of the 17th inst., and appreciating the motives that have prompted it, I take pleasure in responding to your inquiries. The case of I. E. Pearson and S. J. Loughran against John S. Kidd, now pending upon appeal in the supreme court of the state, and in which I have been retained for the defendant, involves only the question as to the right of the defendant to manufacture alcohol in this state, under the permit granted him by the board of supervisors of Polk county, for the purpose of export. There is no pretense that Mr. Kidd, since the taking effect of our present statute, has ever sold any intoxicating liquors, or alcohol, within the state of Iowa, for any purpose whatever. The only evidence offered to sustain the petition is contained in the official reports of Mr. Kidd to the auditor of the county, by which it appears that he has manufactured alcohol and shipped it out of the state. The article manufactured by Mr. Kidd and put upon the market is not itself a beverage, and is not and cannot be used as such in the form in which he has produced and sold it. The case was first tried in the circuit court of Polk county, before Judges Given and Henderson, upon an application for a preliminary injunction. In December last those two judges delivered an opinion in the case, deciding that Mr. Kidd had not in any manner violated the prohibitory law, and they refused an injunction. At the present term of the district court Judge Conrad, our newly-elected district judge, put a different construction upon the law and held, that by the amendment made to the prohibitory law by the legislation of 1884 it was unlawful to manufacture alcohol in the state for export; and this is the sole question to be determined by the supreme court upon the appeal. This answers the first inquiry in your letter, as to what is involved in the case. Your next question is whether or not my employment in this case is consistent with my past record; and whether or not it is calculated to impair my influence and usefulness for the cause of prohibition in the future. I was one of the committee appointed by the State Temperance Alliance to prepare a bill to be presented to the legislature for its consideration, in 1884, that should carry out the will of the people of Iowa, as expressed in the amendment to the constitution, which amendment the supreme court of the state had then decided was not operative, by reason of the failure of the eighteenth general assembly to properly enter the same upon their journals. As early as the 31st of May, 1881, I prepared and delivered before the Methodist state convention that was held in Des Moines at that date an address on the legal phase of the prohibitory amendment. This address was afterwards printed in pamphlet form by the _Prohibitionist_, and was circulated during the amendment campaign as a campaign document, and seemed to meet with the views of the friends of prohibition at that time. In that address I took occasion to discuss the meaning and scope of the proposed amendment, and in it occurs the following passage, defining my view of the legislation that would be required by that amendment, if adopted. I quote: We have, in regard to spirituous liquors, laws upon our statute books designed to prohibit their manufacture or sale, except for medicinal, mechanical, culinary and sacramental purposes. For these lawful purposes certain persons are authorized to sell. They must obtain a permit, give bonds, keep books, etc., and are subject to the supervision and control of the authorities. The manufacturer could be required to sell only to persons thus authorized to sell for lawful purposes; if sold _within the state_, otherwise than as permitted by the statute, the act could be punished by fine or confiscation. May 12, 1881, I attended a meeting of the State Bar Association of Iowa, the proceedings of which are reported in the Des Moines _Register_ of May 13, 1881. That meeting discussed the meaning and interpretation of the proposed prohibitory amendment to the constitution. Mr. Cummins, an attorney of this city, offered a resolution at that meeting as follows: Resolved, That the proposed amendment prohibits the manufacture of intoxicating liquors within the state for sale as a beverage without the state. The _Register's_ report says that "Judge Nourse arose and stated that Iowa had no control over the liquor after it left the state." From the above it will appear that my interpretation of the constitutional amendment and of the efforts that we were about to make at that time to control the manufacture of intoxicating liquors within this state, did not contemplate any interference with the manufacture of alcohol for the purpose of export. That this view was in entire harmony with the views and opinions of the great mass of the people then favoring legislation upon this subject, is conclusively shown by the following extracts taken from the _Iowa State Register_ of the following dates: THE AMENDMENT'S MEANING (_Iowa State Register_, February 3, 1882) Nine-tenths of the mass of the supporters of the amendment that we know of hold the view that it is to deal with liquors only so far as forbidding their sale for use as a beverage in this state. So it is not a "Des Moines idea" at all, but the view of the great body of supporters of the amendment itself. The truth is, then, as shown by the records of the supporters of the submission of the amendment in the legislature, and by the testimony of nine-tenths of the supporters of it among the people who have publicly expressed themselves, that the amendment was not intended to prohibit manufactures for export. The State Bar Association at its last meeting discussed the meaning of it, and failed to agree upon it, opinion being about equally divided as to whether it means absolute and total prohibition or only as to manufacture and sale as a beverage in this state. We do not doubt that the original friends of the amendment intended to have it go no further than to make it deal with liquor as a beverage in Iowa. Nor do we doubt that the great body of them hold to the view now that it is intended to go no further than that. They know that the state has no power to go beyond that, and they realize that to attempt to carry the amendment, with the interpretation of total prohibition or manufacture given to it, it would be defeated. For the people of Iowa will never consent, in our judgment, to prohibit the manufacture of their greatest staple into alcohol for export. In that form Iowa corn can be sent into South America and to the ports of the Mediterranean Sea, while in its raw form it can only go there by taking from five to ten bushels to pay the freight on one. This alcohol trade must be supplied, and will be supplied, and Iowa corn will inevitably supply a good deal of it, whether it is made up into alcohol for this purpose in Iowa, to the profit of the Iowa farmer, or whether it be shipped to Chicago and St. Louis, or elsewhere, at the loss of the Iowa farmer, and made into form there. We do not ask that the amendment itself shall be tinkered with. But we do ask that the same majority which shall vote to submit it to the people shall put on record the true interpretation of its meaning. From this position we do not intend to be driven either by the ridicule of whisky rings or whisky papers, nor by the sneers of temperance papers, which have not yet examined into the question themselves, and would have every body else as stupid about it as they are themselves. THE AMENDMENT'S MEANING (_Iowa State Register_, February 7, 1882) The truth is, and all who have watched the progress of this contest know that it was never intended to make this amendment aim to do more than it was possible to do, namely, to exercise police power in its own state, and not aim to attempt to stop inter-state commerce, nor try and prohibit the use of liquor in other states. (Appended is a letter from Hon. L. S. Coffin, supporting the _Register's_ view.) THE AMENDMENT'S MEANING (_Iowa State Register_, February 21, 1882) We plainly told members of the convention before it met, in order that they might be warned in time, that thousands and thousands of voters were waiting for the true interpretation of the amendment before deciding as to their position toward it--_The Register_ as a paper, among them. When they adjourned, evading and ignoring a question on which probably hung, and still hangs, the fate of the amendment at the polls, we held that the legislature should take some action to ascertain the real meaning of the amendment before ratifying it. This we held could be done by asking the attorney general, the lawyer and adviser of the state, to give his views as to its actual meaning. These stills, encouraged by the government laws and by the people of Iowa, have begun their manufacture in the state. If Iowa is ever to be anything of a manufacturing state, it can hope to be so mostly, and will be profited mostly by manufactures from its own staple crop. This can go into alcohol, and always be sold, and yet rarely if ever, be used as a beverage. For alcohol is used in thousands of mechanical ways. It is made into varnish by putting gums and resins with it. It is mixed with spirits of turpentine, and makes camphene and burning fluids in endless quantities, used all over South America and Europe. It is made into cologne and other perfumed spirits by flavoring it with different kinds of oil, and all over Europe, when fuel is scarce, it is used in vast quantities for cooking and heating stoves. Millions and millions of gallons of it are used for other mechanical purposes. Very little of it in this form is ever used for a beverage. To say that Iowa corn should be made into this form in Illinois, or in Cincinnati, or New York, or Liverpool, but not in Iowa, is to still leave it to be so converted, and with Iowa bearing the whole loss and reaping none of the gain. So we say, let us have the amendment's real meaning, so that it may be fully understood by the people, and voted up or down as it shall deserve to be. As a member of the committee appointed to prepare a bill for the action of the general assembly of 1884, I can say that there was at no time any thought by the majority of that committee of asking any legislation that would prohibit the manufacture of intoxicating liquors for medicinal and mechanical purposes or for export and sale beyond the jurisdiction of our laws. That committee was composed of lawyers who fully understood that any legislation that we could obtain must be based upon the police power of the state to regulate the sale of intoxicating liquors within its jurisdiction. The Utopian idea that the legislature of Iowa could control the use to which intoxicating liquors, manufactured and sold as an article of commerce in the markets of the world, might be applied in another state, I do not think was at all entertained by the members of that committee, save perhaps one of them, Mr. Todhunter. The bill that was prepared by the committee and presented to the legislature was not enacted into a law in the form in which we originally presented it; but house file No. 516-1/2 was reported by the committee as a substitute for that and other bills that had been introduced on the subject and was passed in both the house and the senate in the form in which it came from the committee, and constitutes chapter 143 of the acts of the twentieth general assembly. And it is this law upon which Judge Conrad bases his opinion. That the friends of this law never intended or believed that it would prohibit the manufacture of alcohol in this state for export clearly appears from the record. Pending the vote upon the passage of this bill in the house the friends of the bill indulged in very little speech-making, and Governor Carpenter and Mr. Kerr were the only members who undertook to reply to the assaults of its opponents. The first effort of the opponents of the bill was to try and load it down with amendments and thereby secure its defeat. An amendment was offered by Mr. Bolter, of Harrison, making the bill an absolute prohibition of the manufacture of intoxicating liquors in this state, and this amendment came within one vote of being adopted. The vote stood fifty votes against the amendment and forty-nine for it. The entire fifty members that voted _against_ this amendment of Mr. Bolter, voted _for_ the passage of the bill the next day, while of the forty-nine that voted for Mr. Bolter's amendment nearly all of them voted against the passage of the bill. The _Iowa State Register_ the morning after this vote was taken contained the following leading editorial giving an account of this attempt to kill the bill. I quote from the _State Register_ of February 29, 1884, as follows: The house spent the day yesterday on the prohibition bill. Our report in detail shows how desperately the democrats are fighting the inevitable. The spectacle of the democrats voting at one time yesterday, for dishonest purposes, for absolute prohibition, and next ranging themselves on the side of the low license or practically no temperance law at all, is a vivid illustration of the insincerity of that party on the temperance question. Their attitude is insincerity itself, and they are ready to do anything to defeat honest temperance measures. The only test vote had yesterday was on the Bolter absolute prohibition bill (amendment) which was defeated by forty-nine yeas to fifty nays; all the democrats and all the greenbackers and one republican, Mr. Schee, voting for the amendment. Fifty republicans voted in the negative. During the pendency of the discussion the _Register_ of the same date contains a report of the speeches of Governor Carpenter and Mr. Kerr in favor of the bill. The following is the full text of Mr. Kerr's speech as reported in the _Register_ of February 28, 1884. Mr. Kerr said: The opponents of the bill were wonderfully afraid it would not prohibit. There had never been any question as to the constitutionality of the amendment passed in 1882. It was only the manner of its enactment by the nineteenth general assembly that had rendered it invalid. He agreed with Mr. Dabney that the manufacture of liquors for any purpose was wrong. What was it the people of the state wanted to prohibit? The saloons; those hot-beds of infamy that were constantly bringing disgrace upon the state and misery upon the people. Any representative who fails to crystallize into form of law the will of the people fails to do his duty. How are we to know this sentiment, if not by the votes of the people? There is no better way. Mr. Bolter was eloquent in his denunciations of the evils of intoxication and he agreed with that gentleman and hoped when the time came the man from Harrison would vote in accordance with that sentiment. There are no interests in the state, vested or otherwise, that are higher than the interests of the whole people of the state, and it was better for a few to lose a few dollars than to entail and fasten upon the state an industry that directly or indirectly injures every man in it. It is best for all to have the business wiped out. Mr. Merrill asked Mr. Kerr if the bill permitted the manufacture of liquors for export. Mr. Kerr replied that the bill had been prepared by its friends and it was not intended to have it loaded down by its enemies. _The intention of the law was not to prohibit the manufacture for exportation, as there were some doubts as to whether that could be done._ This law as it passed the house was published in full in the _Register_ of the 28th of February, and on the 29th of February wehave this leading editorial in the same paper: The _Iowa City Press_ tries to prove the impossible thing that the proposed prohibitory law in Iowa will discriminate against Iowa brewers and in favor of Iowa distillers. The same stale cry of the democratic campaign. We have heretofore shown that the proposed interdiction treats distillery and brewery alike _and leaves both free to manufacture for export_. As to the vineyards of Johnson and other Iowa counties, their products ought to be able to ship as far and sell as well as the product of the Iowa distillers, and it will do so if it is a good article; if it is not a good article it will find no buyer at home now or abroad hereafter. I have quoted the above remarks of Mr. Kerr, for the reason that Mr. Kerr was one of the most staunch and extreme prohibitionists on that he was in favor of absolute prohibition; but at the same time he distinctly repudiates the idea that the legislation which he was then advocating was intended to accomplish any such end. The state temperance convention had simply demanded of the legislature that the will of the people of Iowa as expressed in the vote upon the constitutional amendment should be embodied in a law of the state. Or as Mr. Kerr very significantly remarks, should be "crystallized into law." It is well known as a part of the history of this temperance movement that the _Iowa State Register_, the leading journal of the state that advocated the constitutional amendment, demanded of the nineteenth general assembly, as one of the conditions upon which it would support the amendment, that it should adopt a joint resolution defining the meaning and intent of that proposed amendment, and that it should declare that it was not intended to prevent the manufacture of intoxicating liquors for the purpose of export and sale beyond the state boundaries. That resolution, with the vote by which it was adopted, is on page 501 of the senate journal, 1882, and is as follows: Whereas, doubts have been suggested as to the true intent and meaning of the joint resolution proposing to amend the constitution of this state, etc.; therefore be it _Resolved by the senate_, that said proposed amendment was and is designed and intended to prohibit the manufacture within this state _for sale within this state_ as a beverage, of all intoxicating liquors, including ale, wine and beer, and to prohibit the selling of such liquors _within this state_ for use as a beverage, and prohibit the keeping of such liquors, for sale as a beverage _within this state_; and was not designed to prohibit the manufacture, sale or keeping for sale of such liquors for any or all other purposes. The yeas were: Senators Abraham, Arnold, Boling, Brown of Keokuk, CLARK OF PAGE, Cotton, Dashiel, Gillet, Greenlee, Huston, Hartshorn, HEMMINGWAY, Johnson, Kamrar, Logan, Marshall, Nichols of Benton, Nichols of Guthrie, NICHOLS OF MUSCATINE, Parker, Patrick, Poyneer, Prizer, Russell of Greene, Russell of Jones, Sudlow, Terrill, Wall, Whaley, Wilson, Wright--31. All republicans and all _prohibitionists_, except Wall, who was a greenbacker. Those who think that it is disloyalty to the cause in me to advocate this same doctrine now should reflect that Clark of Page, and Hemmingway, and Pliney Nichols, are all in the same boat--to say nothing of the _Iowa State Register_, at whose special procurement this resolution was passed. The next morning after this resolution was adopted, March 18, 1882, the _Register_ contained the following editorial: The senate defined the meaning of the proposed prohibitory amendment and gave to it the beverage interpretation for which the _Register_ has so steadily and persistently contended. So that now the people of Iowa have the true definition of the amendment, which is, that it is to deal with liquors in manufacture and sale only as a beverage _in the state of Iowa_. It was this interpretation that the _Register_ asked for in order to support it. But the meaning of this law is, in my judgment, clear, from the text of the act itself without reference to this legislative history. This law left in full force section 1542 of the code, which defines the offense of keeping intoxicating liquors with intent to sell the same in the following terms: No person shall own and keep, or be in any way concerned, engaged or employed in owning or keeping intoxicating liquors _with intent to sell the same within this state_, or permit the same to be sold therein, in violation of the provisions hereof. This is in entire harmony with two decisions of our supreme court rendered prior to 1884, declaring that alcohol was an article of commerce that might be lawfully held and owned and kept within this state and for sale and export beyond the state. The prohibition contained in this section, 1542, against keeping intoxicating liquors with intent to sell the same within the state, is a clear declaration of the legislature that to keep or own the same with intent to sell it beyond the bounds of the state is not a violation of the law. And the amendment of 1884 in regard to the transportation of liquors, an amendment which I prepared myself and which was incorporated in the law in the very language in which I wrote it, prohibits any railroad company or common carrier from knowingly "bringing into the state" or "transporting intoxicating liquors between points within the state" without first having been furnished with a certificate from the county auditor certifying that the consignee or person for whom the liquor is to be transported is authorized to sell the same within the state. It is very evident, that if this provision of law, which is section 1553, was intended to prohibit the export of intoxicating liquors, it would not have been so careful to limit the prohibition to importation and to transportation between points within the state. The section was written with express reference to the theory that the manufacture of intoxicating liquors in this state for purposes of export was not prohibited by law. After this law of 1884 took effect, it will be remembered, that we organized in Iowa county alliances for the purpose of prosecuting offenders and enforcing its penalties. Such an organization was effected in Polk county, and I had the honor of being nominated as the chairman of the judiciary committee of such organization, which committee was charged with the duty of employing attorneys and enrolling prosecutions under the law. In May, 1884, Judge C. C. Cole, of this city, received from the Western Export Association of Distillers in the United States a claim against the International Distillery for $17,499.68, which it was claimed Mr. Kidd owed the pool, on account of over-production. It will be necessary to give some explanation of the character of this claim. The Western Export Association is an association of the alcohol distillers of the United States, chiefly located at Peoria, Illinois, whereby they undertake to control the manufacture of alcohol and limit its production in relation to the demand, and thus control and keep up the price of the article. The entire scheme is an unlawful one as against public policy, in that it establishes a monopoly and prevents competition in the production of a legitimate article of commerce and sale. Judge Cole was too good a lawyer to go into court with a suit upon such a demand, and he conceived the idea of using the criminal processes of the law against Mr. Kidd for the purpose of extorting from him this demand of the whisky pool. In accordance with this purpose Mr. J. S. Clark, his partner and afterwards one of the plaintiffs in this present suit, Mr. S. J. Loughran, was induced to appear before the county alliance and offer the services of Mr. Cole free of any charge to the alliance, for the purpose of prosecuting the International Distillery and harassing them with prosecutions upon alleged violation of the law, and asking that the secretary of our association, Mr. Littleton, give the use of his name for the purpose of filing complaints. The proposition was referred to the judiciary committee of the county alliance, of which I was chairman, and was duly presented to me by the secretary. It is hardly necessary for me to say that I refused to enter into such a conspiracy or to favor the use of the alliance for any such purpose. We had organized in good faith in this county for the purpose of enforcing the prohibitory law in the interest of the cause of temperance, and not for the purpose of collecting the illegal demands of the whisky pool and the distillers of Illinois. The following is a literal copy of Judge Cole's letter to Mr. John S. Kidd, in relation to this claim: DES MOINES, IOWA, MAY 24, 1884. John S. Kidd, Esq., President International Distillery Company, Des Moines, Iowa. Dear Sir: The Western Export Association has placed in my hands for collection by immediate suit a claim of $17,499.68 against the International Distillery Company, and you as its president. My pleasant personal associations with you have prompted me to ask and obtain permission for my client to delay the actual bringing of the suit till noon of Monday next, May 26th. I could not obtain leave for further delay because certain members of the association, who also have retained me to bring suit if this is not settled, claim that they are being further damaged to the extent of thousands of dollars daily, by the course of your company. Hoping to see you and to receive payment of the claim before Monday noon, I remain as ever Very truly yours, C. C. Cole To this very remarkable epistle Mr. Kidd made response of the same date as follows: Permit me to suggest that you should not allow personal considerations to interfere with professional duties. This bit of advice is given gratis and by way of friendly return for the favor of your grace over Sabbath on the modest demand you make. Yours truly, John S. Kidd It is unnecessary to say in this connection that Judge Cole never filed any petition in court on this modest demand. After the county alliance refused the use of its name or influence for the purpose of extorting this money out of Mr. Kidd, a clerk in Judge Cole's law office filed complaint against Mr. Kidd and procured warrants for the seizure of alcohol manufactured and shipped for export beyond the bounds of the state. All of these prosecutions proved ignominious failures. The present suit against Mr. Kidd was commenced in December, 1885, Lewis Todhunter appearing of record as attorney for the plaintiff, and I. E. Pearson and S. J. Loughran as the nominal plaintiffs. In October, 1885, Mr. Loughran, at a meeting of the county alliance, offered a resolution instructing its officers to commence suit against the International Distillery, _provided evidence could be found against it_. I was not present at the meeting, and on motion of Mr. Lee the resolution was referred to the judiciary committee. Upon inquiry of Mr. Harvey, the then president, and Mr. Littleton, the secretary, I found that neither of those officers had any information upon which a suit could be predicated, and neither would advise a prosecution. Mr. Loughran nor any one else ever approached the committee on the subject, or furnished the alliance any evidence. The statement has been made that I was at this time the attorney for Mr. Kidd. This is wholly untrue. It is true, however, that early in 1884 the firm of Nourse & Kauffman was called upon by Mr. Kidd, for a consultation with the attorneys, Messrs. Lehmann & Park, in regard to his business affairs, and upon the matter of the construction of the act of 1884, Mr. Kidd advising us at that time that he desired strictly to observe the law in the manufacture of alcohol. We gave him our opinion at the time, and he paid our firm a fee of fifty dollars. I have had no business connection with Mr. Kidd or the International Distillery since that time, until my employment in this case, after the decision of Judge Conrad a few weeks ago. Early in the year 1886 the secretary of the Polk county alliance reported that the funds of the organization and the available subscriptions were exhausted, and that liabilities had been incurred that we were unable to meet. Several unsuccessful efforts to have the subscriptions to our funds renewed were made. Mr. Harvey, on account of other engagements, declined a re-election as president of the county alliance in June, 1886. It seemed impossible to get a responsible person to accept of the position. Under these circumstances I. E. Pearson succeeded to that office. Though a gentleman of elegant leisure, he has never, since his election, been able, by his influence or exertions, to put a dollar into the treasury of the alliance. He has, however, been operating quite extensively on "his own hook," as he says. His principal enterprise, apart from his present suit against Mr. Kidd, has been to watch the incoming of the monthly reports that the law requires the druggist to make to the county auditor, and whenever, by any misadventure, their reports have been delayed a few days beyond the time fixed by the law, Pearson has brought suit against them for the one hundred dollars penalty provided by the statute, and then compromised for the largest amount he could get out of the defendant. In this way he has made hundreds of dollars for himself and has been able to support such an improved style of personal appearance that it has attracted public attention and newspaper comment. In this new _role_ of "affidavit maker" to the _State Register_ he has already attained distinction. Whether this enterprise will prove a financial success I do not know, as I am not advised as to the terms of the new partnership. It is not yet known whether Pearson has taken the _State Register_ into partnership, or whether the _Register_ has taken in Pearson. It has always been my fortune in life to antagonize men of this stamp. If I have not as many friends as some men of less positive opinions, I have the consolation to know that I have reason to be proud of the character of my enemies. By what means he has induced eminent counsel, backed by the active influence of the _Iowa State Register_, to prosecute this case against Mr. Kidd, remains a mystery. To the oft-repeated inquiries of members of the alliance for information on this subject his answers have been evasive and entirely unsatisfactory. Judge Cole in his letter to Mr. Kidd mentions that certain members of the export association were being damaged "to the extent of thousands of dollars daily" by the course pursued by the International Distillery. "Thousands of dollars daily" is a large amount of money, and a very grave apprehension exists in the minds of many of the temperance men of this community that these "certain other individuals" are not idle spectators in this contest. When or how Judge Cole and Mr. Runnells or the _Iowa State Register_ came into the case I do not know--I only know that they "got there." "... he has no wings at all, But he gets there all the same." Judge Cole and Mr. Runnells are also defending Hurlbut, Hess & Co., and the six thousand dollars of intoxicating liquors condemned by the jury in that case. They are also attorneys for Rowe, the man who shot down Constable Logan. No one, I believe, has questioned their right to act as counsel for the defense in these matters or even suggested the impropriety of their employment. I certainly would not do so. The _Iowa State Register_ has besought the public to suspend any judgment as to the guilt or innocence of Rowe, but to await the judicial investigation of the case. This is certainly commendable forbearance, but why the same spirit of fair play should not be manifested toward Mr. Kidd pending the judicial determination of his rights, I cannot understand. Does it make any difference because Mr. Runnells is defending in the one case and prosecuting in the other? Surely a man who has invested two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in manufacturing in our city, by the advice and encouragement of the _Register_, is entitled to as much consideration as the man who takes the life of a public officer whilst in the discharge of an official duty. The statement that the State Temperance Alliance has ever favored or endorsed the prosecution of Mr. Kidd is wholly without foundation. I have now answered very fully all of the inquiries in your letter save, perhaps, the last, and that is as to the relation and effect of the present suit to the cause of prohibition in Iowa. Permit me to say to you, and through you to the true friends of prohibition in this state, that we have now upon our statute books a most excellent law, that is every day gaining favor with the people, and that has survived all open warfare upon it. In my humble judgment the most we now have to fear is not the open opposition of its enemies, but the follies and indiscretions of its friends. As I have already conclusively shown in this communication, we procured the enactment of this law by assuring the people of this state that we did not intend to interfere with the manufacture of alcohol or intoxicating liquors for medicinal or mechanical purposes, nor as an article of commerce for export. The question is, have we anything to gain by duplicity and insincerity, and by now claiming for this law what we did not claim for it when we procured its enactment by the general assembly? Above all things, have we, as prohibitionists, anything to gain by entering into an alliance with the distillers of other states who are making war upon a productive industry in our own state, for the sole purpose of promoting their own pecuniary interests in destroying competition in their business? Have we anything to gain by turning aside from the great work that we have undertaken of destroying the saloon as a place of resort where our young men are taught the habit of intoxication, and engaging in the Utopian scheme of regulating the supply of alcohol in the markets of the world, the use of which it is impossible for us to control after it passes beyond the jurisdiction of our laws? There is another very grave and important question that the true friends of prohibition in Iowa should stop to consider. The courts of the United States have more than intimated that if the prohibitory law of Iowa does in fact destroy the value of property built for a use which was lawful at the time of its erection, that such a law is a violation of the constitution of the United States, unless it also makes provision for compensation to the owner. This International Distillery was built and in full operation before the amendment of 1884 was enacted. By virtue of its provisions a limitation only, in my humble judgment, was placed upon the uses for which alcohol might be sold within the state. The answer to the position that our law is unconstitutional because it affects the value of this property is, that it does not prevent the manufacture of alcohol for export or for sale within the state for lawful purposes. But if we propose to destroy the value of this property by this new interpretation of our statute, and say that it is our purpose and intent to prevent its use for the manufacture of alcohol for export, then may we not seriously apprehend that our law will be held unconstitutional, and may we not, in attempting too much, lose all? The fable of the dog crossing the log over the stream, that dropped the meat from his mouth in order that he might grasp the shadow, I would recommend to the careful study and perusal of some of our pretended friends. But there is still another political phase of this question that we ought to carefully consider. Heretofore we have put the opponents of this law upon the necessity of defending the saloon as an institution; we have made the suppression of these places of resort the war-cry of our campaign. Is it the part of wisdom to change this issue and assume the affirmative of the proposition that the good order and peace of society requires that we should ship our corn to Peoria to be manufactured into alcohol rather than have it manufactured in our own state, either for medicinal or mechanical purposes or for export? For one I fail to see any wisdom in such a proceeding. I am not prepared to join in or acquiesce in such a folly. In accepting a retainer from Mr. Kidd in the case now pending in the supreme court I did so because it was my plain duty, as a lawyer, to defend the legal rights as I believe them to be, of a man whose property was unjustly and illegally assailed. I was not employed in the case until after Judge Conrad's decision. That the temperance people of Iowa will find any fault with me for presenting to the supreme court the question of law involved in this appeal I cannot well believe. How will these questions be answered? _First._ Do they ask or desire that the property of any citizen shall be destroyed and condemned without a fair and full trial before the appellate court? _Second._ Does not a fair trial also involve the right of the citizen to have the aid of a counsel? _Third._ If the defendant is to have the aid of counsel, can my employment be any more objectionable than the employment of one who is an enemy of the law? _Fourth._ Is it not true that the view of the statute that I propose to present to the court, is the view that we nearly all _pretended_ to have when we procured the passage of the law? The decision of Judge Conrad, though made no doubt with the utmost sincerity and good faith on his part, I regard as a mistake, and an unfortunate one for the cause of prohibition. In the interview published by the _Register_ I said that neither the decisions of courts nor the conduct of lawyers or newspapers would defeat the ultimate triumph of prohibition. I still have faith in that proposition. If I have erred, or if the courts shall decide too much or too little, yet legal prohibition as a principle is right, and I believe will ultimately triumph. I do not believe the present prosecution of Mr. Kidd is justified by the law or the facts, and injustice and illegal prosecutions are not in my judgment the means of success in a good cause. Whatever personal malice may originate of misrepresentation or abuse of me in this matter, gives me no concern. I am used to this kind of thing and have never turned aside from my professional duty because of attempted newspaper intimidations. I am now in the thirty-sixth year of my practice in Iowa, and can afford, I think, to perform a plain professional duty. Asking pardon for the extent of this communication, which I have necessarily made somewhat in detail in order that your questions might be fully answered, I remain as I have ever been, an earnest friend and co-worker in the cause of prohibition, and Most truly your humble servant, C. C. NOURSE The case of Pearson & Loughran against the International Distillery and J. S. Kidd was submitted to the supreme court upon oral and printed argument at the June term, 1887. The republican state convention that was to nominate a supreme judge met at Des Moines, August 24th of that year. The supreme court at that time consisted of W. H. Seevers, Joseph Reed, Jos. M. Beck, James H. Rothrock, and Austin Adams. The latter named judge's term expired the first of January, 1888, and either his renomination or the nomination of some one in lieu of him came before the republican convention to be held in August. J. S. Clarkson, the editor of the _Register_, and Mr. John Runnells, Esquire, the attorney of record nominally of Pearson and Loughran, but in fact acting for the whisky trust; to-wit, the Western Export Association, secured their nomination as delegates to the republican state convention. During the sitting of the court and before any opinion was announced it was well understood in the community that Judges Seevers and Reed had written an opinion reversing the decision of Judge Conrad, and that Judges Beck and Rothrock had written an opinion affirming the case, and that the fifth judge; to-wit, Judge Adams, had not yet officially concurred in either opinion and that the result of the case would rest with Judge Adams as he might concur with one or the other of these opinions. J. S. Clarkson and Mr. John Runnells, just prior to the meeting of the state convention, asked for a private interview with Judge Adams, which was accorded them. Just what was said or done in that interview and what subjects were discussed between these gentlemen and Judge Adams I do not know. It is possible they talked about the weather and that the question of the renomination of Judge Adams, and his views and opinions or inclinations with reference to the distillery, may not have been mentioned between them. Very considerable opposition to Judge Adams's renomination had developed throughout the state, principally upon the ground of his alleged favoritism to the railroad interests, and his renomination was in great doubt; indeed, when the convention met Judge Adams failed to get the nomination, and his friends, Clarkson and Runnells, only succeeded in controlling thirteen votes in his favor in the Polk county delegation. After the convention and the defeat of Judge Adams, Mr. Clarkson wrote a very mournful howl over Judge Adams's defeat, exceedingly regretting the result. Still there was no opinion filed in the distillery case until the night of the 10th day of September following, when Judge Adams's name appears as concurring in the opinion written by Judge Beck. These two opinions are very remarkable. The opinion written by Judge Beck and concurred in by Rothrock and Adams assumes the extraordinary position that inasmuch as the law in expressed terms permitted the manufacture of alcohol within the state for medicinal, mechanical, and sacramental purposes, and did not in terms provide for the manufacture within the state for export, therefore it was prohibited by the law. The opinion of the minority of the court written by Judge Seevers, and concurred in by Judge Reed, assumes the position that inasmuch as the manufacture for the purpose of export was not prohibited, therefore, it was lawful. The opinion of the majority of the court, it was claimed, was contrary to the language and decision of our supreme court in the cases theretofore decided by the court in Niles v. Fries, 35 Iowa, 41, and Becker v. Betten, 39 Iowa, 668. In the former case in 35 Iowa, Judge Beck himself in delivering the opinion of the court uses the following language: "Intoxicating liquors in the possession of a citizen who holds them for the purpose of selling them lawfully, _within the state_, or for transporting them without the state for lawful traffic, are not, under the statute, subject to seizure." Judge Beck gets rid of the force and effect of his prior decision by saying that his language was "obiter dicta." When, however, the opinion comes to wrestle with the question as to confining the police power of the state, to matters that concern the good order of society and the health of the people of the state, but did not extend to the inhabitants of the other states of the Union, Judge Beck gets rid of this suggestion by claiming that there is a sort of comity between the states by which the legislature of one state ought to consider the well being and happiness of the people of the other states. This suggestion is rather fanciful than otherwise, particularly as applied to this case, for that the other states, particularly New York to which this alcohol was exported, have never undertaken to control either the manufacture, sale, or use of alcoholic spirits. In the interpretation of all statutes and in case of doubt it is a well recognized rule of interpretation that the court must consider what evil it was existing prior to the enactment of the statute that the statute was intended to correct or remedy. The idea that the people of Iowa were seized with a desire to limit the manufacture of alcohol in order to prevent it being taken to New York was simply Utopian and had no real existence. The real parties that were attempting to limit the manufacture of alcohol in Iowa for export was the whisky trust that desired to keep up the price of the article in the New York market, and this fact was well known to the supreme court and to the three judges that concurred in the opinion of the majority. Judge Beck's opinion, aside from the question of law involved, was a very excellent temperance speech against the use of alcohol as a beverage, but had no relation whatever to the case. I write thus freely upon this subject for the reason that Mr. Kauffman and myself had given a written opinion as to the reasonable construction of this law, relying upon the former decisions of our own supreme court and the language of Judge Beck himself. Mr. Kidd had made his investment in good faith in a manufacturing industry, manufacturing an article that was recognized as useful for many purposes, both as a medicine and for mechanical purposes, and there was nothing in the article itself to determine the use for which it was intended when it was manufactured. Whilst it might be used for the purpose of making a beverage destructive to human life and happiness, yet, so far as the law was concerned, it was only by restricting the sale of it for the destructive uses to which it might be applied that any remedy could be made effectual. The effect of this decision politically, as a means of destroying the faith of the people in a law that the legislature had wisely passed, was soon made manifest. There was at this time in the city of Des Moines a young lawyer, then attorney for the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad Company, ambitious for political preferment, by the name of A. B. Cummins. His partner in business was Mr. Carroll Wright, the son of ex-Chief Justice Wright who was attorney for Koehler & Lange in securing the opinion of the supreme court that destroyed legally the constitutional amendment. A meeting of anti-prohibition republicans was called and held at the city council chamber in the city of Des Moines about August 25, 1887, in which certain resolutions were adopted denouncing the prohibitory law and favoring local option and licensing of the sale of intoxicating liquors. The resolutions of that convention were signed by ninety-two nominal republicans, and they nominated as their candidates for the legislature A. B. Cummins and Adam Baker. Mr. Cummins accepted the nomination in a letter dated August 25, 1887, writing a letter joining in the denunciations against the prohibitory law of Iowa and the fraudulent practices of the constables who had taken advantage of the law to make profit to their own use. In addition to this work of the enemies of prohibition in Iowa, performed as its pretended friends and advocates, there were several other causes at work to weaken the confidence of the people in the statute. Two constables of the city of Des Moines set about to make money out of the enforcement of the law. They entered into a conspiracy with the persons who were selling intoxicating liquors, inducing them to put one or two bottles of liquor in a convenient place in their establishments, and then filing information under the law against the place, procuring a search warrant, searching the place and finding these few bottles, prosecuting and destroying the two bottles, no one appearing to claim the same, and then having the costs of the proceedings all taxed up against the county. These bills ran up to hundreds of dollars, and the enemies of the law were loud in their denunciations of the statute, but had little to say against the criminal practices of those whose duty it was to observe and enforce the law. Mr. Cummins made a vigorous canvass of the county, receiving in addition to the nomination of these so-called republicans, the nomination of the democratic convention, and by the aid of the democratic party and the whisky interests of the county he succeeded in being elected a member of the next general assembly under his oft-repeated pledge during the canvass to secure if possible the repeal of the prohibitory law, and the enactment of the license law. With all these influences, however, operating against the law, the next general assembly made no serious attempt to repeal the act. By an act approved January 29, 1857, the legislature had attempted to establish what was known as local option in Iowa. The act of 1857 provided for the license and sale of intoxicating liquors in any county of the state where the people by majority vote of the electors adopted the same, and by such adoption that the provisions of the act of 1854 would stand repealed as to that county. Our supreme court held this act of 1857 to be unconstitutional for the reason that our constitution required that all laws should be of uniform operation, and upon this subject of uniformity the court uses the following language: The sixth section of the bill of rights declares, that "all acts of a general nature shall have a uniform operation." Constitution, Article I. Recognizing as we do the distinction between laws of a general nature and those of a special or local character, we understand by the "operation" of a law is meant its practical working and effect. It is not, in our opinion, a sufficient compliance with the requirements of the constitution, that under the provisions of the act of the 29th of January, 1857, the question of licensing the sale of spirituous liquors is to be submitted to the vote of the qualified electors of all the counties of the state. Something more is contemplated by the constitution, in the words "uniform operation." We must look further, and to the effect of such submission to the vote of the people, and to the consequences to result from the adoption of the law. The prohibitory liquor law is a law of a general nature, and its operation must be uniform throughout the state. Can we say that such is the case, if it remains in full force in one county, while it is repealed in others by a vote of the people, and a license law adopted in its stead? And is the act of 1857, if the effect of it is to bring about this want of uniformity in the operation of a law of a general nature, to be deemed constitutional and valid? We think not. The vote authorized to be taken upon the adoption of the act, while it is objectionable in a constitutional point of view, as transferring the law-making powers from the legislature to the people, is further objectionable in view of the possible, not to say the probable, result of such vote. We cannot undertake to determine, nor can it, under any circumstances, be foreseen, that the result of the vote will be uniform in all the counties of the state, either in favor of license or against it. In some of the counties the vote may not be taken; in others, the majority may be against license; while in others, the majority may be in its favor. Unanimity of sentiment, either one way or the other, can hardly be reckoned upon. These views, we think, add weight to the argument against the constitutionality of submitting the act to a vote of the people. We do not, however, base wholly upon them our conclusion against the validity of the act in question, nor upon the fact that the result of the vote upon the question of adopting it may not be uniform throughout the state. Upon this latter branch of the subject, the members of the court are not unanimous in opinion. The majority of the court are of the opinion, that while the act must without doubt be deemed to be a law of a general nature, it is liable to objection, as prescribing no uniform rule of civil conduct to the people of the state, and as not providing of itself for its uniform operation. The legislative power must command. It must not leave to the people the choice to obey or not to obey its requirements. It is not a law enacted according to the requirements of the constitution, if there is left to the action and choice of the people upon whom it is to operate the determination of a question which may result in a want of uniformity in the operation of a law of a general nature. I shall take occasion to refer to this decision of the supreme court hereafter when I come to notice the passage by the legislature of the miserable subterfuge now known as the "mulct law." CHAPTER X REGULATION OF FREIGHT AND PASSENGER TARIFFS Leaving the subject of temperance and prohibition for the present, the next important question of a public nature in which I became interested professionally was the question of the regulation of freight and passenger tariffs by the general assembly of the state. The general assembly of 1888 enacted a law providing for the election of three Railroad Commissioners, and gave them authority to prepare schedules of rates that might be charged by the railroads of the state for the transportation of freight and passengers. [Illustration: _Charles Clinton Nourse_ From Photograph by Pearson. Des Moines] Under this statute the people elected as Commissioners Frank T. Campbell, Peter A. Dey, and Spencer Smith. In pursuance of the authority of the statute these Commissioners proceeded to formulate schedules of rates to be charged by the several railroads of the state. The law required the Commissioners to publish for three successive weeks in certain newspapers the date at which these rates should take effect. Before the third publication was made the attorneys of the Northwestern Railroad Company telegraphed to the Railroad Commissioners requesting a change of the date of the taking effect of their proposed schedule of rates, and received from the secretary of the board, under the instructions of Mr. Dey, an answer that the time of the taking effect would be changed accordingly. A new advertisement was prepared and published, but before the three insertions were completed three of the principal railroad companies operating in the state; to-wit, the Northwestern, Chicago, Burlington & Quincy, and the Milwaukee & St. Paul filed their petitions with the circuit court of the United States for an injunction against the further publication of the notice, on the ground that the rates fixed by the Railroad Commissioners were not _compensatory_. The hearing of this application was had before Justice Brewer at his residence in Leavenworth, Kansas. I was employed by the Railroad Commissioners to appear in their behalf, and Mr. James T. Lain, of Davenport, was employed by certain shippers of that place to appear with me in the case. We argued the case before Justice Brewer, and he granted the injunction on the 28th of July, 1888. This injunction in large part was based upon the evidence of the complainants' general manager to the effect that the Commissioners had adopted a classification known as the western classification, which, as compared with the classification known as the Illinois classification made a difference against the railroads of fifty per cent. Subsequent to the granting of these injunctions, upon complaint of certain shippers the Railroad Commissioners, after a hearing before them, proceeded to formulate new schedules, and in pursuance of what appeared to be the principal objection at the former hearing they adopted a classification more favorable to the railroad companies known as the Illinois classification. Immediately upon this action of the Railroad Commissioners the railroad companies filed a supplemental bill asking a further injunction to restrain the Railroad Commissioners from putting into effect these new rates with the new classification. Mr. Campbell of the Railroad Commissioners immediately waited on me asking my further appearance in the cause to argue the question of a further injunction as against their new schedules and classification. He expressed a doubt as to whether or not it was worth our efforts to defeat this new application as he was disposed to think that Judge Brewer would grant whatever the railroad companies might ask in this behalf. I told him that he had a duty to perform as a public officer, in my opinion, and if the Commissioners did their duty in making the proper resistance to this new application, the responsibility would rest with Judge Brewer if he failed in his duty. We accordingly made the necessary preparation for a hearing, which was finally had at St. Paul, Minnesota. In the argument of this case the attorneys for the three railroads applying for the injunction made a very formidable array of distinguished counsel embracing the ablest lawyers of Chicago and Milwaukee. A. J. Baker was then Attorney General of the state of Iowa and nominally appeared with me for the Commissioners, but gave me no assistance whatever. We had for an audience in the argument of the case many leading men of Minnesota, members of the State Grange of that state, which association was then in session at St. Paul. I took into the court-room a blackboard that I extemporized for the occasion and taking several copies of the official reports of the railroads in question, I put one copy in the hands of Justice Brewer, holding another copy in my hand and putting the figures upon the blackboard, showing the earnings of these railroads and what they were pleased to call their fixed charges, and demonstrating beyond question that the complaints made of the proposed railroad rates were without foundation. The same person who had made an affidavit in regard to the difference between the Illinois and the western classification had made a new affidavit stating that there was an error in his former computation. I criticised with some severity the reliability of the affidavits in which mistakes occurred according to the convenience and exigencies of this litigation. I had not much confidence in the result, however, but I felt quite complimented when a number of the leading men of the Minnesota Grange, who were present at the argument, made me a complimentary visit at the hotel that evening. The attorney for the railroad company who was expected to make the closing argument in the case complained that he did not feel very well and only spoke about fifteen or twenty minutes in a general way, without going into the facts or figures in the case. My supposed assistant, the Attorney General of the state of Iowa, took no part in the argument, and on my way home that night I learned that he had been in conference with Mr. Stickney of the Chicago Great Western Railroad Company, and had made an arrangement with that gentleman for employment as attorney for that corporation, to take effect at the close of his then official term which was to occur in a few months. On the 2nd day of the ensuing February, 1889, Justice Brewer filed in the circuit court his opinion refusing the injunction on the supplemental bill and entering an order dissolving the injunctions theretofore granted, at the cost of the complainants. The railroad companies made no further fight against the action of the Railroad Commissioners but acquiesced therein, and found the earnings of their several roads "compensatory." Concurrent with this proceeding on the part of the Northwestern Railroad Company and the Chicago, Burlington & Quincy, and Milwaukee & St. Paul, the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railroad Company and the Burlington, Cedar Rapids & Northern applied to and obtained from Judge Fairall, of Iowa City, district judge of Johnson county, an injunction against the Railroad Commissioners to the same effect as that issued by Justice Brewer. I appeared with Mr. Lain before the district court and argued a motion to dissolve this injunction before Judge Fairall, which was refused, and from his order refusing to dissolve the injunction we at once took an appeal to the supreme court of Iowa. This appeal was heard and submitted to the supreme court by both printed and oral argument, but after the action of Justice Brewer upon the supplemental bill in the federal court, the attorneys for the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railroad Company and the Burlington, Cedar Rapids & Northern dismissed their suit in the district court of Johnson county, and then applied to the supreme court for an order dismissing the appeal in that court. We resisted this application, but the court held that as the original suit was dismissed the injunction itself necessarily was dissolved, and as the appeal was only from an interlocutory order, the court had no occasion to deliver an opinion upon the merits of the controversy. The opinion of the court permitting these parties to dismiss their suit in this manner will be found in 76th Iowa, 278. Mr. A. B. Cummins, since Governor of the state of Iowa, has lately been posing as the original friend of the people in this fight against railroad injustice. It would be well to state here that I do not know when he became a convert to the importance of regulating the action of railroads in justice to the people, but as the foregoing was the first great contest we had in Iowa on this subject, I give here a speech delivered by that gentleman as late as December 22, 1891, at a banquet of the Railroad Employees' Club, as follows: It is the railroad, it is the spirit that has moved and stimulated that property which has made it possible to people in the valley of the Mississippi, which has made it possible to create within the limits of the United States a greater wealth than has any other nation on the face of the earth. I speak of the transportation industry as limited to railways, and so limited, it is instructive to reflect that the railways of the earth are now of the value of something near $33,000,000,000, an appalling sum that no human mind can appreciate, save when compared with some other species of property. The railways of the earth, without reckoning either "wind or water," are equal to one-tenth of all the property of the world. The railways represent substantially one-third of all the invested capital of mankind; and if all the currency of the civilized world and its gold and all its silver and its currency in paper; all its precious stones, its diamonds and rubies were heaped together in such places as would contain them, they would still represent less than one-half of the railway property of the world. The comparisons indicate in what a stupendous enterprise you are now engaged. I have no disposition, whatever, to convert a single sentiment suggested by my brother Wallace, I do not recognize a conflict between the farmers of the nation or the state of Iowa and the railways. No fair man ought to recognize any such conflict, but THAT THE STATE OF IOWA OR THAT HER ORGANIZED TRIBUNALS HAVE DONE INJUSTICE TO THE RAILWAYS AND THROUGH THEM TO THE RAILWAY EMPLOYEES, NO FAIR MINDED MAN CAN DISPUTE. These systems grew up; they most naturally fall into the hands best adapted to organize and handle them, and I would be the last man in the world to claim that, as they grew up, as they were systemized and organized, that wrong was not done here or wrong was not done there. I know too well that there were grievous complaints justly made against the management of railways not only in this state, but in many others. But I beg the people of Iowa to remember, and the railway employees to remember that, although railway managers and railway presidents may sometimes be unjust, that affords no excuse whatever for the sovereign power of the state of Iowa in being unjust. The wrongs of capital produce, it is said, the anarchist--so it is with respect to the wrongs perpetrated by the railway companies, the railway organizations. They created a prejudice which, in its impetus, has carried the attack made upon the railway property far beyond what is justified by the sober second thought and judgment of those who instituted it, and far beyond the limits which the fair-minded people of Iowa now justify. The constitution of the United States in express terms gives to the congress of the United States the power to regulate commerce between the states and with foreign nations. In pursuance of this power and duty imposed by the constitution, the congress of the United States in February, 1887, enacted a statute defining the duties and obligations of common carriers engaged in the transportation of freight and passengers between the states, and by express terms gave to the people a right of action in the federal courts against any railroad company violating its duty as defined by the act. This right of action was by civil suit for such damages as inured to the party by reason of a wrongful act of a common carrier. The Chicago & Northwestern Railroad Company had a main line of road extending from Chicago, in the state of Illinois, located through the state of Iowa to Council Bluffs on the Missouri river. From the main line of this road at Carroll, in Carroll county, this company had constructed a number of branches running northwest from that point, known as the Sac City Branch and the Sioux City and Mapleton Branch. During the year 1890 we brought a number of suits against the Chicago & Northwestern Railroad Company for unjust discrimination and overcharge for shipments of corn and oats from various points on these branch roads to Chicago, and also a number of suits for shipments made at Carroll and points west on the main line of its road. The cases for shipments on the branch lines of its road were settled by the company, and we collected for our clients about $75,000. Suits for shipments on the main line of its road were contested by the railroad company. We tried two of these cases before the United States circuit court at Des Moines, Judge Shiras presiding, and obtained verdicts and judgments in the causes. The railroad company took a writ of error to the United States court of appeals, and these causes were submitted to that court upon both oral and printed arguments at the May term, 1892, of that court, sitting at St. Louis, Missouri. After the causes had been so submitted, Judge N. M. Hubbard who had made the argument in behalf of the railroad company, left St. Louis and went to Chicago for consultation with the general solicitor of that road, Mr. Goudy. After a few days, the court of appeals still being in session at St. Louis, Judge Hubbard appeared before the court, without any notice to me, and had the order submitting the causes set aside and dismissed his appeal or writ of error. After a few weeks had elapsed he sued out another writ of error in the same cases to the United States court of appeals, which, according to the arrangements for the sitting of that court, would be held at St. Paul in the state of Minnesota, and Justice Brewer of the supreme court of the United States would be in attendance as the presiding judge of that court. It would be too long and too tedious a story to enter into particulars in regard to these suits, and the questions of fact and law involved in them. The unusual and unwarranted conduct of the attorneys for the Northwestern road in getting these cases before Justice Brewer for his decision and determination was by no means a compliment to the judge for whom they manifested such a strong partiality. Neither would I indulge in any surmise as to the grounds for their partiality. It is sufficient to say they were not disappointed in the result and that Judge Brewer reversed both of these judgments. I afterward determined if possible to obtain the opinion of the supreme court of the United States upon the questions of law involved in these cases. I accordingly brought another suit for another client; to-wit, one E. M. Parsons, in a case involving an amount sufficient to entitle me to an appeal directly to the supreme court of the United States, having previously attempted to get the supreme court of the United States to review the decision of Justice Brewer in the former cases upon writs of certiorari, the same being denied by the supreme court. Judge Shiras, presiding in the circuit court at Des Moines, in view of the action of the circuit court of appeals in the other cases, sustained a demurrer pro forma to my amended petition filed in the Parsons case, and it was upon demurrer admitting the averments and allegations in this petition that the case was heard before the supreme court of the United States. Justice Brewer delivered the opinion in the Parsons case in which he held that the statements of the petition did not entitle the plaintiff to recovery. The opinion discloses the fact that Judge Brewer was somewhat offended at my attempt to have the supreme court pass upon the questions of law involved in the cases that he had disposed of as the presiding judge in the court or appeals. I had supposed that a judge of the supreme court of the United States would regard it rather as a compliment than otherwise to his sense of fairness to believe that he was capable of impartially and without prejudice, sitting with his brother judges, to review one of his own decisions, but the opinion shows plainly that I overestimated that distinguished jurist, and that he thought more of his infallibility than I did of his impartiality. This opinion of the court will be found in the case of Parsons vs. The Chicago & Northwestern Railroad Company in volume 167, _United States Reports_, 324. The court in this opinion asserts the very extraordinary position that the Interstate Commerce Law in providing a remedy whereby a shipper of grain might recover his actual damages for a refusal of the railroad company to comply with the law which was enacted for his protection, was in the nature of a penal statute, and that the petition of the plaintiff in such a case must expressly aver and negative the existence of any possible excuse for the wrong committed by the railroad company. One great benefit to the public of these suits against the Chicago & Northwestern Railroad Company was to arouse public attention to the necessity of further legislation by congress in order to carry out the design of the original act for the protection of the public. Congress had already by amendment to the act provided for penalties against any parties violating its provisions, but the suits that I brought were simply for actual damages and injuries, and not for any penalty whatever under the law. The penal clause in the act as amended March 2, 1889, reads as follows: "That any common carrier subject to the provisions of this act, or, wherever such common carrier is a corporation, any director or other officer thereof, or any receiver, trustee, lessee, agent, or person, acting for or employed by such corporation, who, alone or with any other corporation, company, person, or party, shall willfully do or cause to be done, or shall willfully suffer or permit to be done, any act, matter, or thing in this act prohibited or declared to be unlawful, or who shall aid or abet therein, or shall willfully omit or fail to do any act, matter, or thing in this act required to be done, or shall cause or willfully suffer or permit any act, matter or thing so directed or required by this act to be done not to be so done, or shall aid or abet in such omission or failure, or shall be guilty of any infraction of this act, or shall aid or abet therein, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and shall, upon conviction thereof in any district court of the United States within the jurisdiction of which such offense was committed, be subject to a fine of not to exceed five thousand dollars for each offense: Provided, that if the offense for which any person shall be convicted as aforesaid shall be an unlawful discrimination in rates, fares, charges, for transportation of passengers or property, such person shall, in addition to the fine herein provided for, be liable to imprisonment in the penitentiary for a term of not exceeding two years, or both such fine and imprisonment, in the discretion of the court." The charge of Judge Shiras to the jury in the two cases tried before the United States circuit court, before referred to, will be found in full in volume 48 of the _Federal Reporter_, commencing on page 50, and the opinion of Justice Brewer, presiding in the circuit court of appeals, before referred to, in which he reverses these judgments, will be found in the 10 U.S. court of appeals on page 430. It may be interesting to any law student and to anyone who desires to determine where right and justice should have prevailed, to compare the charge of Judge Shiras to the jury and the principles of law recognized by Judge Shiras, with the opinion of Justice Brewer. It is not within my purpose to re-argue any of my causes in this paper. It is sufficient to say that the supreme court held the provisions of the inter-state commerce law, that gave to shippers a remedy for unjust discrimination by a civil suit for damages, to be a penal statute upon the ground that if the railroad company discriminated by charging one person ten dollars for a particular service and charged another person twenty dollars for a like service, then a suit to recover back the ten dollars thus unjustly demanded and received by the railroad company was in the nature of a statute to recover a penalty. Upon this mode of reasoning a suit against any person or corporation who unjustly and unlawfully gets possession of my money, for the purpose of recovering back what they illegally obtained, would come under the head of a suit to recover a penalty. The trouble with the supreme court of the United States has been that they have uniformly regarded this legislation by congress to protect the people against unjust charges and discriminations as intended to punish the railroad companies of the country, and the court has felt called upon to protect the railroads from legislation interfering with their absolute control over their freight and passenger traffic. The court has assumed the role of a conservative element in the government, intended for the protection of railroad property against the legislative power of the country. CHAPTER XI DES MOINES RIVER LAND TITLES The next important litigation in which I was engaged during my professional career, of public interest, was my engagement by Roswell S. Burrows, one of the original stockholders of the Des Moines Navigation Company, in suits growing out of his ownership of certain lands belonging to the Des Moines river grants, so-called. I will not undertake in this paper to go into a detailed history of the Des Moines river titles, so-called. Colonel C. H. Gatch some years ago prepared for publication a series of articles that were published in the _Annals of Iowa_, Volume I, that gives a detailed account and history of the land grant by congress, and the various decisions of the United States land department construing the original grant of 1846, and also the decision of the supreme court of the United States in the numerous cases from time to time decided by that court. I deem this the most correct and just account of this important litigation that has ever been given to the public. Honorable B. F. Gue also published in his _History of Iowa_ what purports to be an account of the various decisions and rulings of the land department and of the actions of the courts with reference to these lands. A part of his history is correct, but in treating of the rights of certain of the settlers he has done great injustice to the stockholders of the Des Moines Navigation Company who furnished the money to the company for the purchase of these lands. The first unwarranted statement contained in Mr. Gue's history is that persons who brought and maintained suits for possession of their lands against certain settlers were mere speculators who had bought a doubtful title to these lands for a song. The contract between the state of Iowa and the Des Moines Navigation Company, whereby that company became interested in certain lands of this grant, was made in 1853, after the state had disposed of the larger part of the lands lying below the Raccoon fork of the Des Moines river, and was made at a time when there was no question as to the right of the state to the lands above the Raccoon fork to the northern boundary of the state. Under this contract the company paid to the state, upon the execution of the agreement, over $60,000 in cash for the purpose of enabling the state to pay the indebtedness that had been incurred by the board of public works up to that time. The contract provided that the company should continue the work under supervision of a state engineer and commissioner, chosen by the state of Iowa, and should advance the money to pay, as the work progressed, a specific amount per cubic foot for stone work, excavation, timbers, and other material furnished in the construction of the locks and dams. Estimates were to be made from time to time by the engineer of the work of the amount expended by the company at the prices named in the contract, and as fast as $30,000 was so expended the company was to receive lands at $1.25 per acre. At the time this contract was made it had been found impossible to sell and dispose of the lands by the state commissioners rapidly enough to get money to pay the contractors who theretofore had been doing the work under contracts with the commissioners. The only difference between the Des Moines Navigation Company and the contractors engaged in this work was that the former now agreed to furnish money in advance to pay off the old unpaid obligations of the commissioners, and agreed to advance money as it was needed and take the lands in gross at $1.25 per acre as fast as each additional $30,000 were advanced and expended on the work. In the summer of 1857 the company made a demand on Mr. Manning, commissioner of the Des Moines River Improvement, to certify to them additional lands on certain estimates made by the engineer, which Mr. Manning refused. They accordingly brought suit against the commissioner asking of the court a writ of mandamus to compel him to certify the lands shown to be due them by the certificate of the engineer. I have already referred to this suit in the former part of this paper. I was employed by Mr. Manning and defended against it upon the ground chiefly that before the company could maintain suit for specific performance it was necessary for them to show that they had in all respects complied with their various contract obligations toward the state. The main provision of the contract that the commissioner claimed had not been complied with related to the progress of the work; that is to say, one-fourth of the entire contemplated improvement between the Raccoon fork of the Des Moines river and the Mississippi river had not been completed. The company, being defeated in this application for mandamus, ceased work upon the improvement, and in the winter of 1858 a settlement was made between the state and the company. This settlement was more especially brought about by those who had organized a railroad company for the purpose of building a railroad from Keokuk up the valley of the Des Moines river. This organization was known as the Keokuk, Fort Des Moines & Minnesota Railroad Company, and they desired a grant from the state of the remaining lands of the grant to aid them in the construction of their railroad. The basis of the settlement between the state and the Des Moines Navigation Company was simply that the company should receive a conveyance from the state for the lands that had been certified to the state under the grant up to that time, and that had not been heretofore disposed of by the state, or certified to the company, amounting to about 37,500 acres, and should pay to the state $20,000 in addition to the money already paid and expended on the improvement, and should surrender and cancel their contract and right to any further lands of the grant. (The terms of this settlement are contained in a joint resolution of the seventh general assembly, found on page 425 of the acts of that session.) At the time of this settlement there was no question by anyone as to the extent of the grant and the validity of the title of the state to the alternate sections five miles on either side of the river up to the northern boundary of the state. In pursuance of the settlement proposed by the joint resolution which was accepted by the company, Governor Lowe on May 3, 1858, executed fourteen deeds or patents to the Navigation Company, conveying by particular description the lands to which the company was entitled under the resolution of compromise; and on May 18, 1858, a general deed conveying the same and any previously omitted lands by general description. Another disturbing element in regard to the title to the lands arose under the grant of congress made in 1856 to the state of Iowa, to aid in the construction of certain lines of railroad crossing the state and having their initial point at the Mississippi river, and crossing the Des Moines river at various points between the Raccoon fork and the northern boundary of the state. These railroad companies raised the question as to the validity of the title of the Des Moines Navigation Company to the lands they had purchased from the state north of the Raccoon fork of the river. The Dubuque & Sioux City Railroad Company brought suit, or rather induced Litchfield to bring suit against them for lands lying within the line of their grant under act of 1856, or rather that would have been within their grant if not reserved from its operation or that had not been granted for the improvement of the Des Moines river. This suit was adroitly managed on the part of the railroad company so as to avoid testing any question of its title, and contained a stipulation that the company was in possession of the land under their grant and the court was only called upon to decide the extent of the grant under the act of 1846 to the state for the improvement of the river, and the supreme court of the United States decided that the act of 1846 did not grant to the state for the improvement of the river any lands north of the Raccoon fork. This decision was made at the December term, 1859, and is found reported in 23 Howard, S.C.U.S., page 66. The act of 1856, making the grant to the state for the purpose of aiding in the construction of these railroads, in express terms reserved from the operation of the grant any lands that had been theretofore reserved by any competent authority under any other grant of congress. The announcement of this decision created considerable excitement in the Des Moines valley, and the river lands above the Raccoon fork that had theretofore been deeded by the state to the Des Moines Navigation Company and had been by that company divided among its stockholders in consideration of the moneys that they had advanced to the company, and had been paid by the company to the state as before stated, were considered the lawful prey of every adventurer who could induce the local land offices to allow them to locate a land warrant upon any of these lands. Another class of persons, however, were deeply interested in the question of this title. Prior to the contract made with the Des Moines Navigation Company the state of Iowa had sold some fifty thousand acres or more of these lands located above the Raccoon fork of the river, and many of these lands were occupied by actual settlers who had made improvements thereon and had paid the state valuable considerations for their title. To avoid the hardships that must otherwise have resulted from the decision of the supreme court, congress on March 2, 1861, passed the following joint resolution: "Resolved, that all the title which the United States still retain in the tracts of land along the Des Moines river, above the mouth of the Raccoon fork thereof, which have been certified to said state improperly by the department of the interior as a part of the grant by act of congress approved August 8, 1846, and which are now held by bona fide purchasers under the state of Iowa, be, and the same is hereby relinquished to the state of Iowa." The congress of the United States further on the 12th of July, 1862, passed an act in express terms extending the grant to the northern boundary of the state, and providing that such lands "be held and applied in accordance with the provisions of the original grant, except that the consent of congress is hereby given to the application of a portion thereof to aid in the construction of the Keokuk, Fort Des Moines & Minnesota Railroad, in accordance with the provisions of the act of the general assembly of the state of Iowa, approved March 22, 1858." At the December term, 1866, the supreme court of the United States, in the case of Samuel Wolcott vs. The Des Moines Navigation Company, reported in 5 Wallace, page 681, made a further decision confirming the title of the Des Moines Navigation Company under the acts of congress of 1861-2, to the lands that had been deeded to them by the state of Iowa as before recited, and further deciding that the lands within the five mile limits of the Des Moines river had been reserved by competent authority for this work of internal improvement at the time of the passage of the railroad grant of 1856. Mr. Gue in his history of Iowa unfortunately attempts to disparage the title of the stockholders of the Des Moines Navigation Company by stating they were mere speculators who had purchased an impaired title, and were therefore entitled to no consideration. On the contrary, the men who received these deeds directly from the Des Moines Navigation Company were stockholders who had advanced their money in payment of their stock, which money had been paid over by that company directly to the state. Soon after the decision of the supreme court in the Litchfield case in 1859, a suit was brought in the circuit court of the United States for the southern district of Iowa, asking an injunction against the local United States land officers at Fort Dodge and at Des Moines, to prevent them from receiving and recognizing any location or purchase of these reserved lands. The reservation of the land affected not only the lands within the railroad grant, but affected the right of any person to locate upon or purchase these lands from the United States, as they were not lands subject to settlement or entry. Justice Miller heard this application for an injunction, and an argument was filed by the authorities in Washington claiming that the proper officers of the land department had the sole authority to determine the question as to whether or not these lands were subject to location and entry, and that the question of the effect of such location and entry could only be decided by the courts, after entries were made and patents granted; that if the lands were not legally subject to entry as to any person claiming them, the action of the land officers would be void, and a court, if called upon by the owner, could cancel any patent or other evidence of title illegally issued. Justice Miller, after the full argument of the case, sustained this view of the case and held that the only remedy for parties claiming these lands under the act of 1846, and the subsequent act of 1861-2, was to apply to the court for the cancellation of any titles wrongfully issued by the land department or by the President. In accordance with this view of the case a number of suits were brought by the grantees of the Des Moines Navigation Company, who received their titles from the company in consideration of the moneys they had advanced as stockholders, and the supreme court of the United States, upon appeal to that court, cancelled a number of entries and patents that had been wrongfully issued. An attempt was made to make a distinction between the Des Moines Navigation Company and individuals who had purchased the lands from the state of Iowa, and settled thereon. Mr. Gue in his history of Iowa claims that the act of congress of 1861 was only intended for the protection of those purchasers from the state who had actually settled upon their lands and made improvements thereon, and that congress in using the words "bona fide purchasers from the state of Iowa" did not include in those words citizens or residents of the state of New York who had bought their lands in good faith from the state of Iowa. The supreme court of the United States in the very purpose of its organization was intended by the constitution to organize a judicial body or tribunal before which all citizens of the United States should be equal before the law, without regard to the state in which they had their residence or location. There was no question about the fact that the Des Moines Navigation Company was a bona fide purchaser of these lands. At the time that they paid their money and took a conveyance from the state of Iowa, the stockholders of that company honestly believed they were getting a good and perfect title and were paying out their money for same in the utmost good faith. The statement of Mr. Gue in his history before referred to, that the persons who received deeds for these lands from the Des Moines Navigation Company were mere speculators, purchasing for a song a doubtful and disputed title, is wholly without foundation and fact, and the denunciation of the supreme court of the United States because the court made no distinction between bona fide purchasers because of their location or residence, very greatly mars the reliability and impartiality that ought to have been characteristic of this history of Iowa. Mr. Gue was a resident of Fort Dodge, where for years the atmosphere of that locality was permeated by the passion of men who had been disappointed in their attempt to secure a title to lands that they all knew before and at the time of the location and attempted entry on the same, had already been sold for a valuable consideration by the state of Iowa. The opinion of the supreme court, delivered by Justice Miller in the case of Williams vs. Baker, reported in 17 Wallace, 144, contains an accurate and clear exposition of this entire controversy, which fortunately was settled by the supreme court of the United States, and to which they have continuously and consistently adhered. Long after the diversion of the remaining lands of this grant to the Keokuk, Fort Des Moines & Minnesota Railroad Company, the Iowa Homestead Company, grantee of the Dubuque & Sioux City Railroad Company brought suit for a portion of these lands embraced in the river grant above the Raccoon fork, and attempted to disturb the title. In the meantime the Keokuk, Fort Des Moines & Minnesota Railroad Company had mortgaged these lands for the purpose of continuing their road from Des Moines to Fort Dodge. On the foreclosure of this mortgage these remaining lands were sold to a company known as the Des Moines & Fort Dodge Railroad Company, organized for the purpose of owning and operating that portion of the old Des Moines Valley road that had been constructed between Des Moines and Fort Dodge. On the foreclosure of this mortgage I had represented Martin Flynn and a number of the other contractors, for whom I had filed a mechanics' lien for work done and material furnished in the construction of the road north of Gowrie. I succeeded in obtaining a provision in the decree of foreclosure making these liens paramount to that of the mortgage, and when the road was purchased by the new organization called the Des Moines & Fort Dodge Railroad Company they were compelled to pay off Flynn and these other lien holders in order to secure their title. This new railroad organization elected Mr. Charles Whitehead, an attorney of New York City, its president, and I received from Mr. Whitehead a telegram asking if I could be retained as general attorney of their road. I replied that upon the receipt of a draft for five hundred dollars I would accept of the same as a general retainer. One object, I think, that the company had in desiring my services was to secure some one familiar with the question of the title of these Des Moines river lands that the new organization had bought in connection with this other part of the road. The last contest over the title was the case of the Iowa Homestead Company claiming the title under the railroad grant of 1856. It was the case of the Iowa Homestead vs. The Des Moines & Fort Dodge Railroad Company, reported in 17 Wallace, 84. Mr. Gue, in his history of Iowa, makes a special point as to the hardship visited on one of the settlers by the name of Crilley. I was attorney for Mr. Burrows in that case. Mr. Crilley first attempted to locate a warrant upon a tract of land near Fort Dodge prior to the decision of the supreme court of the United States in the Striker case. He was refused permission to make any such location or entry and was distinctly informed by the local land officers that the lands belonged to the Des Moines river grant. After the decision in the Striker case in 1859 and after the settlement between the state of Iowa and the Des Moines Navigation Company and the payment of the last $20,000 of the consideration, and after the execution of the deeds and patents by the state to the Des Moines Navigation Company, Crilley succeeded in inducing the local land officers to allow his location, and ultimately obtained a patent through their influence, signed by the President. The circuit court of the United States declared his patent void and decreed cancellation of the same. He took his appeal to the supreme court at Washington and that court affirmed the decree. The judges of the circuit court at Des Moines permitted Mr. Crilley, by his attorney, then to file a claim for his improvements under the occupying claimant law of Iowa. Commissioners were appointed and his improvements were valued at a very liberal amount, far in excess of their real value or cost. Mr. Burrows paid the money into court and Crilley received the same, but after he received pay for his improvements he still refused to vacate the land. A writ was issued to dispossess him, and upon the service of the writ by the United States marshal, Mr. Crilley presented a loaded revolver to the deputy marshal and threatened his life. The marshal thereupon returned to Des Moines and secured authority to arrest Mr. Crilley, which he did, and Mr. Crilley was actually detained in prison for several weeks and until he agreed peaceably to surrender possession of the land. This is the whole story of the inhumanity out of which Mr. Gue's history of Iowa makes a case of such extreme cruelty and hardship. That this controversy over the title of the Des Moines river grant was a most unfortunate one, both for those who purchased the lands from the state and those who attempted to purchase them from the general government after the state had sold them, there can be no question. It was also very detrimental to the settlement of that part of the state. The squatters or settlers made very indifferent improvements and very indifferent cultivation of the land, and seldom if ever paid any taxes. After the title of the Des Moines Navigation Company and its stockholders and grantees had become fully settled, the counties where these lands were located levied taxes upon the same, and suits were brought against the Des Moines Navigation Company and its grantees. The supreme court of Iowa held that from the date of the joint resolution of 1861 the title to these lands inured to and became perfect in those who had purchased and taken their deeds from the Des Moines Navigation Company, and held them liable for the taxes that had been assessed from the date of that joint resolution of 1861. I continued to act as attorney for the Des Moines & Fort Dodge Railroad Company for about ten years. I was not, however, employed upon a salary, but only after my general retainer charged that company from time to time for services actually rendered, and charged them as I did any other client. CHAPTER XII A. O. U. W. CONTROVERSY One other case of some notoriety and public interest in which I was engaged in the latter years of my practice was the controversy between the two branches of the Ancient Order of United Workmen. It seems that the Grand Lodge of this organization had adopted an amendment to their plan of organization by which in case of extraordinary loss and liability occurring in any locality, and within the jurisdiction of some subordinate state lodge, the members of lodges in other states might be assessed and required to contribute for the payment of such extraordinary losses. A portion of the members in the state of Iowa refused to recognize this requisition and seceded from the organization as a national body, and organized another state lodge by the same name, Ancient Order of United Workmen, and incorporated themselves under the general provisions of the law of Iowa for the organization of benevolent societies, repudiating any connection with the national lodge. Those who adhered to the national organization still continued, however, to do business by their old name and under their former organization as adherents of the national body. The new organization, relying upon their incorporation as giving them some special advantage, brought suit in the district court of Dubuque county for an injunction against this old organization adhering to the national body, and sought to perpetually enjoin them from the use of the name "Ancient Order of United Workmen," or the initials "A.O.U.W." Upon the trial of this case on demurrer in the district court in Dubuque, I sought to obtain a continuance of the hearing on the ground of my ill health, having been confined to my room and my bed for some three weeks. The judge of the district court granted a continuance only for a few days. I went to Dubuque, however, and made a three hours' argument in the case, sitting in my chair, not having strength to stand upon my feet. The court granted a perpetual injunction against my client. An appeal was taken immediately to the supreme court and an interlocutory order obtained staying the injunction until the case could be heard in that court. On the final hearing and trial the injunction was dissolved, and the right of my client to use and do business under the title of "Ancient Order of United Workmen" was successfully maintained. This decision is fully reported in supreme court reports, 96 Iowa, 592. CHAPTER XIII IMPORTANT EVENTS IN CAREER It will be necessary now to go back a few years in order to record certain events important in my personal career. In the summer of 1880 James A. Garfield received from the republican national convention at Chicago the nomination as candidate for President of the United States. At that time the states of Indiana and Ohio continued to hold their state elections early in the month of October, and the result of the elections in those two states in October had a most important and almost controlling influence upon the result of the presidential contest at the ensuing November election. Early in September of that year I received from the state central committee of the state of Indiana an invitation to accompany ex-Governor Kirkwood of Iowa in a canvassing tour of two weeks, which invitation I accepted. We had a very agreeable and enjoyable trip. Governor Kirkwood was a very companionable man and was received with much honor and enthusiasm, and our meetings were largely attended and were quite successful. Part of the time we did not speak together at the same meetings, but had separate appointments assigned us. At one point where there existed a considerable manufacturing industry, the local committee waited upon us at our hotel before the speaking, and suggested that they desired us to especially discuss the tariff question and its effect upon our American manufacturers. After the committee had retired Governor Kirkwood walked the floor of the room for a few minutes, and turning suddenly upon me he said, "Charlie, do you understand this tariff question?" I told him no, I knew very little about it. "Well," he said, "I was raised a democrat and am not much of a tariff man anyhow, and I want you to take up this tariff question if either of us must." I told him that I could talk about the general effect of protecting American labor and the duty of the American congress to so arrange the tariff upon imports as to relieve our people from competition with the low wages paid in Europe; that the American laborer must receive higher wages than the European laborer for he must educate his children and must enjoy better conditions in life, and as our free institutions were based upon the intelligence of the voter, we could not afford to allow the laboring man to occupy the position socially or politically of the European laborer; that I could talk along that line all they wanted, but when it came to discussing schedules or specific duties I should not venture upon any such discourse; in fact, I was satisfied that few people understood the subject sufficiently to discuss the detail of tariff duties with intelligence. I filled the bill accordingly, as Governor Kirkwood placed that part of the program in my charge, but he himself did not say "tariff" once. At Indianapolis we attended a grand rally at which Roscoe Conkling, of New York, was the principal orator of the day. The managers had arranged for a grand parade, and the Governor with myself and several other gentlemen were assigned to a carriage that was to take prominent part in the procession. Conkling had arrived, it seems, early in the day, and the procession was delayed for over an hour waiting for that distinguished gentleman to complete his toilet before making his appearance in public. The streets and the balcony of the hotel were lined with ladies in their holiday attire, and as the procession passed by we heard frequent inquiries from the finely dressed maidens as to which was Conkling, and when he was pointed out to them they were enthusiastic in their declarations that he was a handsome man. I was introduced to Mr. Conkling in the corridor of the hotel, after his speech, and was shocked and surprised at his want of courtesy and decent manners. He was there for the purpose of advocating the election of Mr. Garfield, and adding if possible enthusiasm to the occasion, and yet openly in the hearing of the crowd he was cursing the folly of the convention in nominating Mr. Garfield instead of renominating Grant for the third term. A more arrogant and conceited public man it has never been my misfortune to meet. An incident occurred the following Sunday morning more pleasant to record. I got up very early, and going down to the lower portico of the hotel I found a few persons astir. I felt somewhat lonesome and seeing a well dressed, intelligent looking colored man on the pavement, I entered into conversation with him in regard to the political situation, and asked him whether or not the colored men of the city would not all support Mr. Garfield, the republican nominee. To my surprise he said, "No, sah, some of them will vote the democratic ticket." I said to him, "How is it possible for a colored man to support the democratic ticket in view of the history of the past twenty-five years? The colored race have been emancipated and enfranchised and made equal before the law through the efforts of the republican party of the nation. How, then, can any of your people support the democratic party?" "Well, sah," said he, "in some respects a colored man is very much like a white man." Said I, "What do you mean by that?" "Well, sah," said he, "I'll tell you. Occasionally, sah, you will find a colored man that is a damn fool." I saw a twinkle in his eye and realized that he was intending his reply for a joke. I immediately offered him my hand and shook hands with him heartily, telling him that since there were so many white men of that kind I supposed it would be unreasonable not to expect occasionally a colored man that was a fool. Upon my return to Iowa after the October election in Indiana I made a speech in the opera house at Oskaloosa, Iowa, and the gallery was filled with colored men, many of them from What Cheer, a mining district near Oskaloosa. I related to them the particulars of my interview with the colored gentleman of Indianapolis. They enjoyed it hugely and gave me rounds of applause, and I told them I hoped that in some respects they would not be like the few that were back in Indiana. After the election of Mr. Garfield, Governor Kirkwood was appointed Secretary of the Interior, and as I had official business before the supreme court that summer I visited Washington City in company with my wife, and spent a pleasant two weeks admiring the wonders of the national capital. Bishop Andrews, of the Methodist Episcopal church, had been for a number of years a resident of Des Moines and our near neighbor on Fourth street, and in company with his excellent wife Mrs. Nourse had a very enjoyable time. Governor Kirkwood also arranged that we should attend a private reception of the President and his wife, and Mrs. Nourse enjoyed the privilege of quite a tete a tete with the President's lady, officially known as the first lady of the land. When my wife bid her good evening she shook hands with her and expressed the hope that she would be very happy in her new position. Mrs. Garfield was rather a sad faced person and responded in a tone almost prophetic, "I hope so. We do not know." Afterwards upon the assassination of Mr. Garfield I was called upon to take part in a meeting held in the Baptist church in Des Moines, commemorating the memory of that excellent man. I found in my wife's scrap book some years afterwards a newspaper clipping containing a report of the remarks I made on that occasion which I here insert: For the past five days our nation has been in mourning and the Christian civilization of the world has sympathized with us in our bereavement. By official proclamations, by public meetings and resolutions, by draping our homes and places of business and houses of worship with the emblems of mourning, we have sought to give expression to our sorrow and to testify our appreciation of our noble dead. Tomorrow the whole nation is to attend upon his burial and the day is set apart as sacred to his memory. And yet with all this we cannot restore the life that has been so wantonly destroyed. Death is inexorable, and we can do nothing for him who has gone out from the shores of time forever. But in a better sense of the word Garfield is not dead. So long as we cherish the manly virtues of which his life was the exponent, so long as we remember the trials and sacrifices of his boyhood, the labors and successes of his riper years, the heroism, faith, fidelity of his life, and the calm triumphant heroism of his death, so long will he live to us and to the nation, and so long may we be profited by his life. I can think of no better text this morning for profitable consideration than one of the many rich gems of thought he has left us out of the storehouse of this great heart and intellect. At the graves of the fallen heroes of the late war he expressed this sentiment, "I love to believe that no heroic sacrifice is ever lost, that the characters of men are molded and inspired by what their fathers have done, that treasured up in American souls are all the unconscious influences of the great deeds of the Anglo Saxon race, from Agincourt to Bunker Hill." In the oldest book of the Book of Books the patient man in his deep affliction asks the question, "If a man dies shall he live again?" This question refers primarily to man's immortality, but we may dwell upon it in its other meaning, this morning, as relating to the silent and unconscious power and influence of the life and example of the one whom we say is dead. And think what a treasure we have in the memory of this man. Others have challenged the admiration of the world because of their great abilities. Others have been brave in war and wise in counsel. Others have been heroes and statesmen, and we have honored them and done homage to their greatness, but this man was not only great and wise and brave, but a good, true and pure man also, and the nation loved him. We give honor to his greatness, we give the tribute of praise to his great abilities and his great achievements, but we bring tears and heart throbs to the tomb where manly virtue, purity, and faith are to be enshrined. How much there is in the life of this man that we would wish to bring into the everyday life of our homes. Here is the model of a life from which we would have our children mold their own future, no blemishes to record, nothing to apologize for, nothing to cover up--it stands out in its moral perfection and beauty--in its intellectual strength and greatness--in its religious faith and fervor, a fully developed manhood--a complete character--a perfect pattern. Do you want an inspiration for your child? Repeat to him the story of this man's youth, of his struggle with poverty and adversity, without influential friends or fortune. Do you want to teach the young men of the nation the value of sincerity, honesty, earnestness, and truthfulness in the affairs of life? Here is the demonstration and the proof that even in American politics and American statesmanship, dishonesty, deceit, and duplicity are not necessary to success. Do you want to rebuke the conceit of the would-be learned who teach our young men that the religious faith that their mothers taught them is somehow a reproach to their intellectual progress--we have here a man of the broadest culture, of the strongest intellectual grasp and development, whose religious faith was the very basis and strength of his greatness and intellectual power. CHAPTER XIV THE BROWN IMPEACHMENT CASE The discussion of law cases and the questions of fact and of law that they involved may be a little tedious to a non-professional reader, but they constituted so large a part in my life that it is impossible to give much of an account of myself and what I have been doing for so many years past, without at least a brief account of the nature of the suits in which I was engaged as counsel. Probably the most important case in which I was engaged during my professional career was the celebrated impeachment case against John L. Brown, Auditor of the state of Iowa. Mr. Brown was first elected to the office of Auditor of State in October, 1882, and took his office the following January. One of the important duties of this office was the duty of having the insurance companies, organized under the laws of Iowa and doing business in the state, examined from time to time to ascertain if they complied strictly with the law, and if their reports made to his office were just and true, and their business conducted in such a manner as to insure their solvency and ability to pay the losses of their policy holders. There had been in the state of Iowa for a number of years a number of failures of companies that were organized without capital and without experience or strict integrity upon the part of those who sought to insure the property of others, some of them having none of their own. I remember one insurance company organized in Des Moines by an enterprising young lawyer, without means, who obtained the names of a number of persons that he claimed had subscribed stock to his company. The law required twenty-five per cent of this stock to be paid up before the company was entitled to do business. The gentleman, of course, elected himself president of the company, and he drew his drafts upon the supposed subscribers to stock for the twenty-five per cent that the law required should be paid up, to constitute the capital of the company. He took these drafts to B. F. Allen, then a prominent banker in western Iowa and doing business in Des Moines, and deposited his drafts and obtained from Allen a certificate of deposit for so much money. This he exhibited to the Auditor of State, and upon the faith of this certificate of deposit obtained authority to transact business. His drafts were all dishonored so that he was proceeding to do business without any capital whatever, and actually issued some policies. It was only necessary to incur a loss to complete the bankruptcy of the concern. Of course the foregoing is an extreme case, but it illustrates how easily the law was evaded and how absolutely necessary it was to have a strict supervision of these companies that could incorporate themselves under the general insurance company laws of the state. Mr. Brown had been a soldier in the Civil War and had lost an arm in its service, was very upright, and a downright man, and did not depend upon his suavity of manner for his success in life. He was a man of quick temper and abrupt manners, but was sensitive of his honor and at all times conscious of his integrity of purpose. In pursuance of his official duty he felt the necessity of strict supervision and a thorough examination of the insurance companies of the state, that had sprung up in almost every important town and city in the state, and the officers and directors of the different companies were not paying much attention to the detail of the affairs of their companies and would generally entrust the business to the persons who had organized the company and become its president and secretary. In selecting a person who could make these examinations with fidelity and thoroughness he deemed it necessary to engage some one who was not a resident of the state and who would not probably be influenced by local or political consideration in the discharge of his duties. He employed as chief examiner of these companies a gentleman who resided in Chicago, and whose reputation was beyond question as an expert, by the name of H. S. Vail. This gentleman charged for his services twenty-five dollars a day for the time actually engaged, and in addition thereto some five to ten dollars for assistant accountants. The law provided that the expenses of these investigations should be approved by the Auditor, and upon his certificate the several companies examined were required to pay the bill. These examinations proved to be very expensive in some cases, and perhaps in a few cases an unnecessary burden and expense to the companies, but the real cause of complaint was that the expert found many irregularities, and without fear or favor, reported them in writing to the Auditor for his action. In one case the president of an insurance company had been electing his board of directors by stock issued to himself, upon which he had not paid a dollar into his treasury, and was paying himself out of the limited income of the company the handsome sum of ten thousand dollars a year as president, and his son-in-law three thousand dollars a year as attorney of the company. In a number of cases the president of the company was found to have issued to himself stock upon which he had not paid a dollar, and the Auditor required all of these and many other like delinquencies to be corrected. He was visited by the friends and attorneys of these officers who were thus disturbed in their operations, and the Auditor was not found to be a very complacent or accommodating individual, but on the contrary an outspoken, determined, and unyielding man in the discharge of what he conceived to be his duties. The last resource of these afflicted insurance officers was an appeal to Buren R. Sherman, then Governor of Iowa, formerly filling the office of Auditor of State and under whose administration these insurance men had been undisturbed. He found Mr. Brown equally obdurate and unwilling to palliate or in any way overlook the delinquencies of these insurance companies, but he determined to afford his friends some relief, and upon the re-election of Mr. Brown as Auditor of State in the fall of 1884, he sought an excuse for refusing to approve of the official bond that Mr. Brown presented to him and which was necessary to the qualification of the Auditor for his second term of office. The first pretense of Sherman for refusing to approve the Auditor's bond was that Mr. Brown had not complied with the law in making report to the Treasurer of State as the law required of the fees of his office. As it turned out in the evidence on the trial, and as Sherman well knew the fact to be, the fees of the office had been reported and accounted for as the statute required, save only that the aggregate amount of the fees as shown by the fee-book in the Auditor's office had been reported and accounted for at the end of each month, and the details specifying from what source each item was received was not copied from the fee-book in the Auditor's office and filed with the State Treasurer. In addition to this the Governor also obtained information from a discharged clerk in the Auditor's office that the clerks in the office frequently received compensation of small sums for giving information and collecting statistical matter at the request of individuals where no official duty was enjoined by law upon the Auditor or his assistants and no fee was prescribed. As no account was kept of these small sums of money and they were paid to the clerk who did the voluntary work for persons requesting it, no statement could be made of the amounts or dates, or the services rendered. In the meantime the controversy spread, the insurance companies through their officers and agents taking an active part as against Mr. Brown, and Mr. Sherman becoming more and more arrogant. He finally determined to remove Mr. Brown from office. We had upon the statute book a law whereby the Governor of the state was authorized to suspend a subordinate officer, if indeed there was any such thing as a subordinate officer under our constitution, by appointing a commission to examine his books and papers and the affairs of his office, and if, upon making such report to the Governor, it was apparent that the public safety required a suspension of the officer from official duties, he might issue such order of suspension. Sherman found three men willing to do his bidding in this respect and appointed them commissioners to examine the affairs of all the state officers. The commissioners understood that this meant only Brown and meant only that they should put into form Sherman's side of his controversy with the Auditor. The committee accordingly performed what was required of them and reported to the Governor that the public safety and public good required the suspension of the Auditor. They reported no facts in addition to those already recited in regard to the money received by the clerks in the office for matters outside of their official duties, save and except fees paid by certain banks for bank examinations under the law, for which no fee was provided by law, and which they advised the Governor that the Attorney General claimed did not belong to the state treasury, but were illegally charged and paid. They also informed the Governor that in the year of 1883, the correspondence notifying the Auditor of the requirements of the insurance companies in regard to the appointment of agents had been destroyed. As all of these appointments were matters of record and the fees for their issuing were also regularly entered upon the books of the Auditor, this was one of the extraordinary finds of this extraordinary committee. They also advised the Governor in this report that the law required the reports of fees should be sworn to, and their interpretation of the law was that the Auditor himself should have made the affidavit, and instead thereof it was made by a clerk in the office. Upon this remarkable report of this remarkable commission Sherman at once made an order, not suspending but removing Mr. Brown from office, and appointing J. W. Cattell, formerly Auditor of State, to take his place. Mr. Cattell was in no very great haste to do this, but after the order was served by the sheriff upon Mr. Brown he very wisely entered into a negotiation with Brown to see if the difficulty could not in some way be adjusted, and have Brown make such reports to the Governor as would be satisfactory. Mr. Cattell was an honorable and honest man, and really desired that these matters should be satisfactorily arranged, but this was not the purpose of the Governor as manifested by his conduct, and he determined to have his own way. He accordingly filed information before a justice of the peace accusing Brown of a misdemeanor in holding the office after his order of suspension or removal, and upon this affidavit he obtained a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Brown. The constable served the warrant upon Brown, and Mr. Brown was about to give bond for his appearance to answer the charge, when the Governor, having previously ordered and arranged with the Adjutant General so to do, appeared with an armed force of the Governor's Guards, so-called, who, with set bayonets and loaded muskets took charge of the Auditor's office. Hearing that something of an extraordinary nature was transpiring at the capitol, I left my office and went over to the state house to see what could be done for my client, and was proceeding to the Auditor's office when I was stopped by two of the soldiers crossing bayonets in front of me, one of them cocking his rifle and threatening to shoot me if I proceeded any further. Fortunately the captain commanding the squad had a little sense left and told the soldier to put up his gun, and so my life was saved. The Governor in addition to the use of the militia as above recited, also employed ex-Governor William M. Stone to assist Mr. Galusha Parsons, and they filed a petition in the name of Jonathan W. Cattell against John L. Brown in the district court of Polk county under the provision of the statute for proceedings in "quo warranto" by which the right and title to an office could be tested. We were fortunate in having for district judge at that time William Connor, a good lawyer and an honest man. Mr. Parsons and Governor Stone attempted upon the presentation of their petition to get some peremptory order for the removal of Mr. Brown from office, but the court called their attention to the express provision of the statute that he had no authority to make any order in the premises until the final trial, and that the case must go upon the docket and be tried upon its merits before any order or removal could be made. Upon the impeachment trial Sherman under oath denied that he had employed counsel to commence this suit, and Mr. Cattell testified that he had nothing to do with the employment of any counsel to bring the suit. The suit was finally dismissed, nobody appearing to care about any investigation of the merits of the proceeding. We accordingly had Mr. Brown, who had given bail, surrender himself to his bondsmen, and we applied to the supreme court of the state, then sitting at Davenport, for a writ of habeas corpus to test the constitutionality of the statute under which, without trial and without investigation and without hearing, the Governor had attempted to deprive Mr. Brown of his office. The supreme court decided this case at the Dubuque term in 1885, Seevers, judge, delivering a dissenting opinion, and Beck, judge, taking no part in the decision as he was not present at the submission of the cause. Adams, judge, delivered the opinion of the three remaining judges; to-wit, himself, Rothrock, and Reed. The majority of the court held that the law under which the Governor acted did not authorize any removal from office, and that it was only constitutional upon the hypothesis that Brown should have a hearing and trial. The dissenting opinion of Judge Seevers holds that as the law made no provision for any hearing or trial, and the suspension was for an indefinite time and might at the pleasure of the Governor be perpetual, it was therefore void and did not authorize the proceedings. Thus matters stood until the fall of the year 1885, when the people elected William Larrabee as Governor instead of Sherman, whose term of office would expire on the first of January ensuing. The presumption indulged in by the majority of the court in its opinion that Mr. Brown's removal from office was only a temporary suspension, and that the Governor certainly would give him a hearing as to the matters complained of and found by the special commission, is made to appear more absurd by the subsequent action of Mr. Sherman himself, who, on the 9th of December, 1885, made the following entry in the executive journal, and assumed to appoint J. W. Cattell to fill what he was pleased to call a vacancy in the office of the Auditor of State. The entry is as follows: DECEMBER, 9, 1885. Whereas, at the general election held on the 4th day of November, 1884, J. L. Brown was re-elected to the office of Auditor of State; and Whereas, the said J. L. Brown, re-elected as aforesaid, neglected and refused to qualify as such re-elected officer, and because thereof his official bond as such officer was not approved nor filed, and continued in such refusal until the 3rd day of March, 1885, and unto this time, and on account thereof on the day last aforesaid Jonathan W. Cattell was duly appointed as Auditor of State and immediately qualified by giving bond and taking the oath of office as required by law, which said bond was duly approved according to law; and Whereas, at the general election held on the 3rd day of November, 1885, there was no person elected to the said office of Auditor of State, as ascertained by the official canvass this day concluded by the state board of canvassers; and Whereas, it is incumbent upon me to fill the vacancy in said office now held under appointment; therefore Jonathan W. Cattell is hereby appointed Auditor of State, to have and to hold the same until the next general election in November, 1886; and upon his qualifying thereto by giving bond and taking the oath of office, as required by law, he will be obeyed and respected accordingly. BUREN R. SHERMAN A legislature was elected that fall, and as the only opportunity for a hearing and a vindication of Mr. Brown, he sent a communication to the house of representatives requesting an investigation and an impeachment, to the end that he might have a trial before the senate. The insurance agents of the state who had been wounded by the investigation of their affairs, Sherman and his political adherents filled the lobbies of the legislature, and were anxious also for Brown's impeachment. Finally the house of representatives brought in articles of impeachment, containing thirty counts, and the senate ordered Mr. Brown arrested and brought before them for trial. As I had been Mr. Brown's counsel throughout all of these difficulties, he came to me for aid and wished me to act as his counsel. In the meantime he had received a number of letters from "Tom, Dick, and Harry" throughout the state, lawyers who wished to do some cheap advertising of themselves, offering to attend to his case without compensation. I told Mr. Brown that I would undertake his case on condition that I might select my own assistants. I realized that the court, to-wit, the fifty senators then entitled to seats in the senate, was of rather peculiar construction. We had in the first place a large majority of republicans, but we also had a number of very able and influential democrats in the senate. We had some Germans and some opposed to prohibition. It was necessary, in selecting attorneys, to consult the peculiar constitution of the senate and its make-up, and political partialities and proclivities. Mr. Brown agreed to my terms and I named Mr. J. C. Bills, of Davenport, and Mr. Fred W. Lehmann, of Des Moines, as the attorneys I desired to assist me in his defense. Mr. Lehmann was an excellent lawyer and a rising young man, very popular at that time with the democrats of the state. Mr. Bills was then nominally a republican, but had opposed the prohibitory law and stood well with that political element, besides being a good lawyer. Acting upon my theory as to first impression, I made an opening statement to the senate giving them a very careful and detailed history of the case, and of the facts that we expected to prove upon the several counts of the indictment or impeachment. In addition to these two counsel we also had the assistance of E. S. Huston, of Burlington, a relative of S. F. Stewart, the deputy auditor. Mr. Huston especially looked after and cared for the interests of the deputy during the trial. The managers upon the part of the house of representatives were Messrs. S. M. Weaver, John H. Keatley, L. A. Riley, G. W. Ball, J. E. Craig, R. G. Cousins, E. C. Roach. The trial continued about three months. I found I had made no mistake in selecting my assistant attorneys. We had a room set apart for us in the capitol, where we were in counsel arranging the program for the day's work before the senate, and assigning to each attorney his particular share of the work of the day. I always dreaded in coöperating with attorneys in the trial of causes, having some one to assist me who would be an annoyance and a drawback rather than a help, but I found in Mr. Lehmann and Mr. Bills two good lawyers and men of good judgment and discretion, and we had a most agreeable as well as a successful time of it on our side of the trial table. The trial had not progressed more than a few weeks before we were able to turn the tide of feeling and sentiment in our favor, or rather in favor of our client, and the case, instead of being a prosecution of John L. Brown, actually became an exposure of the petty tyranny and foolishness of Buren R. Sherman, and the managers on the part of the house were forced into the position of recognizing Sherman as their client and recognizing the necessity of defending his conduct rather than of convicting Mr. Brown of any serious offense against the law. It also was apparent before we had proceeded very far in the case that the managers of the prosecution did not entirely agree from time to time between themselves as to the part that each should take in the proceedings. Some of the men had evidently hoped to make a great reputation for themselves as lawyers, and were being disappointed in the result as to that particular. We had one serious hindrance and drawback in our case. F. S. Stewart, the deputy auditor, proved a very heavy load to carry. He had many winning ways by which he made no friends, and his conduct proved him to be a greedy, grasping man, and if the impeachment had been against him instead of Mr. Brown we should have found "Jordan a hard road to travel." In addition to his regular salary he had drawn a very considerable sum of money for extra pay and compensation for work he had done in the Auditor's office, as he claimed, out of regular hours. He had also collected as bank examiner from the various banks he examined a considerable amount of fees for which there was no provision or warrant of law, and had taken the money to his own use. The only serious charge against Mr. Brown and the only one from which we apprehended any danger, grew out of the examination of the Bremer County Bank, situated in Waverly, Bremer county, Iowa. That bank had for its rival another bank in the locality, that probably would have profited by having it go out of business, and they were entirely disappointed and dissatisfied because the examination of the bank by Mr. Brown in person and by an assistant proved the bank to be a solvent concern. After the examination of the bank and after Mr. Brown had given in for publication a certificate of their solvency, and without any previous request for compensation or suggestion of payment from any source, the cashier of the bank had paid to Mr. Brown voluntarily the sum of one hundred dollars as compensation for his extra services and expenses during the investigation of the affairs of the bank. The charge in the articles of impeachment was that this was a bribe to Mr. Brown that had induced him to certify fraudulently and falsely to the solvency of the bank. We proved beyond controversy that the bank was solvent and continued to be so for several years after the investigation, and that the certificate of solvency given to it was just and right and proper, and there was no foundation for the charge that it was given from any corrupt motive. This matter of the Bremer County Bank did not constitute any part of the original trouble or accusation against Brown by the Governor, but it was trumped up by Brown's enemies and was soon gathered in by the Governor's "muck-rake." After all the evidence had been put in, both upon the part of the prosecution and the defense, there remained one important question for us to decide--as to whether or not we would put Mr. Brown upon the stand as a witness in his own case. The only thing we had to fear from our client as a witness was his sensitiveness and pride and his determination to resent any insult or imputation against his honesty and integrity in office. We knew he had some enemies in the senate who were at the same time his judges and were to vote upon the question of his guilt, and these senators had the right to ask him any questions upon cross-examination they might see proper. It would not do for his counsel to object to the relevancy or propriety of any questions that might be asked, as it might appear if we did so that we had something to hide or from which to shield our client. We had a long conference with Mr. Brown before we decided what course to pursue upon this question of making him a witness. He continued to vow to us that he would not consent to submit to any insulting interrogatories, no matter from whom they came, and that he would talk back if any such were propounded. I finally had a private conference with Mr. Brown and urged upon him the absolute necessity that if he went upon the stand as a witness, of being perfectly cool and dispassionate and not manifesting any passion or resentment toward any of the senators who might question him. After a long conference upon this point, he finally promised me that he would do his best to suppress his indignation and his feelings, and would quietly answer any questions that might be asked him. The next day we put Mr. Brown upon the stand as a witness, and to his credit it may be said that he behaved himself most admirably, and won the respect and esteem of the senate by his dignified and courteous behavior. The constitution of the state required, in order to convict the defendant, a vote of guilty by two-thirds of the members of the senate. Instead of this the highest vote against the defendant upon any article was fifteen votes, or less than one-third, and upon the first, second, third, fourth, and fifth articles that embraced the original controversy with Governor Sherman, upon which he refused to approve the Auditor's bond and appointed his subservient commission, there was not a single vote of guilty against the Auditor, but he was unanimously acquitted. Upon several of the articles it appears that some of the senators voted "guilty" upon a very slim and unwarranted basis. For instance one of the articles of impeachment was against the Auditor for drawing a warrant in behalf of his clerk for the month's salary, the warrant specifying the particular section and chapter of the law that made an appropriation for the purpose of paying this clerk. The fact of the service being within the personal knowledge of the Auditor, and the receipt of the clerk being upon the stub of the warrant issued, and yet the managers insisted that there ought to have been a paper filed stating the account as between the clerk and the Auditor, and because it was not drawn out and filed among the papers of the office, six of the senators voted to find him guilty and to impeach him. It was a mere technicality, extremely, finely drawn out, and showed a disposition to try and ruin a man and his reputation without conscience or any regard to their duty as men and their oath as senators. The vote of fifteen upon the Bremer County Bank question against the Auditor may be justified upon the theory that a public officer situated as the Auditor was, having an important duty to perform, should not accept of any gift or favor or money that might be construed as something he had hoped for or expected when he performed his official duty. The act of receiving the money under the circumstances, though not criminal, was one of those acts of doubtful propriety that could scarcely be justified in a public officer. The acquittal of Mr. Brown was beyond question a righteous and just act. Governor Larrabee, the newly elected Governor, had already restored Mr. Brown to his office and discharged the appointee to fill the created vacancy, and the people of the state retired Mr. Sherman from public employment permanently. After retiring from office he engaged in managing an insurance company at his former place of residence in the state, in which he was unsuccessful. The state of Iowa paid to the attorneys in the case selected by Mr. Brown the sum of six dollars a day. I charged Mr. Brown, however, one thousand dollars for my entire services in connection with his impeachment, and he gave me his note for the balance, deducting the amount I had received from the state. This note was signed by S. F. Stewart. Some months afterwards I received from Stewart's wife a very remarkable letter, full of tears and sympathy for Brown, begging me to remit the amount on the note as Mr. Brown was poor and had been much wronged and abused. I ascertained that Stewart at or about the time he signed the note, had obtained from Mr. Brown a transfer to some valuable stock in the _Iowa Homestead_ newspaper at much less than the real value of the stock, and that they had counted the amount due me on this note as part of the consideration of the transfer. Estimating Mrs. Stewart's sympathy for Mr. Brown at its true value, I insisted on my note being paid in full, which Mr. Brown cheerfully did. Mr. Brown was further vindicated by the subsequent action of the general assembly of the state in making a reasonable appropriation to reimburse him for his expenses and attorney's fees paid out in making his defense against the articles of impeachment. The result of the investigation before the senate also had a very beneficial effect upon the home insurance companies in that it gave public confidence as to their solvency, and gave assurance that the proper department of state would make the investigation of their transactions from time to time thorough and real, and not as before merely nominal. CHAPTER XV MORE LAW CASES In the summer of 1874 the city of Des Moines was thrown into a state of considerable excitement by the fact of finding the body of a murdered man on the sidewalk near the corner of Walnut and Second street. There was a house of bad repute in the vicinity, and the coroner's jury made a thorough investigation, seemingly as far as practicable, as to the cause and origin of the death. The inhabitants of the house referred to were examined under oath, and the women who boarded there denied any knowledge whatever of the cause of the man's death. The Governor of the state offered a reward of five hundred dollars for the discovery and conviction of the murderer. At the next session of the grand jury of Polk county two of the women boarders at the house of bad repute referred to, and who had denied all knowledge of the murder, appeared before the grand jury and testified with much detail that Charles Howard, a man who had frequented their house, had been guilty of the murder and had carried out the dead body and laid it upon the sidewalk. The grand jury indicted Howard accordingly for murder in the first degree. The trial came on at the December term of the Polk county district court, and in view of the public excitement, which was largely kept alive by the daily press, Howard, by his attorney, made a motion for a change of venue on the ground of prejudice of the inhabitants of the county. Under the peculiar provisions of our statute, counter affidavits were permitted for the purpose of showing that there was no feeling in the community that would prevent Howard from receiving a fair trial. The sheriff informed me that in walking two squares from the court house he had met two hundred men who were willing to sign such counter affidavits, and had obtained a large number of them, which were filed accordingly. The district judge, H. W. Maxwell, overruled the motion for a change of venue, and the trial proceeded. The only testimony introduced in the conviction of Howard was that of the two bad women who had testified before the coroner's jury that they had no knowledge whatever in regard to the killing of Johnson. I was not personally engaged in any way as an attorney in this case, but about ten o 'clock at night after the jury had retired to consider their verdict, Judge Maxwell sent for me to come to the court house for consultation. I found he had also sent for a like purpose for Mr. D. O. Finch, one of the oldest members of the Polk county bar. The judge advised us that the jury had not agreed upon their verdict, but that some one had through the bailiff sent a note in to the jury room threatening the jury with violence in case they failed to convict the defendant. Judge Maxwell was much excited and asked Mr. Finch and myself what he ought to do under the circumstances. We advised him by all means to have the defendant conveyed for safe keeping to some place outside of the county, in charge of the sheriff, and to have it done secretly and immediately lest the mob might seize the accused and commit violence. We also advised him to discharge the jury from a further consideration of the case, as their verdict found under the influence of threats would be worthless, and that he ought also in vindication of his own court to thoroughly investigate the question as to who was guilty in sending or permitting a threat to be communicated to the jury. Instead of being influenced by our advice Judge Maxwell had the jury brought into the courtroom for further instructions, and told them that great excitement and feeling prevailed in the community in regard to the case, and that it was important that the jury should not disagree but should find a verdict in the case. The next morning the jury brought in a verdict of guilty, and the defendant waiving time for sentence, Judge Maxwell had the prisoner brought into court. The courtroom was crowded by an excited mob, and the judge took occasion to harangue the prisoner, denouncing his conduct in the most vehement manner. He then sentenced the prisoner to imprisonment in the penitentiary for life. That night the excited mob broke open the jail, took the prisoner from his cell with a rope tied around his neck, and hung him to a lamp post in the court house square. The opinion of most of the persons who paid any attention to this trial was that there was no reliable evidence of Howard's guilt, and that the probabilities were that the whole case was manufactured for the purpose of securing the reward offered for his conviction. Whether or not the reward was ever paid I have not been able to ascertain, but certain it is that the cowardice of the court and the indiscretion of the public press were responsible for the murder of a man who, to say the least of it, was never proved guilty by any competent evidence. We had among the distinguished judges that acted as teachers in our law school at Transylvania University a very eminent jurist who sometimes when he felt merry treated the class to that which was not only instructive but also entertaining. On one occasion he delivered to the class the following: Young Gentlemen: You will find that the general principles of the law are few and easily comprehended, but in their application to the ever-varying transactions of human life the best of minds will differ, hence arises what we denominate the glorious uncertainties of the law whereby we have our bread. The case that I am about to cite would satisfy the most credulous that there are other causes that produce uncertain results besides the difference in applying the general principles of the law to different cases. Section 3, article XI of the constitution of the state of Iowa, provided as follows: "No county or other political or municipal corporation shall be allowed to become indebted in any manner or for any purpose to an amount in the aggregate exceeding five per centum on the value of the taxable property within such county or corporation, to be ascertained by the last state or county tax list previous to the incurring of such indebtedness." In November, 1870, the taxable property, real and personal, within and subject to taxation by the said city of Des Moines, as ascertained by the last state and county tax list, amounted to the sum of $3,140,805 and no more, and that five per centum on said amount was only the sum of $157,040.25. In the month of May, 1869, the city had by ordinance authorized the issuing of bonds to the amount of $50,000 for the purpose of funding outstanding warrants, and afterwards in May, 1870, they had enacted a further ordinance authorizing the issuing of bonds for funding outstanding warrants on the city treasurer to the amount of $75,000, all of which bonds had been duly issued and were outstanding at the time of the commencement of the suit hereinafter mentioned. In addition to these bonds aggregating $125,000 there were also outstanding warrants upon the treasury to the amount of $55,000, making an aggregate indebtedness of the city $180,000. On the 7th of July, 1870, the city passed a further ordinance authorizing the issuing of bonds to the amount of $130,000 for the building and repair of certain bridges across the Des Moines and Raccoon rivers, thus exceeding the constitutional limit upon the city's indebtedness. George Sneer, a citizen and taxpayer of the city of Des Moines, applied to me to bring a suit to test the validity of this last bond issue of $130,000, informing me that the bonds had been placed in the hands of B. F. Allen, then a banker of the city of Des Moines. I informed him I was willing to take the case provided that the suit should be maintained in good faith, that I was satisfied that the bonds were absolutely void whether in the hands of Allen or any other person, being issued in plain violation of the constitution of the state, and that every person purchasing any evidence of indebtedness against the city was bound to take notice of the existing indebtedness of the city and was charged with knowledge thereof, as it was a matter of record and easily ascertained. Mr. Sneer informed me that he desired the question of the validity of the bonds tested in good faith, and that if I undertook the case I might prosecute it to the end. He contracted to pay me the sum of two hundred dollars for my services, and I accordingly prepared the bill for a perpetual injunction against the city council, city treasurer, and B. F. Allen. No one was made defendant to the petition except Allen and members of the city council and the city treasurer. Answers were filed by Mr. Withrow for B. F. Allen and by Seward Smith, his partner, for the city of Des Moines and members of the city council, and the case was submitted on bill and answer. There was no denial of the facts set forth in the petition in regard to the indebtedness of the city, nor did anyone appear in the case claiming to be bona fide purchasers of the bonds, but the answer of Allen was to the effect that he acted as agent for the city and had sold the bonds to one George P. Opdike & Co. of New York City. Maxwell was judge of the district court, and to my surprise entered the following decree in the case: This cause coming on for final hearing on the plaintiff's petition, and answer made thereto, and the defendant's answer and cross petition, and thus heard upon the pleadings alone, and the court having heard the argument of counsel, inspected the said record and being fully advised in the premises, doth order, adjudge and decree, that the plaintiff's bill be dismissed; that the bridge bonds described therein be treated as in every respect binding obligations of the city of Des Moines according to the tenor thereof, and that the parties thereto and those in privity with them be forever concluded from asserting or maintaining any defense against the payment of said bonds, and the interest thereon, on the grounds that the same were irregularly issued in excess of the constitutional limitation upon the power of the said city to become indebted; that the money now in possession of the defendant Allen, be applied by the proper officers of the city of Des Moines to the purposes for which the same was raised; and that the defendant have and recover the costs herein taxed at ---- dollars, and that execution issue therefor. To which plaintiff excepts. Upon the rendition of this decree I immediately entered an appeal in behalf of George Sneer, and perfected the same by filing the proper abstract of record in the supreme court of the state. The cause was submitted to the supreme court on printed arguments on April 4, 1871. At the October term of the supreme court, being an argument term held at Davenport at that date, the supreme court really decided the case by an opinion written by Judge Beck in behalf of a majority of the court, and the opinion was sent by Justice Day to the clerk about the time the court was to adjourn, with orders to file the same, and Mr. Charles Linderman, the clerk of the court, informed me that he had actually marked the opinion "Filed," and that about the time that the filing was completed Judge C. C. Cole, then one of the judges of the supreme court, entered the clerk's office and filed with him a paper signed by George Sneer dismissing his appeal, and that he entered upon the records of the court the following entry: "On application of appellant, it is ordered by the court that the appeal herein be, and the same is hereby dismissed." At the ensuing regular term of the supreme court held at Des Moines, December 5, 1871, the following entry was made in the case: "At the argument term held at Davenport in October last, on application of George Sneer per se, appellant herein, the court ordered that the appeal be dismissed." Before this dismissal either at Davenport or at Des Moines Sneer had settled with me and paid me the fee agreed upon, and I had nothing further to do with the case except to reproach him for violating his agreement with me that I should prosecute the case to a final result. It appeared from the sequel that Judge Cole had also prepared a dissenting opinion in the case, and these two opinions, that written by Judge Beck as the opinion of the court, and the one written by himself were both published in the _Western Jurist_ the ensuing January, the one marked "B" and the other marked "C," but suppressing the fact that the opinion marked "B" was the opinion of a majority of the court, and that none of the judges, except Judge Cole, agreed with the opinion marked "C;" and having the following extraordinary note printed in connection with the opinions, Judge Cole being then the editor of the _Western Jurist_: "These two articles, this and the following which advocates a different view of the same question, are from members of the profession in Iowa occupying equal prominence before the public, and whose opinions are entitled to consideration." Whilst these opinions do not give the detail of the case that was submitted to the court and to which they relate, yet by carefully reading them you can easily see that they refer to an actual controversy that had been pending before the supreme court. The supreme court of Iowa subsequently decided the question that was involved in the case of Sneer vs. the City of Des Moines, establishing the principle as applied to this transaction to the effect that the bonds were absolutely void in the hands even of an innocent purchaser if such had been the case. See McPherson vs. Foster, 43 Iowa, page 48. Mosher vs. Independent School Dist., 44 Iowa, page 122. French vs. Burlington, 42 Iowa, page 614. Andrews vs. Orient Fire Ins. Co., 88 Iowa, page 579. Holliday vs. Hildebrandt, 66 Northwestern Reporter, page 89. The dismissal of the appeal by Sneer left the decree entered by Judge Maxwell in full force as though no appeal had ever been taken, and the parties procuring this result, after they had full knowledge of the fact that the majority of the judges of the supreme court held the bonds void, are fully entitled to all of the credit that their conduct merits, and I only record the matter here as a matter of history and as vindication of myself and to exonerate myself from any responsibility for the final result, as I had no knowledge of the dismissal of the appeal until long after the thing was done. I have within the past few weeks examined the archives of the supreme court, and find that the original opinion of the court written by Judge Beck signed "B" and printed in the _Western Jurist_ (see Vol. VI-1872) cannot be found, and also the paper signed by George Sneer dismissing the appeal is missing from the files of the court. I presume the city council, as they had by their attorney asked to be enjoined from disputing the validity of these bonds, had obtained a decree against themselves to that effect, very willingly paid the bonds when they matured, but of this I have no actual knowledge. CHAPTER XVI BIRTH OF A SON AND PERSONAL INCIDENTS Leaving the history of political and professional for the present, it will now be necessary to revert and give in some detail matters more personal and affecting more nearly my own private life. I have already given an account of my marriage and removal to Des Moines. On the 18th of February, 1863, my wife and myself were made happy by the birth of our only child. This hope deferred came after ten years of waiting. Whilst the child was still an infant I was compelled to be absent on professional business at Indianola in Warren county. I concluded my business as soon as possible and hurried home, feeling an unpleasant premonition that everything was not all right with the mother and the child. Heavy rains had swollen the streams between Indianola and Des Moines, and as I approached the small bridge crossing the creek about four miles south of Des Moines, I found the water running several feet deep over the floor of the bridge. I knew this made the passage very dangerous because frequently such floods took away the flooring and made it probable that the horse and buggy in which I was riding might be cast into the flood of the stream. After some hesitation, however, I determined to take the risk and plunged into the stream accordingly. I got safely over and was much relieved when I found myself again on solid ground. I got home a little after dark and found an old lady who had been employed as nurse to the little one, who was squalling violently, engaged in trotting the infant upon her knee, as my wife lay on the bed on the very verge of hysterics. The next morning early I put out to find a nurse woman possessed of more flesh and patience, and the domestic trouble subsided. The first six months after the arrival of the little stranger my wife could scarcely obtain an hour's consecutive rest. The normal condition of the child appeared to be colicky. As I had to be engaged throughout the day in my business we finally established a second bedroom and I divided the time at night as well as I could with my wife, taking my turn at walking the floor at "half dress." The child, however, proved a great comfort to us and a pleasure, though for many months it was the pursuit of pleasure under difficulties. At the approach of the following year we were surprised by a visit from the wife of Mr. Charles McMeekin, my wife's brother, who then resided at Cincinnati, Ohio. His wife brought with her two children, a boy and a girl, she herself being something of an invalid. It was very difficult at that time, as it has been ever since, to obtain competent domestic help, and after entertaining this lady and her two children for several months I found it necessary to notify my brother-in-law that situated as I was it was no longer convenient for me to entertain his family, and they accordingly left us and went to live at a boarding house kept by Mrs. Washburn on Fourth street. The next summer, at the request of my wife, I consented to take one of the sons of her sister Eliza, and I furnished the means for his transportation from Newport, Kentucky, to Des Moines. I tried to give this boy instructions in reading, writing, and arithmetic, but found him not inclined to study, and especially disinclined to afford any help or assistance about the house. He had been raised under the shadow of a peculiar institution and had imbibed a strong prejudice against anything like work. After worrying with him for three or four months and being unable to make anything out of him, I sent him home to his mother. In 1849 I purchased two lots on the northeast corner of Center and Fifth streets and removed my old buildings from my place on Fourth street to the lots so purchased, making some improvements on the buildings. These lots and buildings I afterwards sold and built a new house on the old place on Fourth street. In the fall of 1877, whilst on a visit to Ohio, my half-brother, Charles R. Nourse, invited me to a private interview in which he disclosed the fact to me that he was engaged to be married and wanted me to do something to help him start in life in some kind of business. The young man had not improved his opportunities for an education and had spent several winters doing farm work. Before I had left home on that occasion Sylvanus Edinburn had proposed to exchange a small farm that he had in the suburbs of the city, of eighty-eight acres, for some property I had acquired in town. It occurred to me that I might help the boy by making the trade for this farm, and I accordingly told him if he would have his mother send an invitation to his intended to come and take dinner with us, and I liked the looks of the proposed wife I would do something for him. He readily consented to this arrangement, as did also his intended, and as she appeared to be an industrious and bright young woman I came home and completed the purchase of the farm which I obtained a deed for in March, 1878. There was no building on the farm fit to live in. I had the old house moved onto the barn-lot and fixed up for a granary, and built a new house at the expense of about fifteen hundred dollars. In the following spring Charles R. with his bride put in an appearance and I settled them in their new home, where they lived happily for a number of years, but finally after about fifteen years that most fatal of all curses, strong drink, got possession of the young man and he went to the bad. In the year of 1875 while visiting my sister at Tuscola, Illinois, I found her in possession of a very large and increasing family. I was especially pleased with her second daughter, Rose, then a young lady about twenty years of age, and suggested to my sister that if she would consent I would take Rose home with me and help her to an education. Accordingly in 1876 Rose came to Des Moines and made her home with us. My oldest brother, Joseph G. Nourse, had died at Cincinnati, Ohio, in March, 1863, and about the year of 1876 I had induced his widow with her three boys to remove to Des Moines, her oldest daughter Susan having previously married to Mr. J. A. Jackson. I had before that time induced Mr. Jackson and his wife also to remove to Des Moines and had given Mr. Jackson employment in my office as an assistant. I had also built on Fourth street a one story cottage of three rooms and a kitchen, which they occupied for a year or two. After my niece, Rose Vimont, had been with us for probably a year I became satisfied that she had not succeeded in winning the affections of my wife. Dr. C. R. Pomeroy had been our pastor at the Centenary Methodist church for several years and had removed to Emporia, Kansas, and taken charge of the State Normal School at that place. As Rose desired to prepare herself for a teacher I went with her to Emporia in the spring of 1877 and placed her at the institution under the care of Dr. Pomeroy and his wife, where she remained for twelve months, when school was suspended by reason of a fire which destroyed the buildings. Rose returned to Des Moines and the following year, 1878, she taught a small school in the brick schoolhouse on the northwest corner of my farm, and had a room and boarded with my half brother, Charles R. Afterwards she obtained a situation in the public schools of the city of Des Moines and became a very successful teacher, remaining in the city some fifteen years or more. Soon after the purchase of my farm, in order further to promote the interests of my brother and give him employment, I became interested in the purchase and raising of pure bred short-horn cattle, committing to my brother the immediate supervision and care of them on the farm, and building some extensive barns and other out-buildings. I subsequently bought from George Sneer 126 acres of valuable land in section 20, township 79, range 24, and afterwards in July, 1879, bought thirty-seven acres adjoining the tract that I had purchased of Edinburn, making a part of the home farm. I also bought adjoining the same original tract eleven acres from a man by the name of Parks. Subsequently I contracted with a man by the name of Miller to put down a bore hole on my land near the barns, with the hope of procuring artesian water for my cattle and a flowing well. In this I was disappointed, but I required the man to keep an accurate journal of the different strata through which he bored, and at the distance of about 140 feet below the surface he went through a valuable strata of coal averaging from four and one-half to six feet in thickness. I subsequently leased the right to take coal from these lands to the Keystone Coal Company, under which lease they sunk a shaft and operated a mine on the home place for about thirteen years. The royalty from the coal during these thirteen years more than paid the original purchase price of this land, which cost me originally only about fifty dollars per acre. About the year 1878 I received a letter from my old friend, Amos Harris, formerly a resident of Centerville, Iowa, then living at Wichita, Kansas, informing me of the death of a man by the name of Loring, who had been a former client of mine, residing at Indianola, Iowa. He stated that Mr. Loring had left a widow and some five little children, all girls, the youngest an infant only a few months old, and that the family was left in a destitute condition; that upon questioning Mrs. Loring she had told him that I had transacted some business as attorney for herself and husband, and had sold a house and lot in Indianola that they had deeded to me, with a promise upon my part that after paying certain debts for the collection of which I was attorney, if there was anything left they should have it. I had realized about one hundred dollars over and above the amount paid out and I immediately sent Mrs. Loring fifty dollars for the relief of her immediate necessities, and afterwards paid her the balance. Some four or five years after this Mrs. Loring came to Des Moines, bringing with her this young child then about four or five years of age, stating that she had a short time before that married a man by the name of Gregory, that he was a man of considerable means but refused to support her first husband's children, that she wished to make some arrangement to have this young child cared for, that she had already disposed of her older girls among her relatives. I introduced her to Mrs. Winkley, then a resident of Des Moines, who kept a school for small children and boarded and cared for them, a lady to whom my son had been going to school and who was held in high estimation by her many friends. Mrs. Gregory, as she then was, arranged with Mrs. Winkley to leave her youngest child with her to be cared for, and left with me some money to pay Mrs. Winkley from time to time, and also any other expenses that might be incurred in the care of the child. Mrs. Winkley lived on Third street within a block or two of our residence, and I frequently had this child visit our home. My wife seemed to be interested in the child and became attached to her, as I did also myself. Along about the first of February, 1882, Mrs. Gregory came into my office in Des Moines, stating that she had come to take her child Susie, as she could no longer afford to bear the expense of her keeping with Mrs. Winkley. I asked her if that was the only objection to the child remaining where it was, and she said yes, she was very well satisfied but she was then separated from her husband and was not able to pay the expense incident to the child's keeping in her present situation. I asked her if she had any home to which she could take the child, and she said no, that she had employment at some sanitary institution but it really was not a home for the little one. Upon the impulse of the moment and without any very considerable thought upon the subject and having no consultation with my wife, I told Mrs. Gregory to leave the child where it was and I would bear the expense of caring for her. My income from my practice at that time was averaging about $10,000 a year and I saw nothing very serious about this undertaking, but upon reporting it to my wife she expressed herself very much dissatisfied. Upon further reflection I feared that after the child became older the mother might claim its custody, and for my own protection I wrote out articles of adoption and sent it to the mother, which she duly executed and returned it to me, surrendering to me the full care, custody and control of the child, which articles were duly recorded in Polk county, Iowa, on the 8th of February, 1882. After remaining for several years with Mrs. Winkley I sent this child to Chicago to the school of Miss Rebecca Rice, where she remained for a number of years and received a very satisfactory education. The enterprise, however, of caring for and educating this child was not a success. My wife imbibed a strong prejudice against her and never received her as a member of the family. When she was about seventeen years of age she became dissatisfied and I sent her to her mother, who was then living in California. She did not remain with her mother, but afterwards came back to me and by her own wish and desire I arranged to have her taught telegraphy by the superintendent of city telegraphs at Chicago. In the meantime I ascertained that while she was in California she had engaged herself to be married to a man by the name of Guldager. I tried to dissuade her from this early and inconsiderate engagement but she had not learned the lesson of obedience and was not easily controlled by good advice or counsel. Her California lover furnished her the means and she left without my knowledge or consent and went to California to him when she was about eighteen years of age, and was married. After the dissolution of my partnership with Williamson & St. John in 1865, I continued the practice of law without any partner in business, receiving assistance from time to time from young men who were studying law in the office or who were beginners in the profession. None of these, however, proved entirely satisfactory. About the year 1870 Benjamin F. Kauffman, then a young man recently graduated in the law department of the State University, came to me desiring a situation in my office. I had been so disappointed in the young men who had preceded him that I hesitated about making any further engagement in that direction. Judge George G. Wright, however, who had been one of Mr. Kauffman's preceptors at the law school, warmly recommended him and urged me to give him a position in the office. He was entirely without means and I offered finally to pay his board for six months and take him upon trial. He asked me what he could expect after the expiration of the six months. I told him that after six months if I found that I could get along without him I should discontinue the arrangement. He replied that that was a very hard proposition. I told him no, that he was a young man in good health, full of energy, and if he could not make himself a necessity to my business in six months there was no reason why I should continue even to pay his board. He said if he accepted my proposition, what would I do for him at the end of the six months. I told him that if he made himself a necessity to my business so that I could not get along without him, he would then be master of the situation and I thought there would be no trouble about arranging terms that would be entirely satisfactory to him. He came into the office accordingly and applied himself diligently to business. I occasionally stated to him some question involved in cases I had pending and desired him to examine the authorities and make a brief upon the question involved. He proved to be of very material assistance, very industrious, with a clear mind capable of understanding and analyzing and applying the cases he found in the books bearing upon the question under investigation. At the end of six months I arranged a partnership with him and he continued in that relation for seventeen years, with much profit pecuniarily both to himself and myself. In the year of 1874 I exchanged a lot that I owned on Center street with Mrs. McCauley for property on Fifth street, taking the deed in the name of the firm of Nourse & Kauffman, upon which we built the subsequent year a two story brick building, occupying the south half of the first story for our law offices. We subsequently bought from Thomas Boyd the forty-four feet on the east end of this purchase, giving us the entire forty-four south feet of lot 2, block 22, of the original town, and in the year 1886 we built a four story brick building covering the entire surface of the lot. On the dissolution of my partnership with Mr. Kauffman I formed a partnership with my nephew, Clinton L. Nourse, and we removed into the new building and occupied the front rooms of the second story. Mr. Kauffman in the meantime entered into partnership with one N. T. Guernsey and occupied rooms on the fourth floor of the building. About the first of January, 1880, I received information that my father, who had removed to and was then residing at Reynoldsburg, Ohio, was very ill and not expected to live. I immediately went to Reynoldsburg. My father was still conscious and able to recognize me, but was very nearly approaching the end. My brother, John D., who resided then at Lancaster, Ohio, was in attendance upon my father but unable to arrest the disease. On the 3rd of January my father passed away. After his death in conference with my step-mother in regard to her future, I found she was disposed to join her sister, Mary Herron, in building a small house in West Rushville and making her home there. I was satisfied that this arrangement would not last. My step-mother was a self-sacrificing woman and I knew her sister's disposition was very exacting. It was also arranged that my half-sister Mary should live with them. When I bid my step-mother good-bye I told her that I had no confidence in the permanency of the arrangement she had made with her sister, but in view of her faithfulness to my father during his old age I wanted her to feel that she should have a home, and if the arrangement she had made to live with her sister did not prove satisfactory, not to hesitate about advising me of the fact, and I would provide her a home on the farm where her youngest boy Charles R., was then living. As I anticipated, after a few years I received information that mother and sister Mary both desired to come to Iowa and avail themselves of my proffered help. They came accordingly and the first year resided with my half-brother Charles. Mother then had about twelve-hundred dollars of the small means left, and I proposed to borrow this money and build her a house which she should have rent free, and I would pay her interest on the twelve-hundred dollars which would enable her to live comfortably on the farm. I accordingly built the cottage for herself and her daughter Mary, which they continued to occupy for several years. In the meantime sister Mary taught a Sunday School class in the neighborhood, and among her scholars was one Chris Mathes. This rude uneducated boy, seventeen years younger than herself, pretended to fall in love with her and on the first of January, 1889, she became his wife. In March, 1896, my step-mother died, leaving what little means she had to her daughter Mary, and what was left of the money she had advanced to me for building the house she had occupied on the farm, which I afterwards paid over to Mary in full. CHAPTER XVII BREEDER OF SHORT HORN CATTLE My half-brother, Charles R., continued on the farm in my employment and in the care of my short-horn cattle business until the year 1889, when I sold out my entire herd. During the ten years I was in the business I enjoyed the recreation and attention to my stock, finding it a great relief from my nervous tension and anxiety incident to an extensive practice of the law. Soon after I commenced the business I attended a meeting of the short-horn breeders of the state at West Liberty, Iowa, at which time there was organized a Short-Horn Breeders' Association of the state of Iowa, and I was elected president of the association and continued in that office for seven years and until I retired from the business. In the meantime we had also organized a national association at Chicago for the purpose of purchasing the short-horn herd books published in New York, Ohio, and Kentucky, and establishing the _American Short-Horn Herd Book_, which became the only authentic publication of pedigrees of short-horn cattle in the United States. I was made a member of this board of control and continued in that relation for a number of years, until I declined a further election because of my retirement from the business. Our board of directors represented some eleven different states of the Union with one director from Canada. Our annual meetings were held at the time of the annual Fat Stock Show in Chicago, and the gentlemen with whom I was associated in that capacity were among the most pleasant acquaintances I ever made during my lifetime. I found them intelligent, broad-minded men, entirely unselfish and devoted to the interests of the Association. During my connection with the board we paid off the entire indebtedness incurred in the purchase of the _Short-Horn Herd Book_ as theretofore published by Mr. Allen of New York, and also the indebtedness incurred in the purchase of the _Kentucky Herd Book_ and the _Ohio Herd Book_. Our state association also met once a year in connection with the Improved Stock Breeders' Association of the state. We generally wound up these sessions of our meetings with a banquet given us by the citizens of the place where we held our meetings. At these banquets we had a number of toasts and speeches, rather of the humorous than of the instructive kind. I give herewith a specimen that I find printed with the proceedings of the association held at Ottumwa on the 4th day of December, 1885. The Short-horn and Improved Stock Breeders' associations of Iowa were intended in a great measure by their founders as missionary societies. It was contemplated that they would hold their conventions in the smaller towns and more sparsely settled portions of the state, where their discussions upon breeds and breeding would educate the farmers around in these great and important industries. A feast like this in one of the thriving and finest cities of the state is hardly consistent with this benevolent and self-sacrificing purpose, and I have reason to fear for the consequences; we may fall from grace. At a recent session of the New York Annual Conference of the Methodist Episcopal church, it is said that the bishop had great difficulty in satisfying the preachers about their appointments. One of the elders gravely informed the bishop, that the preachers in his district had two ambitions; one was to get to heaven, and the other was to be stationed in the city of New York, and if they were to miss either, he thought they would prefer to go to New York! Now I know many of these self-sacrificing gentlemen I see around me have in the past of their lives been trying to do good, looking for their reward largely in the next world; but I fear in the future, when we come to fix the place of our next annual meeting, they will forget the spirit of self-sacrifice and the world to come, and say, "Let us go to Ottumwa!" [Great laughter.] I wish I could express to the citizens of Ottumwa the genuine appreciation that I know these my brethren feel for them. It could not be otherwise than that they should love you. You have appreciated us and we must ever appreciate you. Your example also may be valuable to us; others may hear of your good works and may be thereby moved to be equally mindful of our necessities. [Applause.] My first knowledge of Ottumwa was in the year 1851. It was then a straggling village of one street lined on either side with wooden shanties. It would have been impossible for me to have imagined then that in a few short years, whilst I am yet a young man [laughter], there should be built here a substantial city of fifteen thousand inhabitants. This goodly town is indeed a proud monument to the thrift, enterprise, intelligence, and taste of its inhabitants. Its commercial and manufacturing interests, and its tasteful architecture you may justly be proud of. Iowa is indeed a remarkable state and her people a peculiar people. We have but few drones in the hive. Our population is made up of simply the young and the strong and the enterprising of the other states that have come hither to build up their personal fortunes, and who have at the same time laid well and strong the foundations of a great state. There is scarcely a college or university of any of the older states that is not well represented in our men and women. We have come together here and what one did not know he has learned from his next door neighbor. All have contributed something to the common fund of knowledge and enterprise. We have now built our own schoolhouses and colleges, and today we have a less per cent of illiteracy than any other state in the Union. But there is one burden on my heart and one thought I desire to express: What is the future to be? Are we giving to the state the children that may worthily fill our places and take up and carry forward the work that we have begun? The highest duty that we owe to the state is to furnish to it in our children that perfect type of manhood that will constitute its true glory. What signifies this accumulation of wealth, these fine buildings, this beautiful architecture, if our sons are to be profligates and the accursed saloon is to destroy all the fruit of our toil. The time has come when as citizens and as fathers we must seriously address ourselves to this problem of our civilization. I came to Iowa more than thirty years ago. I formed many warm attachments among the young men, then just beginning life. I remember the pride and hope that these young men and their then young wives had in their children. As I visit the older towns where these men have lived and won honorable distinction I have inquired for their children. Alas! Too often it is a sad story and a painful remembrance, and I have asked myself the question, is this always to be so? And is there no help? But enough of this; I forget I was not appointed to preach a sermon, but to respond to a toast, and to express the appreciation of these stockbreeders for your kindness. You have done well. The scriptures exhort "that we should not be forgetful to entertain strangers for thereby some have entertained angels unawares." Now I am willing to admit that it would be a violent imagination that would mistake one of these lusty stockbreeders for an angel. It will probably be some time before even the pin-feathers will sprout from their shoulder blades. But they are susceptible and under proper influences and conditions I don't know what may happen. I remember in the early days of Des Moines, when we were dependent upon ourselves entirely for amusements, the ladies got up a public entertainment consisting chiefly of tableaux. I had the honor of officiating as stage manager. One representation was of a good and an evil spirit, representing an angel and a devil. The ladies were quite tardy in getting ready. I went into the green room to hurry matters and found the ladies dressing [great applause and continued interruption]. Do not interrupt in the middle of a sentence. I was saying I found the ladies dressing the angel--a young lady to whom they were attaching a pair of wings. I chided their delay and unfortunately remarked, "that it took a long time to make an angel out of a woman." The man who was to represent the evil spirit was sitting by, all ready, with blackened face and horns, and one of the ladies, pointing to him instantly remarked, "that it took but little time to make a devil out of a man." Of course it is only a question of time with all of this crowd. We all expect to be angels but it will take time and good feeding. I believe I have fully exhausted the subject assigned to me, to say nothing of the audience. It is sad to have to make a speech when you don't know beforehand what you are going to say and nobody knows after you are done what you have said. Brethren we have cast our bread upon the waters--and it has returned to us after many days, literally and substantially. I cannot conclude without thanking you for your quiet and uninterrupted attention. During my visit to Emporia, Kansas, with my niece, Rose Vimont, I found a volume written by Alexander H. Stephens, evidently for the purpose of justifying the attempt that had been made to destroy the government of the United States by the disintegration of the government and the establishment of the doctrine of the right of secession. That fall I was invited by the president of the faculty of Simpson Centenary College at Indianola, Iowa, to deliver an address at the college commencement. I accordingly prepared with considerable care a lecture upon the constitutional relations of the national and state governments, in which I endeavored to combat the heresies contained in Stephens's book, and the great truth that the national government was not a compact between sovereign states, but was what it purported to be--a government emanating from the source of all power: to-wit, the people. The trustees and faculty of the college, after this lecture, honored me by conferring upon me the degree of Doctor of Laws. This lecture I afterwards delivered, upon the invitation of the president and faculty of Drake University, before the students of that institution, and also before the law class of the State University at Iowa City. About this time I also prepared and delivered on several occasions a lecture upon the legal rights of married women, containing some sarcasm and criticism upon the advanced legislation by which under our laws a wife could bring suit in the courts and obtain judgment upon a promissory note executed by her husband and payable to herself, citing an instance in which this doctrine had actually been put in practice, and remarking upon the right of the wife to issue execution against her husband and cause a levy to be made upon his personal property for the payment of the judgment, stating, however, that the law in its humanity and pity for the husband had fortunately exempted the husband's wearing apparel, including his pantaloons, from execution. This lecture I also delivered, at the request of several local institutions in several parts of the state. CHAPTER XVIII B. F. ALLEN'S BANKRUPTCY On the 2nd day of January, 1875, the citizens of Des Moines were startled by the news that the Cook County Bank of Chicago, Illinois, of which bank B. F. Allen was president, had closed its doors. A meeting of the citizens was called and held for consultation to ascertain what effect this would have on the local affairs of our city. Impressions seemed to prevail at first that the failure of the Cook County Bank did not necessarily involve the failure of B. F. Allen or of his private bank in the city of Des Moines, or of the National Bank of this city, of which he was president. The great question before the meeting was to ascertain "where we were at." A committee was appointed for that purpose. I had the temerity to suggest that this committee could easily ascertain what we all desired to know by examining the bills receivable in Mr. Allen's bank. I was decidedly of the opinion that the Cook County Bank had never failed and closed its doors while Mr. Allen controlled the means to avoid such a result. Some months before this time, on my return home from business out of the state, my partner, Mr. Kauffman, informed me that he had purchased a certificate of deposit on B. F. Allen's bank at a liberal discount from one J. C. Taylor. The certificate of deposit was of recent date, payable twelve months after date. It occurred to me a very strange performance that Mr. Taylor should deposit fifteen hundred dollars in the bank and take a certificate payable twelve months after date, and then go into the market and sell such a certificate at a liberal discount. As I then suspected, and afterwards ascertained the fact to be, Taylor had not deposited fifteen hundred dollars in the bank, but had furnished the bank his promissory note payable to the Cook County Bank and had received in exchange for it a certificate of deposit payable twelve months after date, and this note of Taylor's had been endorsed by Allen as president of the Cook County Bank, and had been sent to New York as an asset upon which to raise money. Fortunately this little transaction coming to my knowledge induced me to remove my business from B. F. Allen's bank and I lost nothing by his failure. A short time after this; to-wit, about the 26th of January, 1875, a gentleman from New York, to-wit, A. N. Denman, formerly a clerk in the office of Allen, Stephens & Co., came into my office and put in my hands for suit and foreclosure the following remarkable document: NEW YORK, 18 NOV., 1874. I hereby acknowledge the receipt of $465,000 of advances to the Cook County National Bank of Chicago for my account, same being made by Allen, Stephens & Co. in money, paper, and endorsements. I have arranged with them for additional advances. In consideration thereof I hereby grant and convey to Allen, Stephens & Co. by way of mortgage and as security for such advances, all my real estate of every kind and description, and wherever situated. B. F. ALLEN. This mortgage was not filed for record with the recorder of deeds of Polk county until the 19th of January, 1875. On the 30th of November, 1874, it had been placed in a sealed package and intrusted to Mr. Denman in the city of New York with sealed instructions and directions for him to proceed with the package to Chicago and there await further instructions. He was not even informed of the contents of the package and was instructed not to open it until he received advices from New York as to further proceedings. When the people of Des Moines began to realize that B. F. Allen had really become a bankrupt they were ready to believe almost any theory that would exonerate him from the censure that he deserved in risking the money of his depositors in wild and foolish speculation. One theory promulgated and believed was that he had been deceived in the value of the assets of the Cook County Bank when he purchased the same. On the contrary the evidence taken in the suit to which I have alluded shows that he did not pay a dollar of his own money for the stock of the Cook County Bank. Several years before his failure and before his purchase of the Cook County Bank, or a controlling interest in it, he had been appointed by the United States Circuit Court of Des Moines receiver in a litigation that had been commenced against the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railroad Company. As such receiver he had come into possession of about $800,000 of bonds issued by the Rock Island Company. These bonds he had hypothecated in New York City for money with which he carried on his speculations, and as the time approached for him to make settlement of his receivership he found it necessary to do something in order to save the sureties on his bond. He accordingly went to Chicago and in May, 1873, he purchased the controlling interest in the Cook County Bank, giving a draft for the larger part of it on Allen, Stephens & Co., and his note for the balance, all of which was ultimately paid out of the money of the depositors of the Cook County Bank. The funds that he came in control of by this means enabled him to settle his receivership. Mr. Allen, in his testimony in the case referred to gives the following account of his losses by speculation: As a member of the firm of B. F. Murphy & Co., Chicago $200,000 H. M. Bush & Co., Grain Speculation 75,000 Lewis & Stephens, speculators (grain) 30,000 Swamp Land speculation 18,000 San Pete Coal Co. of Utah 18,000 Denver Coal Lands 5,000 Kentucky Lands 25,000 South Evanston property 40,000 Building on So. Evanston property 40,000 Sheffield near South Chicago 32,000 Grand Pacific Hotel stock 10,000 Prairie Avenue Residence 31,000 Chicago Railway Construction Co. 10,000 Canada Southern Railway Co. 60,000 Toledo, Wabash & Western R.R. Co. 35,000 Speculation Stock Exchange 150,000 These losses only foot up $779,000, whereas in truth and in fact the depositor's accounts in his private bank in Des Moines alone amounted to $800,000 at the time of his failure, and his indebtedness to the Charter Oak Life Insurance Company for money procured by Blennerhassett from that institution amounted to over one-half million dollars, and a draft of the Iowa State National Bank $100,000 not credited to that bank until after the failure. In May 1874, one Warren Hussey, of Utah, visited Blennerhassett & Stephens in New York City and induced them to procure a pretended loan of $400,000 from the Charter Oak Life Insurance Company, then represented by its vice-president, a man by the name of White. The money was advanced as a pretended loan to one Matthew Gisborn without any security whatever save the personal security of Gisborn & Hussey, with a private understanding that Mr. White and Messrs. Blennerhassett & Stephens should have the benefit of anticipated dividends on the stock of the mine, a large share of which was in the hands of Warren Hussey for his commission as procurer; in other words, it was a speculation on the part of Allen, Stephens & Co. and White, the vice-president of the Charter Oak Life Insurance Company, being one of the causes of the failure thereafter of the Charter Oak Life Insurance Company, as the stock proved to be entirely worthless and the security of Gisborn & Hussey was of no value whatever. On April 22, 1875, B. F. Allen was adjudged a bankrupt on the petition of his creditors filed on the 23rd of February, 1875, and Hoyt Sherman, of Des Moines, was appointed assignee in bankruptcy. Mr. Jeff S. Polk and Mr. Bisbee, an attorney of Chicago, were employed by the assignee in bankruptcy to defeat the suit for the foreclosure of the mortgage. The main ground of defense to this mortgage was that at the time of its execution there was an agreement between Allen and Stephens & Blennerhassett that it should be withheld from record, and that between the time of its execution and the time that it was recorded Stephens & Blennerhassett represented that Allen was solvent and possessed of large properties in real estate, and they caused him to be rated by the commercial bureaus of the country as worth one million dollars, and at the same time knew that he was in fact insolvent, and this defense was held to be abundantly proved by the testimony taken in the case, and the supreme court of the United States decided that as against the creditors and the assignee in bankruptcy the mortgage was absolutely void. After the original petition was filed for the foreclosure of the mortgage I filed a supplemental bill making the Charter Oak Life Insurance Company the plaintiff and Hoyt Sherman, the assignee in bankruptcy, the respondent. After several months had elapsed from the time the suit was begun I concluded to make a personal visit to Blennerhassett & Stephens, of New York City, and try to understand the real situation and facts in the case. I spent some two weeks interviewing the two men who constituted the firm, but for some reason not known to me I never could obtain from them any very accurate account or reliable statement of the facts necessary to be understood to make the proper presentation of the case. Mr. Blennerhassett especially appeared to be a very peculiar man and his desire for concealment amounted to a controlling passion. The books of the firm of Allen, Stephens & Co. had locks upon their lids and Blennerhassett carried the key. No attempt was made to inform me of the detail of the transaction between them and the Cook County Bank, and I never became fully advised as to these matters except as they were developed by the testimony afterwards taken. The evidence showed that the correspondence between the house in New York and Mr. Allen was carried on by means of a cipher or fictitious word. Allen was represented as "head," Blennerhassett as "arm," and Stephens as "leg" of some imaginary person. The transmission of the mortgage itself to Chicago in a sealed package with sealed instructions, and the manner in which the business was transacted were well calculated to excite suspicion, or in other words give the impression that there was something that it was necessary to conceal. That Allen was insolvent and had been for several years prior to his actual failure the testimony left no doubt, and the manner in which he conducted his business in connection with the house in New York was overwhelming proof that the parties knew that he could not promptly meet his pecuniary obligations. The real interested party in the transaction was the Charter Oak Life Insurance Company. Mr. White, the vice-president, proved to be under the influence of Blennerhassett and obtained the money of the company in matters of loan and discount to an extent that was wholly unjustifiable. My visit to New York, however, was a very profitable one to myself. The Charter Oak Life Insurance Company and several of the banks to whom Allen's mortgages and bills receivable had been negotiated from time to time, including $100,000 of bonds of the Des Moines Gas Company, placed in my hands their collections, and I think that the securities that I brought home with me amounted to one half million dollars, and in the suit and foreclosure of these collaterals the firm of Nourse & Kauffman made very handsome profits. The litigation lasted a number of years and a final result was not obtained until the decision of the supreme court of the United States at the April term, 1882. The opinion is reported in United States Supreme Court Reports, Volume 105, page 100. After this decision was made we filed a claim of the Charter Oak Life Insurance Company against the bankrupt estate as a general creditor. In the meantime the Charter Oak Life Insurance Company itself had gone into bankruptcy. We had some doubt as to whether our claim would be allowed as we had insisted on a preference that the court had decided was fraudulent. Mr. J. S. Polk and Mr. Bisbee, of Chicago, finally bought the claim of the Charter Oak Life Insurance Company against the bankrupt estate, and had no difficulty in having it allowed by Mr. Sherman, the assignee. These men also bought large and valuable portions of the real estate from Mr. Sherman, the assignee, and received a conveyance accordingly. The estate paid to the general creditors only, as we were advised, about fifteen cents on the dollar. Another interesting feature of the transaction was that Mr. Allen claimed the benefit of the homestead law of Iowa and claimed the fine residence on Terrace Hill with forty acres of land as exempt from his debts. The homestead law of Iowa, however, only exempted a homestead in favor of a resident of the state. Mr. Allen had been for a number of years a resident of Chicago, had purchased a home there, and had paid out $31,000 on the purchase. We also proved that he had voted as a citizen of Chicago, I think at the city, county, and state elections, and that he had offered the property on Terrace Hill for sale and had caused a number of articles to be published in the city papers claiming the property to be worth $100,000. A compromise, however, was made by the assignee in bankruptcy by which Mr. Allen was allowed the buildings and a limited amount of ground, and Mr. F. M. Hubbell purchased the same for $40,000. This $40,000 did him no good, for within a year or two he lost it in another grain speculation on the board of trade in Chicago. In the meantime his wife, who was a daughter of Captain F. R. West, had become insane and imagined that her husband's creditors were pursuing her because of their losses, and she died within a few months after losing her reason. Mr. Allen a few years afterwards removed to California, where he still lives at the time of the present writing, holding some employment from the United States government in connection with the business of preserving the timber on the public lands in that state. [Illustration: _Charles Clinton Nourse_ From Photograph by I. W. Kramer, Des Moines] CHAPTER XIX ABOUT PROHIBITION In the month of November, 1889, the democratic party of the state of Iowa, for the first time since the election of Governor Grimes in 1854, succeeded in electing their candidate for governor; to-wit, Horace Boies. This was brought about by a singular combination between the railroad and the saloon interests of the state. I have already given some account of the effect upon the question of prohibition of the foolish policy pursued by the pretended friends of temperance in securing from the supreme court of the state a decision against the right to manufacture alcohol within the limits of the state for the purpose of export, and also the foolishness and wickedness of certain pretended friends of prohibition in instituting fraudulent prosecutions with a view to making costs and fees for their own personal profit. During the administration of Governor Larrabee the railroads of the state had become very restive under the control exercised by the Railroad Commissioners of the state under the law of 1888. In the month of August, 1888, some thirty suits were commenced in the district court of Polk county against the Rock Island, Northwestern, and "Q" railroads for penalties incurred in failure to make their reports to the Commissioners as required by the statute. The railroads of Iowa had become a very potent political power. We had five railroads extending from the Mississippi to the Missouri river, and in every county of the state in which these roads were located the railroads had one or more active attorneys to look after their interests, and under such captaincy as Blythe, of Burlington, and Hubbard, of Cedar Rapids, they exercised a very important influence over the politics of the state, controlling to a large extent the nomination of supreme judges and district judges and other state officers. The people of the state had become restive under the domination of this power. The open and shameless peddling of railroad passes to the members of the general assembly had begun to lose its power as against the rising indignation of the people. In the counties of Lee, Des Moines, Muscatine, Scott, and Dubuque on the Mississippi river, and such interior counties as Johnson and Crawford, with their foreign population, the saloon power of the state, uniting with the railroads, was sufficient to cause a successful revolt against the party in power. Horace Boies, the democratic candidate for governor, openly and shamelessly declared the prohibitory law to be cruel and unjust in its provisions, and his utterances in this behalf encouraged the violators of the law to believe what they afterwards realized, that though the courts might assess penalties, yet an executive who believed the penalty to be unjust could easily be persuaded to exercise pardoning power in their remission, and such was the result. For four years during the administration of Horace Boies the effort to enforce the prohibitory law was almost paralyzed. After incurring all the expense and trouble incident to the conviction of any one violating the prohibitory law, the people had the mortification of seeing the judgments of the courts rendered nugatory by the wrongful exercise of the pardoning power, vested by the constitution in the governor for wise and proper purposes, prostituted by an unscrupulous politician for his own political advancement and that of his party. Another cause of this successful revolution in the politics of the state arose from the absolute cowardice of the leading republicans of the state in not defending the legislation for which they were responsible. During the candidacy of Boies for his second term, a gentleman who was a candidate on the state ticket for a state office applied to me and asked my consent to publicly discuss the question of prohibition with Mr. Boies in case the state central committee of the party would arrange for such discussion. I gave my consent to such an arrangement, provided the committee would agree to the same, but he afterwards reported to me that the committee did not think it advisable. On the part of the public speakers in behalf of the republican cause the only discussion of the question of prohibition was an apology for the enactment of the law. They did not attempt to discuss the question of right or wrong, but only that the law was enacted because the people by their vote upon the constitutional amendment had signified their approval of prohibition. The result of this cowardice and the four years' domination of the democratic party had its result in the platform adopted by the republican state convention in the year 1893. Only the year before this the republican state convention had adopted a resolution promising the people of the state that the party would take no backward step on the subject of prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors as a beverage, and at this convention in 1893 they adopted the following resolution: Resolved, That prohibition is not a test of republicanism. The general assembly has given to the state a prohibitory law as strong as any that has been enacted in any country. Like any other criminal statute, its retention, mitigation or repeal must be determined by the general assembly, elected by and in sympathy with the people and to it is relegated the subject, to take such action as they may deem best in the matter, maintaining the present law in those portions of the state where it is now or can be made efficient, and giving to other localities such methods of controlling and regulating the liquor traffic as will best serve the cause of temperance and morality. Under this platform, which merely meant the return of the open licensed saloon to Iowa in such localities in which the people would tolerate them, Mr. A. B. Cummins and his followers were all received back with open arms as prodigal sons and became at once important leaders politically in the republican party. The friends of prohibition were shocked and alarmed at this result and at once the prominent and more courageous prohibitionists of the state joined in a call for an independent republican convention favorable to prohibition. At the solicitation of a number of prohibitionists in the city of Des Moines I prepared the following address and call for a state convention, which address was adopted by a public meeting, held in the city of Des Moines: When, through the machinations of men who, in their desire for success, have lost sight of principle, causes dear to humanity are about to be sacrificed, it becomes the duty of patriotic citizens to make an organized effort to rescue their imperiled rights. As republicans we assert our unqualified devotion to the doctrines and principles of the republican party as heretofore set forth in our national platform, and as declared by republican state conventions and put in practical effect in the state of Iowa by republican legislators prior to the meeting of the republican state convention, held at Des Moines on the sixteenth inst. We declare that through the patriotic efforts of the republican party of Iowa prohibition had become the settled policy of the state, and that any attempt on the part of the politicians to induce the party to take a backward step on that question is to repudiate a past honorable record and to uselessly endanger future success by a base imitation of a hitherto despised opposition. More than forty years ago the people of Iowa without distinction of party declared through the enactment of their general assembly, that the "people of this state would hereafter take no part in the profits of the retail of intoxicating liquors." This principle was again approved by the people of the state in the adoption of the act of 1855, approved by Governor Grimes, and more recently the people again endorsed the principle by adopting a constitutional amendment prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors for the purpose of a beverage. The people of the state of Iowa have never indicated any desire for a change of policy on this question, but on the contrary through the action of their representatives expressly elected upon this issue, they have constantly and consistently adhered to our present law. The declarations of the recent republican convention have not been brought about by any change of sentiment on the part of the republicans of the state, but in our judgment its action is the result of a combination of politicians who had other and ulterior purposes at heart, and have failed to realize that whatever may have been their own want of convictions upon the question, the great mass of people have been honest and sincere. The honest voters of the republican party are not "clay in the hands of the potter," to be molded into any fashion that may suit the professional politician. The battle that for the past quarter of a century they have been waging against the liquor power and influence, and in which they have gained so many signal triumphs, has not been prompted by a mere desire for office or place, nor have our forces been kept together by the mere "cohesive power of the hope of public plunder." Hence if the defeat of 1891 could in any measure have been attributed to the position of the party on the question of prohibition, it would not constitute a valid reason for a shameful surrender and retreat. When the republican party declared for the maintenance of the prohibitory law, and promised that the party would take no backward step on this question, the earnest and honest men of the party did not mean that the party would only pursue that policy so long as it would win, but they meant that prohibition was right and that they would maintain the right, and that they intended to fight it out on that line, not only that summer, but until the saloon should make an unconditional surrender. We have reasons to believe and do believe that the platform of the convention of the sixteenth inst., on the subject of temperance, was brought about by the same combination of railroad and saloon influence that defeated our party in the election of 1891, aided by the timid and half-hearted defense of our platform through the weakness of our state central committee. The implied threat of the same combination to repeat their opposition in the approaching election, induced the republican state central committee to unite in accomplishing this surrender. It is said and often repeated that there is no hope for the cause of prohibition except through the success of the republican party. This was undoubtedly true so long as the state platform pledged the party to maintain and enforce the law. The platform adopted on the sixteenth inst. not only does not promise to maintain prohibition as a state policy, but expressly declares in favor of "something else" in those localities where the prohibitory law was not enforced. This "something else" in the pretended "interest of true temperance" can deceive no man who does not desire to be deceived. It is a base imitation of democratic state platforms, and intends merely the "Schmidt bill" or the "Gatch bill" or some other equally objectionable attempt to abandon prohibition as a principle and as a state policy. We believe in the sovereignty of the state of Iowa, and in its undivided sovereignty over every foot of territory within its boundaries. We do not believe the general assembly should attempt to exercise the power to make an act criminal in one part of the state and license the same act in another part of the state. The constitution of our state requires that all laws enacted by the general assembly "shall have a uniform operation." If the state shall concede that the sale of intoxicating liquors may be licensed in one part of the state and saloons may be lawfully established in one city or county, with what consistency can the state punish such acts as criminal when done in another locality within her jurisdiction. The establishment of a saloon for the propagation of drunkenness is either innocent or a criminal act. We recognize no middle ground. We do not believe in compromising with criminals or commuting offenses committed against the best interests of humanity. Neither do we believe the republican party of Iowa can ever survive an act so inconsistent with principle and her former professions, as would be the repeal of our present prohibitory law or the enactment of a license system for any part of the state. We do not propose or recommend opposition to the election of any candidate for the general assembly on the republican ticket who is in favor of maintaining and enforcing our present law. The election of such is consistent with our past history and policy and will secure a republican United States senator. If, however, any candidate for the general assembly on the republican ticket shall declare for a saloon as against what has heretofore been recognized as republicanism, the responsibility of his defeat, with all its political consequences, will be upon him, and not upon those who are true to their convictions and principles and the past policy of the party. We, therefore, the republicans of Polk county in mass convention assembled, at the instance and with the coöperation of the republicans of Sac and other counties of the state, who protest and dissent from the action of the state convention of the sixteenth inst., with the view of an organized effort that may save our party from committing the great wrong and outrage attempted, do hereby invite all citizens who agree with us in sentiment and purpose to meet in delegate convention in Calvary Tabernacle at Des Moines, Iowa, on Tuesday the fifth day of September, A.D. 1893, at 10 A.M., to take such steps and devise such measures as _First._ Will secure the election to the general assembly at the November election of such candidates only as will maintain the present prohibitory law. _Second._ As will secure such action and such an expression of the will and wishes of the people of the state as will convince the republican managers that the path of honor is the only path of safety. The call for this convention alarmed the leaders of the republican party in the state, and they were very active in their efforts to counteract its effect. The convention was held according to the call on the 5th of September, 1893, and we had a very large representation and a very enthusiastic convention. We adopted a platform embracing the principles indicated in the call for the convention and nominated a state ticket. Our candidate for Governor, Mr. L. S. Coffin, was not present in the convention, but Doctor Fellows, a prominent prohibitionist of the state, vouched for his entire sympathy with the movement and his acceptance of the nomination. Mrs. J. Ellen Foster, who had been president of the national W.C.T.U., was sent by politicians from Washington, D.C., and was present at the convention, for the purpose, if possible, of alienating such as she could influence from taking part in or endorsing the movement. She seated herself in the gallery over against the chair occupied by the president and scowled and looked vengeance at those who took an active part in its proceedings. When I read the call for the convention before set out she looked for all the world like Tam O'Shanter's wife when waiting for Tam's return, "Knitting her brows like a gathering storm and nursing her wrath to keep it warm." During the recess of the convention she was very busy button-holing first one and then another of the prominent prohibitionists in attendance, taking them to a private parlor in the hotel and laboring with them to convince them that the success of the republican party was more important than the question of prohibition. After our nomination of Coffin as our candidate for Governor, Mr. Lafe Young, editor of the _Capital_, made a visit to Mr. Coffin at his home at Fort Dodge. Mr. Coffin had prepared his letter of acceptance of our nomination, but Young induced him to cut it in two and change the latter half of it so that it would read a declination of the nomination, and by some means unknown to the public induced Mr. Coffin to take the stump and make a number of speeches on the tariff question during the political canvass that year. By some means unknown also to me, the leading railroad lawyers of the state who had supported Boies were induced to return to their allegiance to the republican party, and the party succeeded in electing Jackson their candidate for governor, and also electing a legislature in sympathy with their saloon platform. The general assembly that met in January, 1894, accordingly passed the act known as the mulct law, being chapter 62 of the laws of the 25th general assembly of the state. This act does not in terms attempt to repeal the prohibitory law then in force in the state. On the contrary, section 16 of the act expressly provides: "Nothing in this act contained, shall be in any way construed to mean that the business of the sale of intoxicating liquors is in any way legalized, nor is the same to be construed in any manner or form as a license, nor shall the assessment or payment of any tax for the sale of liquors as aforesaid, protect the wrongdoer from any penalty now provided by law, except that on conditions hereinafter provided certain penalties may be suspended." The next section of the act provides for the circulation of a petition, and by obtaining a certain majority or percentage of the voters to sign a petition to that effect the penalties provided in the prohibitory liquor law shall not be enforced against the offender. Under this law the brewers of St. Louis and Milwaukee employed men to circulate petitions, paying them five dollars a day for their services in obtaining signatures to petitions in certain counties of the state, under which the parties who paid the required tax were secured against any prosecutions for violations of the law. I tried several cases in the district and supreme court of the state for the purpose of testing the constitutionality of this act of the legislature. It placed the pardoning power theretofore exercised by the Governor of the state in the hands of the brewers of Milwaukee and St. Louis and their employees, provided they could by such means as they might adopt, obtain the required number of signatures to such petitions. It clearly recognized that what was a crime under the law in one part of the state, might be committed provided the necessary amount was furnished and paid into the public treasury as a commutation for the offense, and that payment should be made in advance without reference to the number of offenses that might be committed. It was clearly not a law of uniform operations under the decisions of our supreme court as theretofore held, for it was a crime in one city or county in the state and not a crime in another city or county of the state; notwithstanding the law making it a crime was still left in full force and effect, except as it was abrogated in a particular locality by the signing of certain petitions. Strange to say the supreme court of Iowa, notwithstanding their former decisions to which I have heretofore referred, sustained this law and its constitutionality, and under it in all of the counties of the state where we had any considerable foreign population the legalized saloon has returned to do its deadly work and the only compensation for it is that men who call themselves republicans have been able to hold and enjoy the honors of public office. After the decision of our supreme court upon the question of the constitutionality of this act I received from the editors of a law publication east a communication requesting my views and opinions for publication in their law magazine, and I simply wrote upon the letter addressed to me the statement that the decision made by our supreme court under this law was a political necessity and that it was an old and true adage that necessity knew no law, and I had no further comments to make upon it. Since the prominent part that I took in this canvass of 1893 my standing with the republican party has been rather impaired; nevertheless, subsequently in the campaigns of Mr. Wm. Jennings Bryan involving the national policy of the republican party, I have taken very active part. The free coinage of silver heresy of Mr. Bryan I regarded as a serious menace to the integrity and honor of the nation, and I spent very considerable time and my own private means in making public speeches condemning that wild and visionary scheme. In state politics I have taken no active part since 1894. I never belonged to or coöperated with what has been known as the "Third party" or the prohibition party as a national organization. When the prohibitionists of Iowa united with the national organization I strongly advised against it. I could not see any hope of accomplishing anything by such an organization. The states of Kansas, Iowa, and the Dakotas had become prohibition, and in my judgment the only effectual way of reaching the question of prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors as a beverage, or the establishment of places of resort for such sale, was by the exercise of the police power of the states in the management of their own domestic affairs. The congress of the United States had no control over the subject, except in the matter of revenue laws or the taxing of the manufacture or sale of liquors. Our courts and the supreme court of the United States had agreed that the payment of taxes under these revenue laws and the issuing of what has been called a license, was really no protection as against the state law and its penalties. The general government does not exercise police power within the state but it may enforce penalties for the violation of revenue laws or enact laws regulating commerce within the states, but it cannot prohibit the establishment of the saloon or the maintenance of such a place merely upon the ground of preserving public order and morality. I could not and never have been able, therefore, to see the propriety of a national organization based upon the idea of prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors as a beverage, or establishing places of resort for such sale. Another objection to this third party, the national prohibition party, so-called, has been the adoption of a platform favoring universal suffrage without reference to sex. This also is a question over which the congress of the United States have not heretofore exercised any jurisdiction. The question of suffrage or the right to vote has been a matter peculiarly within the control of each state of the Union and its local constitution and laws, and is not and never has been a matter of national politics. I have always believed and still believe that if the prohibitionists had confined their efforts to the several states, capturing those in which they had some prospect of success, their cause would have grown and become stronger each year. The great centers of population such as New York City, Chicago, Cincinnati, and St. Louis, and such other cities filled as they are with foreign population, who have no sympathy with the manners and customs pertaining to these agricultural states, cannot in my judgment be brought under the control of prohibition at any time during the present or next generation of men, and I regard it as foolish to spend our time and our money in such quixotic efforts. My hope in inaugurating the movement that we made in 1893 was simply to teach the republicans of Iowa the lesson that success politically was not to be attained in this state by subservience to the saloon power, and that defeat in the election of that year might result in a return of the party to its better and higher purposes in maintaining that which was right and just and humane. That we were defeated in that effort at that time was most unfortunate, but the domination of the political power of the saloon, I still have faith to believe, will work its own destruction, and that the people of this state will return to their former convictions. CHAPTER XX PERSONAL INCIDENTS In the spring of the year 1888 I sold my home, 707 Fourth street, and built a house for my residence on my farm. We left the old home with no little regret. It had been our place of residence since the fall of 1859, with the exception of two years in which we fitted up the property temporarily on the corner of Fifth and Center, while we built the new house on Fourth in the old location. We had planted the shade trees of hard and soft maple. Here our child had been born and had grown to manhood, here we had celebrated our silver wedding in 1878, and had enjoyed the society of many kind friends and persons of distinction and influence in the state. Bishop Andrews, the bishop of the Methodist Episcopal church, with his family, resided nearly opposite to our house, and Bishop Hearst and his family had lived on Third street nearby, and our excellent neighbors, A. Y. Rawson and his first wife, Thos. F. Withrow and his family, had been our kind friends through many years. Here we had entertained such men as Governor Grimes and Governor Kirkwood and his wife, Senator Harlan and his wife, Bishop Waldron, Bishop Simpson, and other distinguished men of the state and of the church. The most difficult problem in my life that I had to solve was the care and education of my son. I felt that everything was at stake in his proper discipline and education. During his early childhood we sent him to school as already mentioned to Mrs. Winkley, afterwards for some years to the public school and still later to Callanan College, an institution taught by Dr. Pomeroy. When the time came for him to go from home and attend college my first thought was to send him to Iowa City to the State University, but I had grave fears in regard to the influence that prevailed in that city. The college campus was environed by saloons and public sentiment of that town was far from being what it ought to have been. Attorneys had been mobbed in the streets of the city for the offense of prosecuting the violators of the prohibitory law, and there had been no proper expression of public sentiment condemning the outrage. I consulted with a number of the best citizens of Iowa City in regard to the matter of sending my son there for his education, but I became satisfied that they knew but very little of what was transpiring in the city after bedtime. I thought it prudent to make an investigation on my own account. I accordingly took the train that left Des Moines at five o'clock in the afternoon, arriving at Iowa City about half past nine. I went to the St. James Hotel and quietly registered my name and engaged a room for the night, but did not go to bed. I waited until about half past ten or eleven o'clock, and took my hat and started out on a tour of inspection. I visited a number of the saloons on the public square and found them filled with young men, no doubt students of the college, and I met several crowds of these young gentlemen on the street headed by one of the trustees of the college in not a very sober condition. I returned to my hotel with my mind fully made up that my boy should go without an education before I would subject him to the risk of being educated in such a town. Subsequently I visited Ames in company with my wife and selected a proper room in the dormitory for my son's occupancy, and we sent him to Ames accordingly. He afterwards spent a year in California before settling down to business as an architect in Des Moines. [Illustration: _Rebecca A. McMeekin Nourse_ From Photograph by Edinger] He was anxious to design a country farm house that should be a credit to his own skill and ability. Our new house was completed in the latter part of July of that year. We found it somewhat inconvenient to be so far away from our church privileges and from business, but took great pleasure in improving our grounds and setting out fruit and ornamental trees for our new home. I had the old road changed so as to run east of the house. My wife soon became very much attached to the new home and here we had many pleasant reunions with our old friends and neighbors. In 1886 I rented the farm, including the land in section 20 bought of Sneer, to Mr. Charles West for the term of three years, he carrying on a dairy farm on the place, reserving from his lease the right to occupy the orchard as well as my own residence, and also the right of pasture for a team of horses and a couple of cows. The next year, 1889, my son contracted marriage with Miss Elizabeth Baehring, and here were born my two grandchildren, Clinton Baehring Nourse on April 14, 1890, and Lawrence Baehring Nourse on October 5, 1893. My son and his wife and first child made a trip to Europe in the year 1892. In 1895 my son purchased a property on Fifth street and removed to the city and occupied the same until the fall of the year, when the children were both taken down with diphtheria. He put them both at once in a carriage and brought them out to our country home, where the oldest of the two children died September 10th. This was the first death we had in the family, and I purchased a lot in Woodland Cemetery where the little one was laid away. The following year my health became somewhat impaired and I had a serious attack of what they called la grippe. I was somewhat overworked at that time, and under the advice of my physician I went with my wife to the state of Florida and spent the winter in St. Petersburg in that state, returning early in the spring and resuming my practice. For several successive years since then I have spent my winters in St. Petersburg, Florida. In the year 1902 my son's health became seriously impaired, and early that fall with his wife and child he visited California, and in December of that year my wife and myself joined them. My son suffered from severe nervous condition that made it impossible for him to sleep only a few hours out of each twenty-four. He was reduced in flesh to about 117 pounds weight and I became seriously concerned for his future. Finding outdoor travel to agree with him better than treatment of the doctors, we finally in the month of April, 1903, determined upon a camping expedition and a visit to the Yosemite valley. We fitted out two teams with camp wagons and tent, and started from Long Beach about the 26th of April, traveling about twenty miles a day, going first via the coast to Santa Barbara and thence via Merced over to the Yosemite valley. At Santa Barbara my wife concluded she would not go any further with us on the trip. Our roads over mountains were very narrow, the outer wheel of the wagon only three or four feet from the precipice, and she suffered nervous apprehension that deprived her of any real enjoyment of the trip. I secured the services of a young man to accompany us on the further trip and to aid in the work incident to camp life. My son's wife had suffered from a spell of nervous indigestion and was scarcely able to do the cooking for her husband and child. I became the cook for myself and my assistant and acquired considerable skill in making coffee and flapjacks and frying breakfast bacon. The scenery upon this trip and in the valley of the Yosemite has been described by many writers more skilled than myself in putting their impressions upon paper. I can only say that we all enjoyed the trip exceedingly and were strongly impressed with these wonderful mountains and valleys and great trees that have acquired a world-wide reputation. My wife and myself returned to Iowa and to our home early in July, 1903. During the second year of the tenancy of Mr. Chas. West I had the misfortune of losing all of my barns and outbuildings by fire. The loss amounted to about $3,500 and I only had $500 insurance on one of the barns. I immediately rebuilt the barns and granary and corn cribs, taking the precaution also to build a separate barn for my own use. A few months after my return from California in that year I discovered that one of my eyes had failed, supposed to be caused by a callous condition of the optic nerve. Soon after the other eye became affected in the same way, and later in the fall I was unable to read. I first applied to and received treatment from Dr. Pearson; afterwards I visited Chicago and took treatment of an oculist of some reputation there. The following winter I took treatment from Dr. Amos of Des Moines, and spent two weeks in the Methodist Hospital without receiving any relief or seeming benefit. These physicians were all candid enough to confess their inability to do me any good, and since that time I have been partially deprived of the use of my sight, and have not been able to read or write. My physicians promised me several years ago that I should lose my sight entirely, but in this I am happy to say they were wrong. I can still see imperfectly to get about and avoid collision with objects, but I am not able to recognize the features of friends and acquaintances. I have continued every year to visit St. Petersburg during the winter season, and have made many pleasant and interesting acquaintances among the tourists who visit annually that place. On the first day of November, 1906, my beautiful home was totally destroyed by fire. We lost all our furniture and clothing, except my private library and furnishings on the first floor of the house, which we succeeded in rescuing from the flames. The previous winter my wife had accompanied me to Florida and remained with me there during the season. After our house was destroyed we removed to the city and occupied apartments with my son and his wife in a block of flats then belonging to my son on Fifth street. The following winter, 1906-07, I spent in St. Petersburg, returning home in April of that year. I had been home only a few days before we made the sad discovery that my wife's health was fast failing. At her earnest solicitation, however, we rebuilt our house on the farm and in August of that year reëstablished ourselves in the location of our old home. And now comes the saddest event of my life. On the 11th day of November, succeeding, my wife passed away. The previous 21st of March was her eightieth birthday. A short time before that date while at St. Petersburg, Florida, I received from my daughter Elizabeth a letter stating that she intended to have some friends spend an evening with my wife to have a birthday celebration, and requesting me to write some verses and also to send a new silk dress pattern to be presented to my wife on the occasion. I had a premonition that the sad event that later transpired in the fall was not far off. I wrote as cheerfully as I could under the circumstances and sent my daughter a check with which to purchase the silk dress pattern, and the following verses I composed as well as I could with my defective sight. They were read on the occasion, and those present assure me that my wife was cheerful and enjoyed their visit very much: My Dear Wife:-- Elizabeth, our daughter, writes to me That she intends to have some friends to tea; She says she can't invite them all, Because our house is much too small, But she selected just a few, The ones she thinks are dearest most to you. She intends to celebrate, for mother dear, The birthday of her eightieth year, And she requests that I shall write to thee, What she is pleased to call some poetry, And that because I can't be there She'll read it from my vacant chair. She also writes, that while your health is good, That very lately she has understood That you are suffering some distress, And I must buy for you a new silk dress, And send it there together with the poetry, That she could have them both in time for tea. The journey has been very long my dear, And you have safely reached your eightieth year, But you will never seem so old to me, I still recall your face just as it used to be. Your brow is smooth, your eyes are bright, You still retain your appetite. This human life doth now as ever Depend so much upon the liver. Some sixty years ago, I knew A fair young girl, she looked like you. We fell in love, a youthful dream, But even now, this world would seem A barren waste, if I could doubt The love I could not live without. 'Tis more than fifty years since we were wed, How rapidly the time has fled. The way has not been always smooth, I only cite the fact to prove Our love was true. That is to say We found some shadows o'er our way. But they were shadows only, and did not bother, For reaching out our hands to touch each other We kept the path until the light Shone out again and all was right. We've had our joy, our grief and sorrow, Differed today, agreed tomorrow, Forgave each other and repented, Firm one day, the next relented, But after all the truth to tell I think we've averaged very well. 'Tis almost four and fifty years Since you, with many sighs and tears, Bade farewell to home and friends, Not knowing what your life might be, With only faith in God and love for me. I'm thinking of the time gone by, When from your home, both you and I Came west to seek and make a home That we might claim and call our own. Without our kindred, friends or wealth, We started forth with youth and health. Whate'er we have, whate'er we've gained We know we've honestly obtained, And we grew strong in faith and hope, And never thought of giving up. To our store we added day by day, And faithful friends have joined us on our way. No woman ever bore a son More true and faithful than our one, And when he grew to man's estate And sought and found a worthy mate, We got our daughter ready grown And took and loved her for our own. But there's another blessing yet And one we never can forget: Our dearest Laurence-- The only grandchild we have left, Since of the other one bereft; But there is also present here A cherub from another sphere. He comes to us from realms above, Drawn hither by the power of love. We can but feel his presence here To honor Grandma's eightieth year. I do not know how many more Of birthdays you may have in store. It is not within our ken to know, Just how much further you may have to go Before you reach the end. But whether near or far, We all will meet you at the "Gates Ajar." In my younger days I had been accustomed somewhat occasionally to indulge myself in the attempt of writing what out of courtesy to my literary qualifications might be called poetry, though my life was too busy a life to indulge much in sentiment or even to indulge much in imagination. Some time the year before I wrote this for my wife's birthday, I composed and wrote the following for the benefit of the Early Settler's Association of Polk county, which was sung with considerable enthusiasm at several of their picnic celebrations. The song is sung to the tune of "John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave," and is as follows: The early settlers' picnic has come around again, And here we are together the few that still remain, To exchange our hearty greetings and to join in this refrain, As we go marching on. Chorus--Glory, glory, hallelujah, Glory, glory, hallelujah, Glory, glory, hallelujah, We still are marching on. 'Tis many years ago since we all came out west To grow up with the country that is now the very best. God gave the soil and climate and the settlers did the rest When they came marching on. Chorus-- We left our homes in yonder for the far off Iowa. We came and saw her beauty and settled down to stay, And there's not a soul among us that has ever rued the day When we came marching on. Chorus-- This is the land of promise where the milk and honey flow, With corn and pumpkin plenty, and where pies and puddings grow, With every other blessing that nature can bestow As we go marching on. Chorus-- We may seem a little older for our heads are silvered o'er, But our hearts are still as young as they were in days of yore, And we still recount the blessings the future has in store As we go marching on. Chorus-- This is a goodly land where we have lived and loved together; We have borne the heat of Summer and faced the coldest weather. Glory, hallelujah! our Iowa forever! We still are marching on. Chorus-- Our nation is united as it never was before, All are happy and contented with old glory floating o'er. We are coming Father Abraham with many millions more, We all are marching on. Chorus-- Our column is unbroken though some have gone before, They have passed across the river and have reached the shining shore, And are waiting there to greet us as they did in days of yore When we were marching on. Chorus-- 
12179	----	[Illustration: "I must think!" I said. "Let me be!"] VANDEMARK'S FOLLY BY HERBERT QUICK 1922 CONTENTS CHAPTER I A Flat Dutch Turnip Begins Its Career. II I Learn and Do Some Teaching. III I See the World, and Suffer a Great Loss. IV I Become a Sailor, and Find a Clue. V The End of a Long Quest. VI I Become Cow Vandemark. VII Adventure on the Old Ridge Road. VIII My Load Receives an Embarrassing Addition. IX The Grove of Destiny. X The Grove of Destiny Does Its Work. XI In Defense of the Proprieties. XII Hell Slew, Alias Vandemark's Folly. XIII The Plow Weds the Sod. XIV I Become a Bandit and a Terror. XV I Save a Treasure, and Start a Feud. XVI The Fewkeses in Clover at Blue-grass Manor. XVII I Receive a Proposal--and Accept. XVIII Rowena's Way Out--The Prairie Fire. XIX Gowdy Acknowledges His Son. XX Just as Grandma Thorndyke Expected. INTRODUCTION The work of writing the history of this township--I mean Vandemark Township, Monterey County, State of Iowa--has been turned over to me. I have been asked to do this I guess because I was the first settler in the township; it was named after me; I live on my own farm--the oldest farm operated by the original settler in this part of the country; I know the history of these thirty-six square miles of land and also of the wonderful swarming of peoples which made the prairies over; and the agent of the Excelsior County History Company of Chicago, having heard of me as an authority on local history, has asked me to write this part of their new History of Monterey County for which they are now canvassing for subscribers. I can never write this as it ought to be written, and for an old farmer with no learning to try to do it may seem impudent, but some time a great genius may come up who will put on paper the strange and splendid story of Iowa, of Monterey County, and of Vandemark Township; and when he does write this, the greatest history ever written, he may find such adventures as mine of some use to him. Those who lived this history are already few in number, are fast passing away and will soon be gone. I lived it, and so did my neighbors and old companions and friends. So here I begin. The above was my first introduction to this history; and just here, after I had written a nice fat pile of manuscript, this work came mighty close to coming to an end. I suppose every person is more or less of a fool, but at my age any man ought to be able to keep himself from being gulled by the traveling swindlers who go traipsing about the country selling lightning rods, books, and trying by every means in their power to get the name of honest and propertied men on the dotted line. Just now I began tearing up the opening pages of my History of Vandemark Township, and should have thrown them in the base-burner if it had not been for my granddaughter, Gertrude. The agent of the Excelsior County History Company called and asked me how I was getting along with the history, and when I showed him what I have written, he changed the subject and began urging me to subscribe for a lot of copies when it is printed, and especially, to make a contract for having my picture in it. He tried to charge me two hundred seventy-five dollars for a steel engraving, and said I could keep the plate and have others made from it. Then I saw through him. He never wanted my history of the township. He just wanted to swindle me into buying a lot of copies to give away, and he wanted most to bamboozle me into having a picture made, not half so good as I can get for a few dollars a dozen at any good photographer's, and pay him the price of a good team of horses for it. He thought he could gull old Jake Vandemark! If I would pay for it, I could get printed in the book a few of my remarks on the history of the township, and my two-hundred-and-seventy-five-dollar picture. Others would write about something else, and get their pictures in. In that way this smooth scoundrel would make thousands of dollars out of people's vanity--and he expected me to be one of them! If I can put him in jail I'll do it--or I would if it were not for posting myself as a fool. "Look here," I said, after he had told me what a splendid thing it would be to have my picture in the book so future generations could see what a big man I was. "Do you want what I know about the history of Vandemark Township in your book, or are you just out after my money?" "Well," he said, "if, after you've written twenty or thirty pages, and haven't got any nearer Vandemark Township than a canal-boat, somewhere east of Syracuse, New York, in 1850, I'll need some money if I print the whole story--judging of its length by that. Of course, the publication of the book must be financed." "There's the door!" I said, and pointed to it. He went out like a shot, and Gertrude, who was on the front porch, came flying in to see what he was running from. I was just opening the stove door. In fact I had put some scraps of paper in; but there was no fire. "Why, grandpa," she cried, "what's the matter? What's this manuscript you're destroying? Tell me about it!" "Give it to me!" I shouted; but she sat down with it and began reading. I rushed out, and was gone an hour. When I came back, she had pasted the pages together, and was still reading them. She came to me and put her arms about my neck and kissed me; and finally coaxed me into telling her all about the disgraceful affair. Well, the result of it all was that she has convinced me of the fact that I had better go on with the history. She says that these county-history promoters are all slippery people, but that if I can finish the history as I have begun, it may be well worth while. "There are publishers," she said, "who do actually print such things. Maybe a real publisher will want this. I know a publisher who may be glad to get it. And, anyhow, it is a shame for all your experiences to be lost to the world. It's very interesting as far as you've got. Go on with it; and if no publisher wants to print it now, we'll give the manuscript to the Public Library in Monterey Centre, and maybe, long after both of us are dead and gone, some historian will find it and have it printed. Some time it will be found precious. Write it, grandpa, for my sake! We can make a wonderful story of it." "We?" I said. "You, I mean, of course," she replied; "but, if you really want me to do it, I will type it for you, and maybe do a little editing. Maybe you'll let me do a little footnote once in a while, so my name will go into it with yours. I'd be awfully proud, grandpa." "It'll take a lot of time," I said. "And you can spare the time as well as not," she answered. "You all think because I don't go into the field with a team any more," I objected, "that I don't amount to anything on the farm; but I tell you that what I do in the way of chores and planning, practically amounts to a man's work." "Of course it does," she admitted, though between you and me it wasn't so. "But any man can do the chores, and the planning you can do still--and nobody can write the History of Vandemark Township but Jacobus Teunis Vandemark. You owe it to the West, and to the world." So, here I begin the second time. I have been bothered up to now by feeling that I have not been making much progress; but now there will be no need for me to skip anything. I begin, just as that canvassing rascal said, a long way from Vandemark Township, and many years ago in point of time; but I am afloat with my prow toward the setting sun on that wonderful ribbon of water which led to the West. I was caught in the current. Nobody could live along the Erie Canal in those days without feeling the suck of the forests, and catching a breath now and then of the prairie winds. So all this really belongs in the history. J.T. VANDEMARK. VANDEMARK'S FOLLY CHAPTER I A FLAT DUTCH TURNIP BEGINS ITS CAREER My name is Jacobus Teunis Vandemark. I usually sign J.T. Vandemark; and up to a few years ago I thought as much as could be that my first name was Jacob; but my granddaughter Gertrude, who is strong on family histories, looked up my baptismal record in an old Dutch Reformed church in Ulster County, New York, came home and began teasing me to change to Jacobus. At first I would not give up to what I thought just her silly taste for a name she thought more stylish than plain old Jacob; but she sent back to New York and got a certified copy of the record. So I had to knuckle under. Jacobus is in law my name just as much as Teunis, and both of them, I understand, used to be pretty common names among the Vandemarks, Brosses, Kuyckendalls, Westfalls and other Dutch families for generations. It makes very little difference after all, for most of the neighbors call me Old Jake Vandemark, and some of the very oldest settlers still call me Cow Vandemark, because I came into the county driving three or four yoke of cows--which make just as good draught cattle as oxen, being smarter but not so powerful. This nickname is gall and wormwood to Gertrude, but I can't quite hold with her whims on the subject of names. She spells the old surname van der Marck--a little _v_ and a little _d_ with an _r_ run in, the first two syllables written like separate words, and then the big _M_ for Mark with a _c_ before the _k_. But she will know better when she gets older and has more judgment. Just now she is all worked up over the family history on which she began laboring when she went east to Vassar and joined the Daughters of the American Revolution. She has tried to coax me to adopt "van der Marck" as my signature, but it would not jibe with the name of the township if I did; and anyhow it would seem like straining a little after style to change a name that has been a household word hereabouts since there were any households. The neighbors would never understand it, anyhow; and would think I felt above them. Nothing loses a man his standing among us farmers like putting on style. I was born of Dutch parents in Ulster County, New York, on July 27, 1838. It is the only anniversary I can keep track of, and the only reason why I remember it is because on that day, except when it came on a Sunday, I have sown my turnips ever since 1855. Everybody knows the old rhyme: "On the twenty-seventh of July Sow your turnips, wet or dry." And wet or dry, my parents in Ulster County, long, long ago, sowed their little red turnip on that date. I often wonder what sort of dwelling it was, and whether the July heat was not pretty hard on my poor mother. I think of this every birthday. I guess a habit of mind has grown up which I shall never break off; the moment I begin sowing turnips I think of my mother bringing forth her only child in the heat of dog-days, and of the sweat of suffering on her forehead as she listened to my first cry. She is more familiar to me, and really dearer in this imaginary scene than in almost any real memory I have of her. I do not remember Ulster County at all. My first memory of my mother is of a time when we lived in a little town the name and location of which I forget; but it was by a great river which must have been the Hudson I guess. She had made me a little cap with a visor and I was very proud of it and of myself. I picked up a lump of earth in the road and threw it over a stone fence, covered with vines that were red with autumn leaves--woodbine or poison-ivy I suppose. I felt very big, and ran on ahead of my mother until she called to me to stop for fear of my falling into the water. We had come down to the big river. I could hardly see the other side of it. The whole scene now grows misty and dim; but I remember a boat coming to the shore, and out of it stepped John Rucker. Whether he was then kind or cross to me or to my mother I can not remember. Probably my mind was too young to notice any difference less than that between love and cruelty. I know I was happy; and it seems to me that the chief reason of my joy was the new cap and the fact that my heart swelled and I was proud of myself. I do not believe that I was more than three years old. All this may be partly a dream; but I think not. John Rucker was no dream. He was my mother's second husband; and by the time I was five years old, and had begun to go to one little school after another as we moved about, John Rucker had become the dark cloud in my life. He paid little attention to me, but I recollect that by the time we had settled ourselves at Tempe I was afraid of him. Two or three times he whipped me, but no more severely than was the custom among parents. Other little boys were whipped just as hard, and still were not afraid of their fathers. I think now that I was afraid of him because my mother was. I can not tell how he looked then, except that he was a tall stooped man with a yellowish beard all over his face and talked in a sort of whine to others, and in a sharp domineering way to my mother. To me he scarcely ever spoke at all. At Tempe he had some sort of a shop in which he put up a dark-colored liquid--a patent medicine--which he sold by traveling about the country. I remember that he used to complain of lack of money and of the expense of keeping me; and that my mother made clothes for people in the village. Tempe was a little village near the Erie Canal somewhere between Rome and Syracuse. There was a dam and water-power in Tempe or near there, which, I think, was the overflow from a reservoir built as a water-supply for the Erie Canal--but I am not sure. I can not find Tempe on the map; but many names have been changed since those days. I think it was farther west than Canastota, but I am not sure--it was a long time ago. 2 Once, for some reason of his own, and when he had got some money in an unexpected way, Rucker took my mother and me to Oneida for an outing. My mother and I camped by the roadside while Rucker went somewhere to a place where a lot of strangers were starting a colony of Free Lovers. After he returned he told my mother that we had been invited to join the colony, and argued that it would be a good thing for us all; but my mother got very mad at him, and started to walk home leading me by the hand. She sobbed and cried as we walked along, especially after it grew late in the afternoon and Rucker had not overtaken us with the horse and democrat wagon. She seemed insulted, and broken-hearted; and was angry for the only time I remember. When we at last heard the wagon clattering along behind us in the woods, we sat down on a big rock by the side of the road, and Rucker meanly pretended not to see us until he had driven on almost out of sight. My mother would not let me call out to him; and I stood shaking my fist at the wagon as it went on past us, and feeling for the first time that I should like to kill John Rucker. Finally he stopped and made us follow on until we overtook him, my mother crying and Rucker sneering at both of us. This must have been when I was nine or ten years old. The books say that the Oneida Community was established there in 1847, when I was nine. Long before this I had been put out by John Rucker to work in a factory in Tempe. It was a cotton mill run, I think, by the water-power I have mentioned. We lived in a log house on a side-hill across the road and above the cotton mill. We had no laws in those days against child labor or long hours. In the winter I worked by candle-light for two hours before breakfast. We went to work at five--I did this when I was six years old--and worked until seven, when we had half an hour for breakfast. As I lived farther from the mill than most of the children who were enslaved there, my breakfast-time was very short. At half past seven we began again and worked until noon, when we had an hour for dinner. At one o'clock we took up work once more and quit at half past five for supper. At six we began our last trick and worked until eight--thirteen hours of actual labor. I began this so young and did so much of it that I feel sure my growth was stunted by it--I never grew above five feet seven, though my mother was a good-sized woman, and she told me that my father was six feet tall--and my children are all tall. Maybe I should never have been tall anyhow, as the Dutch are usually broad rather than long. Of course this life was hard. I was very little when I began watching machines and tending spindles, and used to cry sometimes because I was so tired. I almost forgot what it was to play; and when I got home at night I staggered with sleepiness. My mother used to undress me and put me to bed, when she was not pressed with her own work; and even then she used to come and kiss me and see that I had not kicked the quilt off before she lay down for her short sleep. I remember once or twice waking up and feeling her tears on my face, while she whispered "My poor baby!" or other loving and motherly words over me. When John Rucker went off on his peddling trips she would take me out of the factory for a few days and send me to school. The teachers understood the case, and did all they could to help me in spite of my irregular attendance; so that I learned to read after a fashion, and as for arithmetic, I seemed to understand that naturally. I was a poor writer, though; and until I was grown I never could actually write much more than my name. I could always make a stagger at a letter when I had to by printing with a pen or pencil, and when I did not see my mother all day on account of her work and mine, I used to print out a letter sometimes and leave it in a hollow apple-tree which stood before the house. We called this our post-office. I am not complaining, though, of my lack of education. I have had a right good chance in life, and have no reason to complain--except that I wish I could have had a little more time to play and to be with my mother. It was she, though, that had the hard time. By this time I had begun to understand why John Rucker was always so cross and cruel to my mother. He was disappointed because he had supposed when he married her that she had property. My father had died while a lawsuit for the purpose of settling his father's estate was pending, and Rucker had thought, and so had my mother, that this lawsuit would soon be ended, and that she would have the property, his share of which had been left to her by my father's will. I have never known why the law stood in my mother's way, or why it was at last that Rucker gave up all hope and vented his spite on my mother and on me. I do not blame him for feeling put out, for property is property after all, but to abuse me and my mother shows what a bad man he was. Sometimes he used to call me a damned little beggar. The first time he did that my mother looked at him with a kind of lost look as if all the happiness in life were gone. After that, even when a letter came from the lawyers who were looking after the case, holding out hope, and always asking for money, and Rucker for a day or so was quite chipper and affectionate to my mother in a sickening sort of sneaking way, her spirits never rose so far as I could see. I suppose she was what might be called a broken-hearted woman. This went on until I was thirteen years old. I was little and not very strong, and had a cough, caused, perhaps, by the hard steady work, and the lint in the air of the factory. There were a good many cases every year of the working people there going into declines and dying of consumption; so my mother had taken me out of the factory every time Rucker went away, and tried to make me play. It was so in all the factories in those days, I guess. I did not feel like playing, and had no playmates; but I used to go down by the canal and watch the boats go back and forth. Sometimes the captains of the boats would ask me if I didn't want a job driving; but I scarcely knew what they meant. I must have been a very backward child, and I surely was a scared and conquered one. I used to sit on a stump by the tow-path, and so close to it that the boys driving the mules or horses drawing the boats could almost strike me with their whips, which they often tried to do as they went by. Then I would scuttle back into the brush and hide. There was a lock just below, but I seldom went to it because all the drivers were egged on to fight each other during the delay at the locks, and the canallers would have been sure to set them on me for the fun of seeing a fight. On the most eventful evening of my life, perhaps, I sat on this stump, watching a boat which, after passing me, was slowing down and stopping. I heard the captain swearing at some one, and saw him come ashore and start back along the tow-path toward me as if looking for something. He was a tall man whom I had seen pass at other times, and I was wondering whether he would speak to me or not, when I felt somebody's hand snatch at my collar, and a whip came down over my thin shirt with a cut which as I write I seem to feel yet. It was John Rucker, coming home when we were not expecting him, and mad at finding me out of the factory. "I'll learn yeh to steal my time!" he was saying. "I'll learn your mother to lie to me about your workin'. A great lubber like you traipsin' around idle, and my woman bringin' a doctor's bill on me by workin' night an' day to make up your wages to me--and lyin' to her husband! I'll track you by the blood! Take that--and that--and that!" I had never resisted him: and even now I only tried to wiggle away from him. He held me with one hand, though; and at every pause in his scolding he cut me with the whip. Weeks after the welts on my back and shoulders turned dark along the line of the whip, and greenish at the edges. I did not cry. I felt numbed with fright and rage. Suddenly, however, the tall canal-boat captain, coming back along the tow-path, put in his oar by striking the whip out of John Rucker's hand; and snatched me away from him. "I'll have the law on you!" snarled Rucker. "The devil you will!" said the captain. "I'll put you through!" screamed Rucker. The captain eased himself forward by advancing his left foot, and with his right fist he smashed Rucker somewhere about the face. Rucker went down, and the captain picked up the whip, and carefully laying Rucker on his face stripped up his shirt and revenged me, lash for lash; and counting each cut stopped when he reached ten. "I guess that's the number," said he, taking a look at my bloody back; "but for fear of fallin' short, here's another!" And he drew the whip back, and brought it down with a quick, sharp, terrible whistle that proved its force. "Now," said he, "you've got somethin' to put me through fer!" Then he started back toward the boat, after picking up a clevis which it seems the driver-boy had dropped. I looked at Rucker a moment wondering what to do. He was slowly getting on his feet, groaning, bloody of face and back, miserable and pitiable. But when he saw me his look of hatred drove out of my mind my first impulse to help him. I turned and ran after the captain. That worthy never looked at me; but when he reached the boat he said to some one on board: "Bill, I call you to bear witness that I refused Bubby here a chance to run away." "Ay, ay, sir," responded a voice from the boat. The captain took me gently by the hand and helped me over the gunwale. "Get out o' here," he shouted, "an' go back to your lovin' father!" I sought to obey, but he winked at me and motioned me into the little cabin forward. "An' now, my buck," said he, "that you've stowed yourself away and got so far from home that to put you ashore would be to maroon you in the wilderness, do you want to take a job as driver? That boy I've got lives in Salina, and we'll take you on if you feel like a life on the ocean wave. Can you drive?" "I do' know!" said I. "Have you ever worked?" he asked. "I've worked ever since I was six," I answered. "Would you like to work for me?" said he. I looked him in the face for a moment, and answered confidently, "Yes." "It's a whack," said he. "Maybe we'd better doctor that back o' your'n a little, and git yeh heartened up for duty." And so, before I knew it, I was whisked off into a new life. CHAPTER II I LEARN AND DO SOME TEACHING I lay in a bunk in one of the two little forward cabins next the stable, shivering and sobbing, a pitiful picture of misery, I suppose, as any one ever saw. I began bawling as soon as the captain commenced putting arnica on my back--partly because it smarted so, and partly because he was so very gentle about it; although all the time he was swearing at John Rucker and wishing he had skinned him alive, as he pretty nearly did. To feel a gentle hand on my shredded back, and to be babied a little bit--these things seemed to break my heart almost, though while Rucker was flogging me I bore it without a cry or a tear. The captain dressed my back, and said, "There, there, Bubby!" and went away, leaving me alone. I could hear the ripple of the water against the side of the boat, and once in a while a gentle lift as we passed another boat; but there was nothing much in these things to cheer me up. I was leaving John Rucker behind, it was true, but I was also getting farther and farther from my mother every minute. What would she do without me? What should I do without her? I should be free of the slavery of the factory; but I did not think of that. I should have been glad to the bottom of my heart if I could have blotted out of my life all this new tragedy and gone back to the looms and spindles. The factory seemed an awful place now that I was free, but it was familiar; and being free was awful, too; but I never once thought of going back. I knew I could learn to drive the horses, and I knew I should stay with the captain who had flogged John Rucker. I who had never thought of running away was just as much committed to the new life as if I had planned for it for years. Inside my spirit I suppose I had been running away every time I had gone down and watched the boats float by; and something stronger than my conscious will floated me along, also. I fought myself to keep from crying; but I never thought of running up on deck, jumping ashore and going home, as I could easily have done at any time within an hour of boarding the boat. I buried my face in the dirty pillow with no pillow-case on it, and filled my mouth with the patchwork quilt. It seemed as though I should die of weeping. My breath came in long spasmodic draughts, as much deeper and bitterer than sighs as sighs are sadder and more pitiful than laughter. My whipped back pained and smarted me, but that was not what made me cry so dreadfully; I was in the depths of despair; I was humiliated; I was suffering from injustice; I had lost my mother--and at this thought my breath almost refused to come at all. Presently I opened my eyes and found the captain throwing water in my face. He never mentioned it afterward; but I suppose I had fainted away. Then I went to sleep, and when I awoke it was dark and I did not know where I was, and screamed. The captain himself quieted me for a few minutes, and I dropped off to sleep again. He had moved me without my knowing it, from the drivers' cabin forward to his own. But I must not spend our time on these things. The captain's name was Eben Sproule. He had been a farmer and sawmill man, and still had a farm between Herkimer and Little Falls on the Mohawk River. He owned his boat, and seemed to be doing very well with her. The other driver was a boy named Asa--I forget his other name. We called him Ace. He lived at Salina, or Salt Point, which is now a part of Syracuse; and was always, in his talk to me, daring the captain to discharge him, and threatening to get a job in the salt Works at Salina if ever he quit the canal. He seemed to think this would spite Captain Sproule very much. I expected him to leave the boat when we reached Syracuse; but he never did, and I think he kept on driving after I quit. Our wages cost the boat twenty dollars a month--ten dollars each--and the two hands we carried must have brought the pay-roll up to about seventy a month besides our board. We always had four horses, two in the stable forward, and two pulling the boat. We plied through to Buffalo, and back to Albany, carrying farm products, hides, wool, wheat, other grain, and such things as potash, pearlash, staves, shingles, and salt from Syracuse, and sometimes a good deal of meat; and what the railway people call "way-freight" between all the places along the route. Our boat was much slower than the packets and the passenger boats which had relays of horses at stations and went pretty fast, and had good cabins for the passengers, too, and cooks and stewards, serving fine meals; while all our cooking was done by the captain or one of our hands, though sometimes we carried a cook. Bill, the man who answered "Ay, ay, sir!" when the captain asked him to witness that he had refused me passage on the boat, was a salt-water sailor who had signed on with the boat while drunk at Albany and now said he was going to Buffalo to try sailing on the Lakes. The other man was a green Irishman called Paddy, though I suppose that was not his name. He was good only as a human derrick or crane. We used to look upon all Irishmen as jokes in those days, and I suppose they realized it. Paddy used to sing Irish comeallyes on the deck as we moved along through the country; and usually got knocked down by a low bridge at least once a day as he sang, or sat dreaming in silence. Bill despised Paddy because he was a landsman, and used to drown Paddy's Irish songs with his sailor's chanties roared out at the top of his voice. And mingled with us on the boat would be country people traveling to or from town, pedlers, parties going to the stopping-places of the passenger boats, people loading and unloading freight, drovers with live stock for the market, and all sorts of queer characters and odd fish who haunted the canal as waterside characters infest the water-front of ports. If I could live that strange life over again I might learn more about it; but I saw very little meaning in it then. That is always the way, I guess. We must get away from a type of life or we can't see it plainly. That has been the way as to our old prairie life in Iowa. It is only within the past few years that I have begun to see a little more of what it meant. It was not long though until even I began to feel the West calling to me with a thousand voices which echoed back and forth along the Erie Canal, and swelled to a chorus at the western gateway, Buffalo. 2 Captain Sproule had carried me aft from the drivers' cabin to his own while I was in a half-unconscious condition, and out of pure pity, I suppose; but that was the last soft treatment I ever got from him. He came into the cabin just as I was thinking of getting up, and sternly ordered me forward to my own cabin. I had nothing to carry, and it was very little trouble to move. We were moored to the bank just then taking on or discharging freight, and Ace was in the cabin to receive me. "That upper bunk's your'n," he said. "No greenhorn gits my bunk away from me!" I stood mute. Ace glared at me defiantly. "Can you fight?" he asked. "I do' know," I was obliged to answer. "Then you can't," said Ace, with bitter contempt. "I can lick you with one hand tied behind me!" He drew back his fist as if to strike me, and I wonder that I did not run from the cabin and jump ashore, but I stood my ground, more from stupor and what we Dutch call dumbness than anything else. Ace let his fist fall and looked me over with more respect. He was a slender boy, hard as a whip-lash, wiry and dark. He was no taller than I, and not so heavy; but he had come to have brass and confidence from the life he lived. As a matter of fact, he was not so old as I, but had grown faster; and was nothing like as strong after I had got my muscles hardened, as was proved many a time. "You'll make a great out of it on the canal," he said. "What?" said I. "A boy that can't fight," said he, "don't last long drivin'. I've had sixteen fights this month!" A bell sounded on deck, and we heard the voice of Bill calling us to breakfast. Ace yelled to me to come on, and all hands including the captain gathered on deck forward, where we had coffee, good home-made bread bought from a farmer's wife, fried cakes, boiled potatoes, and plenty of salt pork, finishing with pie. All the cook had to do was to boil potatoes, cook eggs when we had them and make coffee; for the most of our victuals we bought as we passed through the country. The captain had a basket of potatoes or apples on the deck which he used as cash carriers. He would put a piece of money in a potato and throw it to whoever on shore had anything to sell, and the goods, if they could be safely thrown, would come whirling over to be caught by some of us on deck. We got many a nice chicken or loaf of bread or other good victuals in that way; and we lived on the fat of the land. All sorts of berries and fruit, milk, butter, eggs, cakes, pies and the like came to the canal without any care on our part; everything was cheap, and every meal was a feast. This first breakfast was a trial, but I made a noble meal of it. The sailor, Bill, pretended to believe that I had killed a man on shore and had gone to sea to escape the gallows. Ace and Paddy to frighten me, I suppose, talked about the dangers and difficulties of the driver's life; while the captain gave all of us stern looks over his meal and looked fiercely at me as if to deny that he had ever been kind. When the meal was over he ordered Ace to the tow-path, and told him to take me along and show me how to drive. "Here," he snapped at me, "is where we make a spoon or spoil a horn. Go 'long with you!" Ace climbed on the back of one of the horses. I looked up wondering what I was to do. "You'll walk," said Ace; "an' keep your eyes skinned." So we started off. Each horse leaned into the collar, and slowly the hundred tons or so of dead weight started through the water. The team knew that it was of no use to surge against the load to get it started, as horses do with a wagon; but they pulled steadily and slowly, gradually getting the boat under way, and soon it was moving along with the team at a brisk walk, and with less labor than a hundredth part of the weight would have called for on land. I have always believed in inland waterways for carrying the heavy freight of this nation; because the easiest and cheapest way to transport anything is to put it in the water and float it. This lesson I learned when Ace whipped up Dolly and Jack and took our craft off toward Syracuse. It was a hard day for me. We were passing boats all the time, and we had to make speed to keep craft which had no right to pass us from getting by, especially just before reaching a lock. To allow another boat to steal our lockage from us was a disgrace; and many of the fights between the driver boys grew out of the rights of passing by and the struggle to avoid delays at the locks. Sometimes such affairs were not settled by the boys on the tow-path--they fought off the skirmishes; the real battles were between the captains or members of the crews. If there were rules I don't know now what they were, and nobody paid much attention to them. Of course we let the passenger boats pass whenever they overtook us, unless we could beat them into a lock. We delayed them then by laying our boat out into the middle of the canal and quarreling until we reached the lock; under cover maybe of some pretended mistake. Our laying the boat out to shut off a passing rival was dangerous to the slow boat, for the reason that a collision meant that the strongly-built stem-end of the boat coming up from behind could crush the weaker stern of the obstructing craft. Such are some of the things I had to learn. 3 The passing of us by a packet brought me my first grief. She came up behind us with her horses at the full trot. Their boat was down the canal a hundred yards or so at the end of the tow-line; and just before the boat itself drew even with ours she was laid over by her steersman to the opposite side of the ditch, her horses were checked so as to let her line so slacken as to drop down under our boat, her horses were whipped up by a sneering boy on a tall bay steed, her team went outside ours on the tow-path, and the passage was made. They made, as was always the case, a moving loop of their line, one end hauled by the packet, and the other by the team. I was keeping my eye skinned to see how the thing was done, when the tow-line of the packet came by, tripped me up and threw me into the canal, from which I was fished out by Bill as our boat came along. There was actual danger in this unless the steersman happened to be really steering, and laid the boat off so as to miss me. Captain Sproule gazed at me in disgust. Ace laughed loudly away out ahead on the horse. Bill said that if it had been in the middle of the ocean I never would have been shamed by being hauled up on deck. He was sorry for my sake, as I never would live this thing down. "Go change your clothes," said the captain, "and try not to be such a lummox next time." I had no change of clothes, and therefore, I took the first opportunity to get out on the tow-path, wet as I was, and begin again to learn my first trade. It was a lively occupation. There were some four thousand boats on the Erie Canal at that time, or an average of ten boats to the mile. I suppose there were from six to eight thousand boys driving then on the "Grand Canal" alone, as it was called. More than half of these boys were orphans, and it was not a good place for any boy, no matter how many parents or guardians he might have. Five hundred or more convicts in the New York State Penitentiary were men who, as I learned from a missionary who came aboard to pray with us, sing hymns and exhort us to a better life, had been canal-boat drivers. The boys were at the mercy of their captains, and were often cheated out of their wages. There were stories of young boys sick with cholera, when that disease was raging, or with other diseases, being thrown off the boats and allowed to live or die as luck might determine. There were hardship, danger and oppression in the driver's life; and every sort of vice was like an open book before him as soon as he came to understand it--which, at first, I did not. If my mother knew, as I suppose she did, what sort of occupation I had entered upon, I do not see how she could have been anything but miserable as she thought of me--though she realized keenly from what I had escaped. Back on the tow-path, I was earning the contempt of Ace by dodging every issue, like a candidate for office. I learned quickly to snub the boat by means of a rope and the numerous snubbing-posts along the canal. This was necessary in stopping, in entering locks, and in rounding some curves; and my first glimmer of courage came from the fact that I seemed to know at once how this was to be done--the line to be passed twice about the post, and so managed as to slip around it with a great deal of friction so as to bring her to. 4 I was afraid of the other drivers, however, and I was afraid of Ace. He drove me like a Simon Legree. He ordered me to fight other drivers, and when I refused, he took the fights off my hands or avoided them as the case might require. He flicked at my bare feet with his whip. When we were delayed by taking on or discharging freight, he would try to corner me and throw me into the canal. He made me do all the work of taking care of our bunks, and cuffed my ears whenever he got a chance. He made me do his share as well as my own of the labor of cleaning the stables, and feeding and caring for the horses, sitting by and giving orders with a comical exaggeration of the manner of Captain Sproule. In short, he was hazing me unmercifully--as every one on the boat knew, though some of the things he did to me I do not think the captain would have permitted if he had known about them. I was more miserable with the cruelty and tyranny of Ace than I had been at home; for this was a constant misery, night and day, and got worse every minute. He ruled even what I ate and drank. When I took anything at meal-times, I would first glance at him, and if he looked forbidding or shook his head, I did not eat the forbidden thing. I knew on that voyage from Syracuse to Buffalo exactly what servitude means. No slave was ever more systematically cruelized[1], no convict ever more brutishly abused--unless his oppressor may have been more ingenious than Ace. He took my coverlets at night. He starved me by making me afraid to eat. He worked, me as hard as the amount of labor permitted. He committed abominable crimes against my privacy and the delicacy of my feelings--and all the time I could not rebel. I could only think of running away from the boat, and was nearly at the point of doing so, when he crowded me too far one day, and pushed me to the point of one of those frenzied revolts for which the Dutch are famous. [1] The author insists that "cruelized" is the exact word to express his meaning, and will consent to no change.--G.v.d.M. A little girl peeking at me from an orchard beside the tow-path tossed me an apple--a nice, red juicy apple. I caught it, and put it in my pocket. That evening we tied up at a landing and were delayed for an hour or so taking on freight. I slipped into the stable to eat my apple, knowing that Ace would pound me if he learned that I had kept anything from him, whether he really wanted it or not. Suddenly I grew sick with terror, as I saw him coming in at the door. He saw what I was doing, and glared at me vengefully. He actually turned white with rage at this breach of his authority, and came at me with set teeth and doubled fists. "Give me that apple, damn yeh!" he cried. "You sneakin' skunk, you, I'll larn ye to eat my apples!" He snatched at the apple, and was too successful; for before he reached it I opened my hand in obedience to his onslaught; and the apple rolled in the manure and litter of the stable, and was soiled and befouled. "Throwin' my apple in the manure, will yeh!" he yelled. "I'll larn ye! Pick that apple up!" I reached for it with trembling hand, and held it out to him. "It ain't fit for anything but the hogs!" he yelled. "Eat it, hog!" I looked at the filthy thing, and raised my hand to my mouth; but before I touched it with my lips a great change came over me. I trembled still more, now; but it was not with fear. I suddenly felt that if I could kill Ace, I would be willing to die. I was willing to die trying to kill him. I could not get away from him because he was between me and the door, but now suddenly I did not want to get away. I wanted to get at him. I threw the apple down. "Pick that apple up and eat it," he said in a low tone, looking me straight in the eye, "or I'll pound you till you can't walk." "I won't," said I. Ace rushed at me, and as he rushed, he struck me in the face. I went down, and he piled on me, hitting me as he could. I liked the feel of his blows; it was good to realize that they did not hurt me half so much as his abuse had done. I did not know how to fight, but I grappled with him fiercely. I reached for his hair, and he tried to bite my thumb, actually getting it in his mouth, but I jerked it aside and caught his cheek in my grip, my thumb inside the cheek-pouch, and my fingers outside. I felt a hot thrill of joy as my nails sank into his cheek inside and out, and he cringed. I held him at arm's length, helpless, and with his head drawn all askew; and still keeping my unfair hold, I rolled him over, and coming on top of him, thrust the other thumb in the other side of his mouth, frenziedly trying to rip his cheeks, and pounding his head on the deck. We rolled back into the corner, where he jerked my thumbs from his mouth, now bleeding at the corners, and desperately tried to roll me. My hand came into touch with a horseshoe on the stable floor, which I picked up, and filled with joy at the consciousness that I was stronger than he, I began beating him over the face and head with it, with no thought of anything but killing him. He turned over on his face and began trying to shield his head with his arms, at which I tore like a crazy boy, beating at arms, head, hands and neck with the dull horseshoe, and screaming, "I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" In the meantime, it gradually dawned on Ace that he was licked, and he began yelling, "Enough! Enough!" which according to the rules of the game entitled him to be let alone; but I knew nothing about the rules of the game. I saw the blood spurting from one or two cuts in his scalp. I felt it warm and slimy on my hands, and I rained my blows on him, madly and blindly, but with cruel effect after all. I did not see the captain when he came in. I only felt his grip on my right arm, as he seized it and snatched the horseshoe from me. I did not hear what he said, though I heard him saying something. When he caught both my hands, I threw myself down on the cowering Ace and tried to bite him. When he lifted me up I kicked the prostrate Ace in the face as a parting remembrance. When he stood me up in the corner of the stable and asked me what in hell I was doing, I broke away from him and threw myself on the staggering Ace with all the fury of a bulldog. And when Bill came and helped the captain hold me, I was crying like a baby, and deaf to all commands. I struggled to get at Ace until they took him away; and then I collapsed and had a miserable time of it while my anger was cooling. "I thought Ace would crowd the mourners too hard," said the captain. "Now, Jake," said he, "will you behave?" There was no need to ask me. A baby could have held me then. "Don't you know," said the captain, "that you ortn't to pound a feller with a horseshoe? Do you always act like this when you fight?" "I never had a fight before," I sobbed. "Well, you won't have another with Ace," said the captain. "You damned near killed him. And next time fight fair!" That night I drove alone, which I had been doing now for some time, taking my regular trick; and when we tied up at some place west of Lockport, I went to my bunk expecting to find Ace ready to renew his tyrannies, and determined to resist to the death. He was lying in the lower bunk asleep, and his bandaged head looked rather pitiful. For all that my anger flamed up again as I looked at him. I shook him roughly by the shoulder. He awakened with a moan. "Get out of that bunk!" I commanded. "Let me alone," he whimpered, but he got out as I told him to do. "Climb into that upper bunk," I said. He looked at me a moment, and climbed up. I turned in, in the lower bunk, but I could not sleep. I was boss! It was Ace now who would be the underling. It was not a cold night; but pretty soon I thought of the quilts in the upper berth, and imitating Ace's cruelty, I called up to him fiercely, awakening him again. "Throw down that quilt," I said, "I want it." "You let me alone," whimpered Ace, but the quilt was thrown down on the deck, where I let it lie. Ace lay there, breathing occasionally with a long quivering sigh--the most pitiful thing a child ever does--and we were both children, remember, put in a most unchildlike position. I dropped asleep, but soon awakened. It had grown cold, and I reached for the quilt; but something prompted me to reach up and see whether Ace was still there. He lay there asleep, and, as I could feel, cold. I picked up the quilt, threw it over him, tucked him in as my mother used to tuck me in,--thinking of her as I did it--and went back to my bunk. I was sorry I had cut Ace's head, and had already begun to forget how cruelly he had used me. I seemed to feel his blood on my hands, and got up and washed them. The thought of Ace's bandages, and the vision of wounds under them filled me with remorse--but I was boss! Finally I dropped asleep, and awoke to find that Ace had got up ahead of me. I was embarrassed by my new authority; and sorry for what I had been obliged to do to get it; but I was a new boy from that day. It never pays to be a slave. It never benefits a man or a people to submit to tyranny. A slave is a man forgotten of God. If only the negroes, when they were brought to this country, had refused to work, and elected to die as other races of men have done, what a splendid thing it would have been for the world. That fight against slavery was a beautiful, a joyful thing to me, with all its penalties of compassion and guilty feeling afterward. I think the best thing a man or boy can do is to find out how far and to whom he is a slave, and fight that servitude tooth and nail as I fought Ace. It would make this a different world. CHAPTER III I SEE THE WORLD, AND SUFFER A GREAT LOSS The strange thing to me about my fight with Ace was that nobody thought of such a thing as punishing me for it. I was free to fight or not as I pleased. I needed to be free more than anything else, and I wanted plenty of good food and fresh air. All these I got, for Captain Sproule, while stern and strict with us, enforced only those rules which were for the good of the boat, and these seemed like perfect liberty to me--after I whipped Ace. As for my old tyrant, he recovered his spirits very soon, and took the place of an underling quite contentedly. I suppose he had been used to it. I ruled in a manner much milder than his. I had never learned to swear--or to use harder words than gosh, and blast, and dang where the others swore the most fearful oaths as a matter of ordinary talk. I made a rule that Ace must quit swearing; and slapped him up to a peak a few times for not obeying--which was really a hard thing for him to do while driving; and when he was in a quarrel I always overlooked his cursing, because he could not fight successfully unless he had the right to work himself up into a passion by calling names and swearing. As for myself I walked and rode erect and felt my limbs as light as feathers, as compared with their leaden weight when I lived at Tempe and worked in the factory. Soon I took on my share of the fighting as a matter of course. I did it as a rule without anger and found that beyond a bloody nose or a scratched face, these fights did not amount to much. I was small for my age, and like most runts I was stronger than I looked, and gave many a driver boy a bad surprise. I never was whipped, though I was pummeled severely at times. When the fight grew warm enough I began to see red, and to cry like a baby, boring in and clinching in a mad sort of way; and these young roughs knew that a boy who fought and cried at the same time had to be killed before he would say enough. So I never said enough; and in my second year I found I had quite a reputation as a fighter--but I never got any joy out of it. If I could have forgotten my wish to see my mother it would have been in many ways a pleasant life to me. I was never tired of the new and strange things I saw--new regions, new countries. I was amazed at the Montezuma Marsh, with its queer trade of selling flags for chair seats and the like--and I was almost eaten alive by the mosquitoes while passing through it. Our boat floated along through the flags, the horses on a tow-path just wide enough to enable the teams to pass, with bog on one side and canal on the other, water birds whistling and calling, frogs croaking, and water-lilies dotting every open pool. My spirits soared as I passed spots where the view was not shut off by the reeds, and I could look out over the great expanse of flags, just as my heart rose when I first looked upon the Iowa prairies. The Fairport level gave me another thrill--an embankment a hundred feet high with the canal on the top of it, a part of a seventeen-mile level, like a river on a hilltop. We were a happy crew, here. Ace was quite recovered from our temporary difference of opinion--for I was treating him better than he expected. He used to sing merrily a song which was a real canal-chantey, one of the several I heard, the words of which ran like this: "Come, sailors, landsmen, one and all, And I'll sing you the dangers of the raging canawl; For I've been at the mercy of the winds and the waves, And I'm one of the merry fellows what expects a watery grave. "We left Albiany about the break of day; As near as I can remember, 'twas the second day of May; We depended on our driver, though he was very small, Although we knew the dangers of the raging canawl." The rest of it I forget; but I remember that after Bill had sung one of his chanties, like "Messmates hear a brother sailor sing the dangers of the seas," or, "We sailed from the Downs and fair Plymouth town," telling how "To our surprise, The storms did arise, Attended by winds and loud thunder; Our mainmast being tall Overboard she did fall, And five of our best men fell under," Ace would pipe up about the dangers of the raging canal; and finally this encouraged Paddy to fill in with some song like this: "In Dublin City, where I was born, On Stephen's Green, where I die forlorn; 'Twas there I learnèd the baking trade, And 'twas there they called me the Roving Blade." All the rest of the story was of a hanging. No wonder it was hard sometimes for an Irishman to reverence the law. They sang of hanging and things leading up to it from their childhood. I remember, too, how the boys of Iowa used to sing a song celebrating the deeds of the James boys of Missouri--and about the same time we had troubles with horse-thieves. There is a good deal of power in songs and verses, whether there's much truth in poetry or not. 2 I am spending too much time on this part of my life, if it were my life only which were concerned; but the Erie Canal, and the gaps through the Alleghany Mountains, are a part of the history of Vandemark Township. The west was on the road, then, floating down the Ohio, wagoning or riding on horseback through mountain passes, boating it up the Mississippi and Missouri, sailing up the Lakes, swarming along the Erie Canal. Not only was Iowa on the road, spending a year, two years, a generation, two generations on the way and getting a sort of wandering and gipsy strain in her blood, but all the West, and even a part of Canada was moving. We once had on board from Lockport west, a party of emigrants from England to Ontario. They had come by ship from England to New York, by steamboat to Albany and canal to Lockport; and for some reason had to take a deck trip from Lockport to Buffalo, paying Captain Sproule a good price for passage. Their English dialect was so broad that I could not understand it; and I abandoned to Ace the company of their little girl who was one of a family of five--father, mother, and two boys, besides the daughter. I suppose that their descendants are in Ontario yet, or scattered out on the prairies of Western Canada. Just so the people of the canals and roads are in Iowa, and in Vandemark Township. Buffalo was a marvel to me. It was the biggest town I had ever seen, and was full of sailors, emigrants, ships, waterside characters and trade; and I could see, feel, taste, smell, and hear the West everywhere. I was by this time on the canal almost at my ease as a driver; but here I flocked by myself like Cunningham's bull, instead of mingling with the crowds of boys whom I found here passing a day or so in idleness, while the captains and hands amused themselves as sailors do in port, and the boats made contracts for east-bound freight, and took it on. Whenever I could I attached myself to Captain Sproule like a lost dog, not thinking that perhaps he would not care to be tagged around by a child like me; and thus I saw things that should not have been seen by a boy, or by any one else--things that I never forgot, and that afterward had an influence on me at a critical time in my life. There were days spent in grog-shops, there were quarrels and brawls, and some fights, drunken men calling themselves and one another horrible names and bragging of their vices, women and men living in a terrible imitation of pleasure. I have often wondered as I have seen my boys brought up cleanly and taught steady and industrious lives in a settled community, how they would look upon the things I saw and lived through, and how well they could have stood the things that were ready to drag me down to the worst vices and crimes. I moved through all this in a sort of daze, as if it did not concern me, not even thinking much less of Captain Sproule for his doings, some of which I did not even understand: for remember I was a very backward boy for my age. This was probably a good thing for me--a very good thing. There are things in the Bible which children read without knowing their meaning, and are not harmed by them. I was harmed by what I saw in the book of life now opened to me, but not so much as one might think. 3 One evening, in a water-front saloon, Captain Sproule and another man--a fellow who was a shipper of freight, as I remember--spent an hour or so with two women whose bad language and painted faces would have told their story to any older person; but to me they were just acquaintances of the captain, and that was all. After a while the four left the saloon together, and I followed, as I followed the captain everywhere. "That young one had better be sent to bed," said the captain's friend, pointing to me. "Better go back to the boat, Jake," said the captain, laughing in a tipsy sort of way. "I don't know where it is," said I; "it's been towed off somewhere." "That's so," said the captain, "I've got to hunt it up myself--or stay all night in a tavern. Wal, come along. I'll be going home early." The other man gave a sort of sarcastic laugh. "Bring up your boys as you like, Cap'n," said he. "He'll come to it anyhow in a year or so by himself, I guess." "I'm going home early," said the captain. "Course you be," said the woman, seizing the captain's arm. "Come on, Bubby!" There were more drinks where we went, and other women like those in our party. I could not understand why they behaved in so wild and immodest a manner, but thought dimly that it was the liquor. In the meantime I grew very sleepy, being worn out by a day of excitement and wonder; and sitting down in a corner of the room, I lopped over on the soft carpet and went to sleep. The last I heard was the sound of an accordion played by a negro who had been invited in, and the scuff of feet as they danced, with loud and broken speech, much of which was quite blind to me. Anyhow, I lost myself for a long time, as I felt, when some one shook me gently by the shoulder and woke me up. I thought I was at home, in my attic bed, and that it was my mother awakening me to go to work in the factory. "Ma," I said. "Is that you, ma!" A woman was bending over me, her breasts almost falling from the low-cut red dress she wore. She was painted and powdered like the rest, and her face looked drawn and pale over her scarlet gown. As I pronounced the name I always called my mother, I seem to remember that her expression changed from the wild and reckless look I was becoming used to, to something like what I had always seen in my mother's eyes. "Who you driving for, Johnny?" she asked. "Captain Sproule," said I. "Where is he?" For on looking about I saw that there was no one there but this woman and myself. "He'll be back after a while," said she. "Poor young one! Come with me and get a good sleep." I was numb with sleep, and staggered when I stood up; and she put her arm around me as we moved toward the door, where we were met by two men, canallers or sailors, by their looks, who stopped her with drunken greetings. "Ketchin' em young, Sally," said one of them. "Wot will the world come to, Jack, when younkers like this get a-goin'? Drop the baby, Sally, and come along o' me!" The woman looked at him a moment steadily. "Let me go," said she; "I don't want anything to do with you." "Don't, eh?" said he. "Git away, Bub, an' let your betters have way." I clung closer to her side, and looked at him rather defiantly. He drew back his flat hand to slap me over; but the woman pulled me behind her, and faced him, with a drawn knife in her hand. He made as if to take it from her; but his companion held him back. "Do you want six inches o' cold steel in your liver?" he asked. "Let her be. There's plenty o' others." "My money is jest as good's any one else's," said the first. "Jest as good's any one else's;" and began wrangling with his friend. The woman pushed me before her and we went up-stairs to a bedroom, the door of which she closed and locked. She said nothing about what had taken place below, and I at once made up my mind that it had been some sort of joke. "You oughtn't to sleep on that floor," said she, "You'll take your death o' cold. Lay down here, and have a good comfortable nap. I'll see that Captain Sproule finds you." I started to lie down in my clothes. "Take off them clothes," said she, as if astonished. "Do you think I want my bed all dirtied up with 'em?" And she began undressing me as if I had been a baby. She was so tender and motherly about it that I permitted her to strip me to my shirt, and then turned in. The bed was soft, and sleep began to come back to me. I saw my new friend preparing for bed, and presently I awoke to find her lying by me, and holding me in her arms: I heard her sitheing[2], and I was sure she was crying. This woke me up, and I lay wondering if there was anything I could do for her, but I said nothing. Pretty soon there came a loud rap at the door, and a woman asked to be let in. [2] The writer insists that "sitheing" is quite a different thing from sighing, being a long-drawn, quivering sigh. In this I think he is correct.--G.v.d.M. "What do you want?" asked my friend, getting out of bed as if scared, and beginning to put on her clothes, I hustled out and began dressing--a very short job with me. In the meantime the woman at the door grew louder and more commanding in her demand, so much so, that before she was fully dressed, my strange friend opened the door, and there stood a great fleshy woman, wearing a lot of jewelry; red-faced, and very angry. I can't remember much that was said; but I remember that the fat woman kept saying, "What do you mean? What do you mean? I want you to understand that my guests have their rights. One man's money is as good as another's," and the like. "Whose brat is this?" she finally asked, pointing at me. "He's driving for a man with money," said my friend sarcastically. "Who you driving for, Johnny?" she asked; and I told her. "Captain Sproule is down-stairs," said she. "He's looking for you. Go on down! And as for you, Madam, you get out of my house, and don't come back until you can please my visitors--you knife-drawin' hussy!" I went down to the room where the captain had left me; and just as he had begun making some sly blind jokes at my expense, the woman who had befriended me came down, followed by the fat virago, cursing her and ordering her out. "Don't let 'em hurt her!" said I. "She's a good woman. She put me to bed, and was good to me. Don't let 'em hurt her!" We all went out together, the captain asking me what I meant; and then went on walking beside the woman, whom he called Sally, and trying to understand the case. I heard her say, "Mine would be about that size if he had lived. I s'pose every woman must be a darned fool once in a while!" The rest of the case I did not understand very well; but I knew that she went to a tavern where we all spent the night, and that the captain seemed very thoughtful when we went to bed at last--the second time for me. When we finally pulled out of Buffalo for the East, Sally was on the boat--not a very uncommon thing in those days; but the captain was very good and respectful to her until we reached a little village two or three days' journey eastward, when Sally got off the boat after kissing me good-by and telling me to be good, and try to grow up and be a good man; and went off on a country road as if she knew where she was going. "Where did Sally go?" I asked of Captain Sproule. "Home," said he; "and may God have mercy on her soul!" 4 I looked forward more longingly than ever to the time when I should be able to drop off the boat at Tempe, and run up to see my mother; and I fixed it up with Captain Sproule so that when we made our return trip I was to be allowed to stop over a day with her, and taking a fast boat catch up with our own craft farther east. I was proud of the fact that I had two good suits of clothes, a good hat and boots, and money in my pocket. I expected to turn my money out on the table and leave it with her. I thought a good deal of my meeting with John Rucker, and hoped fervently that I should find him absent on one of his peddling trips, in which case I meant to stay over night with my mother; and I seriously pondered the matter as to whether or not I should fight Rucker if he attacked me, as I expected he might; and Ace and I had many talks as to the best way for me to fight him, if I should decide on such a course. Ace was quite sure I could best Rucker; but I did not share this confidence. A fight with a boy was quite a different thing from a battle with a man, even though he might be a coward as I was sure Rucker was. This proposed visit became the greatest thing in my life, a great adventure, as we glided back from Buffalo, past the locks at Lockport, where there was much fighting; past lock after lock, where the lock-tenders tried to sell magic oils, balsams and liniments for man and beast and once in a while did so; and to whom Ace became a customer for hair-oil; after using which he sought the attention of girls by the canal side, and also those who might be passengers on our boat, or members of the emigrant families which crowded the boats going west; past the hill at Palmyra, from which Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet, claimed to have dug the gold plates of the Book of Mormon; past the Fairport level and embankment; for three days floating so untroubled along the Rochester level without a single lock; through the Montezuma Marsh again; and then in a short time would come Tempe, and maybe my great meeting with Rucker, my longed-for visit to my mother. And then Captain Sproule got a contract for a cargo of salt to Buffalo, and we turned westward again! It would be late in the fall before we returned; but I should have more money then, and should be stronger and a better fighter. Canal-boating was fast becoming a routine thing with me; and I must leave out all my adventures on that voyage to Buffalo, and back to Tempe. I do not remember them very clearly anyhow. One thing happened which I must describe, because it is important. We were somewhere west of Jordan, when we met a packet boat going west. It was filled with passengers, and drew near to us with the sound of singing and musical instruments. It was crowded with emigrants always hopeful and merry, bound westward. Evidently the hold had not been able to take in all the household goods of the passengers, for there was a deck-load of these things, covered with tarpaulins. I was sitting on the deck of our boat, wondering when I should join the western movement. When I got old enough, and had money enough, I was determined to go west and seek my fortune; for I always felt that canalling was, somehow, beneath what I wanted to do and become. The packet swept past us, giving me a good deal the same glimpse into a different sort of life that a deckhand on a freighter has when he gazes at a liner ablaze with lights and echoing with music. On the deck of the packet sat a group of people who were listening to a tall stooped man, who seemed to be addressing them on some matter of interest. There was something familiar in his appearance; and I kept my eye on him as we went by. As the boat passed swiftly astern, I saw that it was John Rucker. He was better dressed than I had ever seen him; his beard was trimmed, and he was the center of his group. He was talking to a hunchback--a strange-looking person with a black beard. I wondered what had made such a change in Rucker; but I was overjoyed at the thought that he was off on a peddling trip, and that I should not meet him at home. We floated along toward Tempe in a brighter world than I had known since the time when I felt my bosom swell at the wearing of the new cap my mother had made for me, the day when I, too young to be sad, had thrown the clod over the stone fence as we went down to the great river to meet John Rucker. 5 We tied up for the night some seven miles west of Tempe, but I could not sleep. I felt that I must see my mother that night, and so I trudged along the tow-path in the light of a young moon, which as I plodded on threw my shadow along the road before me. I walked treading on my own shadow, a very different boy from the one who had come over this same route sobbing himself almost into convulsions not many months before. I was ready to swap canal repartee with any of the canallers. It had become my world. I felt myself a good deal of a man. I could see my mother's astonished look as she opened the door, and heard me in the gruffest voice I could command asking her if she could tell me where Mrs. Rucker lived--and yet, I felt anxious. Somehow a fear that all was not right grew in me; and when I reached the path leading up to the house I turned pale, I feel sure, to see that there was no light. I tapped at the door; but there was no response. I felt for the key in the place where we used to leave it, but no key was there. There were no curtains, and as I looked into a room with windows at the opposite side, I saw no furniture. The house was vacant. I went to the little leanto which was used as a summer kitchen, and tried a window which I knew how to open. It yielded to my old trick, and I crawled in. As I had guessed, the place was empty. I called to my mother, and was scared, I can't tell how much, at the echo of my voice in the deserted cabin. I ventured up the stairs, though I was mortally afraid, and found nothing save the litter of removal. I felt about the closet in my mother's bedroom, to find out if any of her clothes were there, half expecting that she would be where I wanted to find her even in the vacant house. Down in a corner I felt some small article, which I soon found was a worn-out shoe. With this, the only thing left to remember her by, I crawled out of the window, shut it carefully behind me--for I had been brought up to leave things as I found them--and stood alone, the most forlorn and deserted boy in America, as I truly believe. The moon had gone down, and it was dark. There was frost on the dead grass, and I went out under the old apple-tree and sat down. What should I do? Where was my mother? She was the only one in the world whom I cared for or who loved me. She was gone, it was night, I was alone and hungry and cold and lost. Perhaps some of the neighbors might know where John Rucker had taken my mother--this thought came to me only after I had sat there until every house was dark. The people had all gone to bed. I tried to think of some neighbor to whom my mother might have told her destination when she moved; but I could recall none of that sort. She had been too unhappy, here in Tempe, to make friends. So I sat there shivering until morning, unwilling to go away, altogether bewildered, quite at my wits' end, steeped in despair. The world seemed too hard and tough for me. In the morning I asked at every house if the people knew Mrs. Rucker, and where she had gone, but got no help. One woman knew her, and had employed her as a seamstress; but had found the house vacant the last time she had sent her work. "Is she a relative of yours?" she asked. "She is my--" I remember I stopped here and looked away a long time before I could finish the reply, "She is my mother." "And where were you, my poor boy," said she, "when she moved?" "I was away at work," I replied. "Well," said she, "she left word for you somewhere, you may be sure of that. Where did you stay last night?" "I sat under a tree," said I, "in the yard--up where we used to live." "And where did you get breakfast?" she asked. "I wasn't hungry," I answered. "I've been hunting for my mother since daylight." "You poor child!" said she. "Come right into the kitchen and I'll get you some breakfast. Come in, and we'll find out how you can find your mother!" While she got me the breakfast which I needed as badly as any meal I ever ate, she questioned me as to relatives, friends, habits, and everything which a good detective would want to know in forming a theory as to how a clue might be obtained. She suggested that I find every man in the village who had a team and did hauling, and ask each one if he had moved Mr. Rucker's family. "Why didn't she write to you?" she finally queried. "She didn't know where I was," I replied. "Did she ever leave word for you anywhere," asked the woman, "before you ran away?" "We had a place we called our post-office," I answered. "An old hollow apple-tree. We used to leave letters for each other in that. It is the tree I sat under all night." "Look there," said the woman. "You'll find her! She wouldn't have gone without leaving a trace." Without stopping to thank her for her breakfast and her sympathy, I ran at the top of my speed for the old apple-tree. I felt in the hollow--it seemed to be filled with nothing but leaves. Just as I was giving up, I touched something stiffer than an autumn leaf, and pulling it out found a letter, all discolored by wet and mold, but addressed to me in my mother's handwriting. I tore it open and read: "My poor, wandering boy: We are going away--I don't know where. This only I know, we are going west to settle somewhere up the Lakes. The lawsuit is ended, and we got the money your father left me, and are going west to get a new and better start in the world. If you will write me at the post-office in Buffalo, I will inquire there for mail. I wonder if you will ever get this! I wonder if I shall ever see you again! I shall find some way to send word to you. Mr. Rucker says he knows the captain of the boat you work on, and can get his address for me in Syracuse--then I will write you. I am going very far away, and if you ever see this, and never see me again, keep it always, and whenever you see it remember that I would always have died willingly for you, and that I am going to build up for you a fortune which will give you a better life than I have lived. Be a good boy always. Oh, I don't want to go, but I have to!" It was not signed. I read it slowly, because I was not very good at reading, and turned my eyes west--where my mother had gone. I had lost her! How could any one be found who had disappeared into that region which swallowed up thousands every month? I had no clue. I did not believe that Rucker would try to help her find me. She had been kidnaped away from me. I threw myself down on the dead grass, and found the worn-out shoe I had picked up in the closet. It had every curve of her foot--that foot which had taken so many weary steps for me. I put my forehead down upon it, and lay there a long time--so long that when I roused myself and went down to the canal, I had not sat on my old stump a minute when I saw Captain Sproule's boat approaching from the west. With a heavy heart I stepped aboard, carrying the worn-out shoe and the letter, which I have yet. The boat was the only home left me. It had become my world. CHAPTER IV I BECOME A SAILOR, AND FIND A CLUE I was just past thirteen when I had my great wrestle with loneliness and desertion that night under the old apple-tree at Tempe; and the next three and a half years are not of much concern to the reader who is interested only in the history of Vandemark Township. I was just a growing boy, tussling, more alone than I should have been, and with no guidance or direction, with that problem of keeping soul and body together, which, after all, is the thing with which all of us are naturally obliged to cope all through our lives. I lived here and there, most of the time looking to Eben Sproule as a prop and support, as a boy must look to some one, or fall into bad and dangerous ways--and even then, maybe he will. I was a backward boy, and this saved me from some deadfalls, I guess; and I had the Dutch hard mouth and a tendency to feel my ground and see how the land lay, which made me take so long to balk at any new vice or virtue that the impulse or temptation was sometimes past before I could get ready to embrace it. I guess there are some who may read this who have let chances for sinful joys go by while an inward debate went on in their own souls; and if they will only own up to it, found themselves afterward guiltily sorry for not falling from grace. "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he," is Scripture, and must be true if rightly understood; but I wonder if it is as bad for one of us tardy people to regret not having sinned, as it would have been if he had been quicker and done so. I hardly think it can be as bad; for many a saint must have had such experiences--which really is thinking both right and wrong, and doing right, even if he did think wrong afterward. That first winter, I lived on Captain Sproule's farm, and had my board, washing and mending. His sister kept house for him, and his younger brother, Finley, managed the place summers, with such help in handling it as the captain had time to give when he passed the farm on his voyages. It was quite a stock farm, and here I learned something about the handling of cattle,--and in those days this meant breaking and working them. It was a hard winter, and there was so much work on the farm that I got only one month's schooling. The teacher was a man named Lockwood. He kept telling us that we ought to read about farming, and study the business by which we expected to live; and this made a deep impression on me. Lockwood was a real teacher, and like all such worked without realizing it on stuff more lasting than steel or stone,--young, soft human beings. I did not see that there was much to study about as to driving on the canal; and when I told him that he said that the business of taking care of the horses and feeding them was something that ought to be closely studied if I expected to be a farmer. This looked reasonable to me; and I soon got to be one of those driver boys who were noted for the sleekness and fatness of their teams, and began getting the habit of studying any task I had to do. But I was more interested in cattle than anything else, and was sorry when spring came and we unmoored the old boat and pulled down to Albany for a cargo west. This summer was like the last, except that I was now a skilled driver, larger, stronger, and more confident than before. I used to ask leave to go on ahead on some fast boat when we drew near to the Sproule farm, so I could spend a day or two at farm work, see the family, and better than this, I am afraid--for they were pretty good to me--look the cattle over, pet and feed the calves, colts and lambs, count the little pigs and generally enjoy myself. On these packet boats, too, I could talk with travelers, and try to strike the trail of John Rucker. I had one never-failing subject of conversation with the Sproules and all my other acquaintances--how to find my mother. We went over the whole matter a thousand times. I had no post-office address, and my mother had depended on Rucker's getting Captain Sproule's address at Syracuse--which of course he had never meant to do--and had not asked me to inquire at any place for mail. I wrote letters to her at Buffalo as she had asked me to do in her letter, but they were returned unclaimed. It was plain that Rucker meant to give me the slip, and had done so. He could be relied upon to balk every effort my mother might make to find me. I inquired for letters at the post-offices in Buffalo, Syracuse, Albany and Tempe at every chance, but finally gave up in despair. 2 I had only one hope, and that was to find the hump-backed man with the black beard--the man Rucker was talking to on the boat we had passed on our voyage eastward before I found my home deserted. This was a very slim chance, but it was all there was left. Captain Sproule had noticed him, and said he had seen him a great many times before. He was a land agent, who made it a business to get emigrants to go west, away up the lakes somewhere. "If your stepfather had any money," said the captain, "you can bet that hunchback tried to bamboozle him into some land deal, and probably did. And if he did, he'll remember him and his name, and where he left the canal or the Lakes, and maybe where he located." "I must watch for him," I said. "We'll all watch for him," said the captain. Paddy was not with us the next summer; but Bill was, and so was Ace, with whom I was now on the best of terms. We all agreed to keep our eyes peeled for a hunchback with a black beard. Bill said he'd spear him with a boathook as soon as he hove in sight for fear he'd get away. Ace was sure the hunchback was a witch[3] who had spirited off my folks; and looked upon the situation without much hope. He would agree to sing out if he saw this monster; but that was as far as he would promise to help me. [3] "Witch" in American dialect is of the common gender. "Wizard" has no place in the vocabulary.--G.v.d.M. The summer went by with no news and no hunchback; and that winter I stayed with an aunt of Captain Sproule's, taking care of her stock. I got five dollars a month, and my keep, but no schooling. She wanted me to stay the summer with her, and offered me what was almost a man's wages; which shows how strong I was getting, and how much of a farmer I was. I did stay and helped through the spring's work; but on Captain Sproule's second passing of Mrs. Fogg's farm, I joined him, not as a driver, but as a full hand. I kept thinking all the time of my mother, and felt that if I kept to the canal I surely should find some trace of her. In this I was doing what any detective would have done; for everything sooner or later passed through the Erie Canal--news, goods and passengers. But I had little hope when I thought of the flood which surged back and forth through this river of news, and of the little bit of a net with which I fished it for information. All this time the stream of emigration and trade swelled, and swelled until it became a torrent. I thought at times that all the people in the world had gone crazy to move west. We took families, even neighborhoods, household goods, live stock, and all the time more and more people. They were talking about Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan and Wisconsin, and once in a while the word Iowa was heard; and one family astonished us by saying that they were going to Texas. The Mormons had already made their great migration to Utah, and the Northwestern Trail across the plains to Oregon and to California took its quota of gold-seekers every year. John C. Fremont had crossed the continent to California, and caused me to read my first book, _The Life of Kit Carson_. Bill, who never could speak in hard enough terms about sailing on the mud-puddle Lakes, which he had never done as yet, once went to Pittsburgh, meaning to go from there down the Ohio and up the Missouri. He had heard of the Missouri River fur-trade, and big wages on the steamboats carrying emigrants from St. Louis up-stream to Nebraska, Iowa and Dakota Territory, and bringing back furs and hides. But at Pittsburgh he was turned back by news of the outbreak of cholera at New Orleans, a disease which had struck us with terror along the canal two or three years before. That summer there were medicine pedlers working on all the boats, selling a kind of stuff they called "thieves' vinegar" which was claimed to be a medicine that was used in the old country somewhere by thieves who robbed the infected houses in safety, protected by this wonderful "vinegar"; and only told how it was made to save their lives when they were about to be hanged. A man offered me a bottle of this at Rochester, for five dollars, and finally came down to fifty cents. This made me think it was of no use, and I did not buy, though just before I had been wondering whether I had not better borrow the money of Captain Sproule; so I saved my money, which was getting to be a habit of mine. California, the Rockies, the fur-trade, the Ohio Valley, the new cities up the Lakes and the new farms in the woods back of them, and some few tales of the prairies--all these voices of the West kept calling us more loudly and plainly every year, and every year I grew stronger and more confident of myself. The third year I had made up my mind that I would get work on a passenger boat so as to be able to see and talk with more people who were going up and down the Lakes and the canal. I went from one to another as I met folks who were coming back from the West, and asked every one if he had known a man out west named John Rucker; but, though I found traces of two or three Ruckers in the course of the three years, it did not take long in each case to find out that it was not the man I hated so, and so much wanted to find. People used to point me out as the boy who was trying to find a man named Rucker; and two or three came to me and told me of men they had met who might be my man. I became known to many who traveled the canal as being engaged in some mysterious quest. I suppose I had an anxious and rather strange expression as I made my inquiries. It took me two years to make up my mind to change to a passenger boat, so slow was I to alter my way of doing things. I have always been that way. My wife read _Knickerbocker's History of New York_ after the children were grown up and she had more time for reading, and always told the children that she was positive their father must be descended from that ancient Dutchman[4] who took thirteen months to look the ground over before he began to put up that well-known church in Rotterdam of which he was the builder. After smoking over it to the tune of three hundred pounds of Virginia tobacco, after knocking his head--to jar his ideas loose, maybe--and breaking his pipe against every church in Holland and parts of France and Germany; after looking at the site of his church from every point of view--from land, from water, and from the air which he went up into by climbing other towers; this good old Dutch contractor and builder pulled off his coat and five pairs of breeches, and laid the corner-stone of the church. I think that this delay was a credit to him. Better be slow than sorry. The church was, according to my wife, a very good one; and if the man had jumped into the job on the first day of his contract it might have been a very bad one. So, when I used to take a good deal of time to turn myself before beginning any job, and my wife would say to one of the boys: "Just wait! He'll start to build that church after a while!" I always took it as a compliment. Finally I always did the thing, if after long study it seemed the right thing to do, or if some one else had not done it in the meantime; just as I finally told Captain Sproule that I expected to work on a passenger boat the next summer, and was told by him that he had sold his boat to a company, and was to be a passenger-boat captain himself the next summer; and would sign me on if I wanted to stay with him--which I did. [4] Irving's impersonation of Homer must have nodded when he named this safe, sane and staunch worthy Hermanus Van Clattercop.--G.v.d.M. 3 I was getting pretty stocky now, and no longer feared anything I was likely to meet. I was well-known to the general run of canallers, and had very little fighting to do; once in a while a fellow would pick a fight with me because of some spite, frequently because I refused to drink with him, or because he was egged on to do it; and this year I was licked by three toughs in Batavia. They left me senseless because I would not say "enough." I was getting a good deal of reputation as a wrestler. I liked wrestling better than fighting; and though a smallish man always, like my fellow Iowan Farmer Burns, I have seldom found my master at this game. It is much more a matter of sleight than strength. A man must be cautious, wary, cool, his muscles always ready, as quick as a flash to meet any strain; but the main source of my success seemed to be my ability to use all the strength in every muscle of my body at any given instant, so as to overpower a much stronger opponent by pouring out on him so much power in a single burst of force that he was carried away and crushed. I have thrown over my head and to a distance of ten feet men seventy-five pounds heavier than I was. This is the only thing I ever did so well that I never met any one who could beat me. I was of a fair complexion, with blue eyes, and my upper lip and chin were covered with a reddish fuzz over a very ruddy skin--a little like David's of old, I guess. On the passenger boats I met a great many people, and was joked a good deal about the girls, some of whom seemed to take quite a shine to me, just as they do to any fair-haired, reasonably clean-looking boy; especially if he has a little reputation; but though I sometimes found myself looking at one of them with considerable interest there was not enough time for as slow a boy as I to begin, let alone to finish any courting operations on even as long a voyage as that from Albany to Buffalo. I was really afraid of them all, and they seemed to know it, and made a good deal of fun of me. We did not carry our horses on this boat; but stopped at relay stations for fresh teams, and after we had pulled out from one of these stations, we went flying along at from six to eight miles an hour, with a cook getting up fine meals; and we often had a "sing" as we called it when in the evening the musical passengers got together and tuned up. Many of them carried dulcimers, accordions, fiddles, flutes and various kinds of brass horns, and in those days a great many people could sing the good old hymns in the _Carmina Sacra_, and the glees and part-songs in the old _Jubilee_, with the soprano, tenor, bass and alto, and the high tenor and counter which made better music than any gathering of people are likely to make nowadays. All they needed was a leader with a tuning-fork, and off they would start, making the great canal a pretty musical place on fine summer evenings. We traveled night and day, and at night the boat, lighted up as well as we could do it then, with lanterns and lamps burning whale-oil, and with candles in the cabin, looked like a traveling banquet-hall or opera-house or tavern. We were always crowded with immigrants when we went west; and on our eastern voyages even, our passenger traffic was mostly related to the West, its trade, and its people. Many of the men had been out west "hunting country," and sat on the decks or in the cabins until late at night, telling their fellow-travelers what they had found, exchanging news, and sometimes altering their plans to take advantage of what somebody else had found. Some had been looking for places where they could establish stores or set up in some other business. Some had gone to sell goods. Some were travelers for the purpose of preying on others. I saw a good deal of the world, that summer, some of which I understood, but not much. I understand it far better now as I look back upon it. I noticed for the first time now that class of men with whom we became so well acquainted later, the land speculators. These, and the bankers, many of whom seemed to have a good deal of business in the West, formed a class by themselves, and looked down from a far height on the working people, the farmers, and the masses generally, who voyaged on the same boats with them. They talked of development, and the growth of the country, and the establishments of boats and the building of railways; while the rest of us thought about homes and places to make our livings. The young doctors and lawyers, and some old ones, too, who were going out to try life on the frontiers, occupied places in between these exalted folk and the rest of us. There were preachers among our passengers, but most of them were going west. On almost every voyage there would be a minister or missionary who would ask to have the privilege of holding prayer on the boat; and Captain Sproule always permitted it. The ministers, too, were among those who hunted up the singers in the crowds and organized the song services from the _Carmina Sacra_. 4 I was getting used to the life and liked it, and gradually I found my resolve to go west getting less and less strong; when late in the summer of 1854 something happened which restored it to me with tenfold strength. We had reached Buffalo, had discharged our passengers and cargo, and were about starting on our eastward voyage when I met Bill, the sailor, as he was coming out of a water-front saloon. I ran to him and called him by name; but at first he did not know me. "This ain't little Jake, is it?" he said. "By mighty, I b'lieve it is! W'y, you little runt, how you've growed. Come in an' have a drink with your ol' friend Bill as nussed you when you was a baby!" I asked to be excused; for I hadn't learned to drink more than a thin glass of rum and water, and that only when I got chilled. I turned the subject by asking him what he was doing; and at that he slapped his thigh and said he had great news for me. "I've found that hump-backed bloke," he said. "He came down on the boat with us from Milwaukee. I knowed him as soon as I seen him, but I couldn't think all the v'yage what in time I wanted to find him fer. You jest put it in my mind!" "Where is he?" I shouted. "You hain't lost him, have you?" Bill stood for quite a while chewing tobacco, and scratching his head. "Where is he?" I yelled. "Belay bellering," said Bill. "I'm jest tryin' to think whuther he went on a boat east, or a railroad car, or a stage-coach, or went to a tavern. He went to a tavern, that's what he done. A drayman I know took his dunnage!" "Come on," I cried, "and help me find the drayman!" "I'll have to study on this," said Bill. "My mind hain't as active as usual. I need somethin' to brighten me up!" "What do you need?" I inquired. "Can't you think where he stays?" "A little rum," he answered, "is great for the memory. I b'lieve most any doctor'd advise a jorum of rum for a man in my fix, to restore the intellects." I took him back into the grog-shop and bought him rum, taking a very little myself, with a great deal of blackstrap and water. Bill's symptoms were such as to drive me to despair. He sat looking at me like an old owl, and finally took my glass and sipped a little from it. "Hain't you never goin' to grow up?" he asked; and poured out a big glass of the pure quill for me, and fiercely ordered me to drink it. By this time I was desperate; so I smashed his glass and mine; and taking him by the throat I shook him and told him that if he did not take me to the hump-backed man or to the drayman, and that right off, I'd shut off his wind for good. When he clinched with me I lifted him from the floor, turned him upside down, and lowered him head-first into an empty barrel. By this time the saloon-keeper was on the spot making all sorts of threats about having us both arrested, and quite a crowd had gathered. I lifted Bill out of the barrel and seated him in a chair, and paid for the glasses; all the time watching Bill for fear he might renew the tussle, and take me in flank; but he sat as if dazed until I had quieted matters down, when he rose and addressed the crowd. "My little son," said he, patting me on the shoulder. "Stoutest man of his inches in the world. We'll be round here's evenin'--give a show. C'mon, Jake!" "Wot I said about growin' up," said he, as we went along the street, "is all took back, Jake!" We had not gone more than a quarter of a mile when we came to a place where there was a stand for express wagons and drays; and Bill picked out from the crowd, with a good deal of difficulty, I thought, a hard-looking citizen to whom he introduced me as the stoutest man on the Erie Canal. The drayman seemed to know me. He said he had seen me wrestle. When I asked him about the hunchback he said he knew right where he was; but there was no hurry, and tried to get up a wrestling match between me and a man twice my size who made a specialty of hauling salt, and bragged that he could take a barrel of it by the chimes, and lift it into his dray. I told him that I was in a great hurry and begged to be let off; but while I was talking they had made up a purse of twenty-one shillings to be wrestled for by us two. I finally persuaded the drayman to show me the hunchback's tavern, and promised to come back and wrestle after I had found him; to which the stake-holder agreed, but all the rest refused to consent, and the money was given back to the subscribers. The drayman, Bill and I went off together to find the tavern--which we finally did. It was a better tavern than we were used to, and I was a little bashful when I inquired if a man with a black beard was stopping there, and was told that there were several. "What's his name?" asked the clerk. "'E's a hunchback," said Bill--I had been too diffident to describe him so. "Mr. Wisner, of Southport, Wisconsin," said the clerk, "has a back that ain't quite like the common run of backs. Want to see him?" He was in a nice room, with a fire burning and was writing at a desk which opened and shut, and was carried with him when he traveled. He wore a broadcloth, swallow-tailed coat, a collar that came out at the sides of his neck and stood high under his ears; and his neck was covered with a black satin stock. On the bed was a tall, black beaver, stove-pipe hat. There were a great many papers on the table and the bed, and the room looked as if it had been used by crowds of people--the floor was muddy about the fireplace, and there were tracks from the door to the cheap wooden chairs which seemed to have been brought in to accommodate more visitors than could sit on the horsehair chairs and sofa that appeared to belong in the room. Mr. Wisner looked at us sharply as we came in, and shook hands first with Bill and then with me. "Glad to see you again," said he heartily. "Glad to see you again! I want to tell you some more about Wisconsin. I haven't told you the half of its advantages." I saw that he thought we had been there before, and was about to correct his mistake, when Bill told him that that's what we had come for. "What you said about Wisconsin," said Bill, winking at me, "has sort of got us all worked up." "Is it a good country for a boy to locate in?" I asked. "A paradise for a boy!" he said, in a kind of bubbly way. "And for a poor man, it's heaven! Plenty of work. Good wages. If you want a home, it's the only God's country. What kind of land have you been farming in the past?" Bill said that he had spent his life plowing the seas, but that all the fault I had was being a landsman. I admitted that I had farmed some near Herkimer. "And," sneered Mr. Wisner crushingly, "how long does it take a man to clear and grub out and subdue enough land in Herkimer County to make a living on? Ten years! Twenty years! Thirty years! Why, in Herkimer County a young man doesn't buy anything when he takes up land: he sells something! He sells himself to slavery for life to the stumps and sprouts and stones! But in Wisconsin you can locate on prairie land ready for the plow; or you can have timber land, or both kinds, or opening's that are not quite woods nor quite prairie--there's every kind of land there except poor land! It's a paradise, and land's cheap. I can sell you land right back of Southport, with fine market for whatever you raise, on terms that will pay themselves--pay themselves. Just go aboard the first boat, and I'll give you a letter to my partner in Southport--and your fortunes will be made in ten years!" "The trouble is," said Bill, "that we'll be so damned lonesome out where we don't know any one. If we could locate along o' some of our ol' mates, somebody like old John Tucker,--it would be a--a paradise, eh, Jake?" "The freest-hearted people in the world," said Mr. Wisner. "They'll travel ten miles to take a spare-rib or a piece of fresh beef to a new neighbor. Invite the stranger in to stay all night as he drives along the road. You'll never miss your old friends; and probably you'll find old neighbors most anywhere. Why, this country has moved out to Wisconsin. It won't be long till you'll have to go there to find 'em--ha, ha, ha!" "If we could find a man out there named Tucker--" "An old--sort of--of relative of mine," I put in, seeing that Bill was spoiling it all, "John Rucker." "I know him!" cried Wisner. "Kind of a tall man with a sandy beard? Good talker? Kind of plausible talker? Used to live down east of Syracuse? Pretty well fixed? Went out west three years ago? Calls himself Doctor Rucker?" "I guess that's the man," said I; "do you know where he is now?" "Had a wife and no children?" asked Wisner. "And was his wife a quiet, kind of sad-looking woman that never said much?" "Yes! Yes!" said I. "If you know where they are, I'll go there by the next boat." "Hum," said Wisner. "Whether I can tell you the exact township and section is one thing; but I can say that they went to Southport on the same boat with me, and at last accounts were there or thereabouts--there or thereabouts." "Come on, Bill," said I, "I want to take passage on the next boat!" Mr. Wisner kept us a long time, giving me letters to his partner; trying to find out how much money I would have when I got to Southport; warning me not to leave that neighborhood even if I found it hard to find the Rucker family; and assuring me that if it weren't for the fact that he had several families along the canal ready to move in a week or two, he would go back with me and place himself at my service. "And it won't be long," said he, "until I can be with you. My boy, I feel like a father to the young men locating among us, and I beg of you don't make any permanent arrangements until I get back. I can save you money, and start you on the way to a life of wealth and happiness. God bless you, and give you a safe voyage!" "Bill," said I, as we went down the stairs, "this is the best news I ever had. I'm going to find my mother! I had given up ever finding her, Bill; and I've been so lonesome--you don't know how lonesome I've been!" "I used to have a mother," said Bill, "in London. Next time I'm there I'll stay sober for a day and have a look about for her. You never have but about one mother, do you, Jake? A mother is a great thing--when she ain't in drink." "I wish I could have Mr. Wisner with me when I get to Southport," I said. "He'd help me. He is such a Christian man!" "Wal," said Bill, "I ain't as sure about him as I am about mothers. He minds me of a skipper I served under once; and he starved us, and let the second officer haze us till we deserted and lost our wages. He's about twice too slick. I'd give him the go-by, Jake." "And now for a boat," I said. "Wal," said Bill, "I'm sailin' to-morrow mornin' on the schooner _Mahala Peters_, an' we're short-handed. Go aboard an' ship as an A. B." I protested that I wasn't a sailor; but Bill insisted that beyond being hazed by the mate there was no reason why I shouldn't work my passage. "If there's a crime," said he, "it's a feller like you payin' his passage. Let's get a drink or two an' go aboard." I explained to the captain, in order that I might be honest with him, that I was no sailor, but had worked on canal boats for years, and would do my best. He swore at his luck in having to ship land-lubbers, but took me on; and before we reached Southport--now Kenosha--I was good enough so that he wanted me to ship back with him. It was on this trip that I let the cook tattoo this anchor on my forearm, and thus got the reputation among the people of the prairies of having been a sailor, and therefore a pretty rough character. As a matter of fact the sailors on the Lakes were no rougher than the canallers--and I guess not so rough. I was sorry, many a time, on the voyage, that I had not taken passage on a steamer, as I saw boats going by us in clouds of smoke that left Buffalo after we did; but we had a good voyage, and after seeing Detroit, Mackinaw and Milwaukee, we anchored in Southport harbor so late that the captain hurried on to Chicago to tie up for the winter. I had nearly three hundred dollars in a belt strapped around my waist, and some in my pocket; and went ashore after bidding Bill good-by--I never saw the good fellow again--and began my search for John Rucker. I did not need to inquire at Mr. Wisner's office, and I now think I probably saved money by not going there; for I found out from the proprietor of the hotel that Rucker, whom he called Doc Rucker, had moved to Milwaukee early in the summer. "Friend of yours?" he asked. "No," I said with a good deal of emphasis; "but I want to find him--bad!" "If you find him," said he, "and can git anything out of him, let me know and I'll make it an object to you. An' if you have any dealings with him, watch him. Nice man, and all that, and a good talker, but watch him." "Did you ever see his wife?" I inquired. "They stopped here a day or two before they left," said the hotel-keeper. "She looked bad. Needed a doctor, I guess--a different doctor!" There was a cold northeaster blowing, and it was spitting snow as I went back to the docks to see if I could get a boat for Milwaukee. A steamer in the offing was getting ready to go, and I hired a man with a skiff to put me and my carpetbag aboard. We went into Milwaukee in a howling blizzard, and I was glad to find a warm bar in the tavern nearest the dock; and a room in which to house up while I carried on my search. I now had found out that the stage lines and real-estate offices were the best places to go for traces of immigrants; and I haunted these places for a month before I got a single clue to Rucker's movements. It almost seemed that he had been hiding in Milwaukee, or had slipped through so quickly as not to have made himself remembered--which was rather odd, for there was something about his tall stooped figure, his sandy beard, his rather whining and fluent talk, and his effort everywhere to get himself into the good graces of every one he met that made it easy to identify him. His name, too, was one that seemed to stick in people's minds. 5 At last I found a man who freighted and drove stage between Milwaukee and Madison, who remembered Rucker; and had given him passage to Madison sometime, as he remembered it, in May or June--or it might have been July, but it was certainly before the Fourth of July. "You hauled him--and his wife?" I asked. "Him and his wife," said the man, "and a daughter." "A daughter!" I said in astonishment. "They have no daughter." "Might have been his daughter, and not her'n," said the stage-driver. "Wife was a good deal younger than him, an' the girl was pretty old to be her'n. Prob'ly his. Anyhow, he said she was his daughter." "It wasn't his daughter," I cried. "Well, you needn't get het up about it," said he; "I hain't to blame no matter whose daughter she wasn't. She can travel with me any time she wants to. Kind of a toppy, fast-goin', tricky little rip, with a sorrel mane." "I don't understand it," said I. "Did you notice his wife--whether she seemed to be feeling well?" "Looked bad," said he. "Never said nothing to nobody, and especially not to the daughter. Used to go off to bed while the old man and the girl held spiritualist doin's wherever we laid over. Went into trances, the girl did, and the old man give lectures about the car of progress that always rolls on and on and on, pervided you consult the spirits. Picked up quite a little money 's we went along, too." I sat in the barroom and thought about this for a long time. There was something wrong about it. My mother's health was failing, that was plain from what I had heard in Southport; but it did not seem to me, no matter how weak and broken she might be, that she would have allowed Rucker to pass off any stray trollop like the one described by the stage-driver as his daughter, or would have traveled with them for a minute. But, I thought, what could she do? And maybe she was trying to keep the affair within bounds as far as possible. A good woman is easily deceived, too. Perhaps she knew best, after all; and maybe she was going on and on with Rucker from one misery to another in the hope that I, her only son, and the only relative she had on earth, might follow and overtake her, and help her out of the terrible situation in which, even I, as young and immature as I was, could see that she must find herself. I had seen too much of the under side of life not to understand the probable meaning of this new and horrible thing. I remembered how insulted my mother was that time so long ago when Rucker proposed that they join the Free-Lovers at Oneida; and how she had refused to ride home with him, at first, and had walked back on that trail through the woods, leading me by the hand, until she was exhausted, and how Rucker had tantalized her by driving by us, and sneering at us when mother and I finally climbed into the democrat wagon, and rode on with him toward Tempe. I could partly see, after I had thought over it for a day or so, just what this new torture might mean to her. I was about to start on foot for Madison, and looked up my stage-driver acquaintance to ask him about the road. "Why don't you go on the railroad?" he asked. "The damned thing has put me out of business, and I'm no friend of it; but if you're in a hurry it's quicker'n walkin'." I had seen the railway station in Milwaukee, and looked at the train; but it had never occurred to me that I might ride on it to Madison. Now we always expect a railway to run wherever we want to go; but then it was the exception--and the only railroad running out of Milwaukee was from there to Madison. On this I took that day my first ride in a railway car, reaching Madison some time after three. This seemed like flying to me. I had seen plenty of railway tracks and trains in New York; but I had to come to Wisconsin to patronize one. I rode on, thinking little of this new experience, as I remember, so filled was I with the hate of John Rucker which almost made me forget my love for my mother. Perhaps the one was only the reverse side of the other. I had made up my mind what to do. I would try hard not to kill Rucker, though I tried him and condemned him to death in my own mind several times for every one of the eighty miles I rode; but I knew that this vengeance was not for me. I would take my mother away from him, though, in spite of everything; and she and I would move on to a new home, somewhere, living happily together for the rest of our lives. I was happy when I thought of this home, in which, with my new-found, fresh strength, my confidence in myself, my knack of turning my hand to any sort of common work, my ability to defend her against everything and everybody--against all the Ruckers in the world--my skill in so many things that would make her old age easy and happy, I would repay her for all this long miserable time,--the cruelty of Rucker when she took me out of the factory while he was absent, the whippings she had seen him give me, the sacrifices she had made to give me the little schooling I had had, the nights she had sewed to make my life a little easier, the tears she dropped on my bed when she came and tucked me in when I was asleep, the pangs of motherhood, and the pains worse than those of motherhood which she had endured because she was poor, and married to a beast. I would make all this up to her if I could. I went into Madison, much as a man goes to his wedding; only the woman of my dreams was my mother. But I felt as I did that night when I returned to Tempe after my first summer on the canal--full of hope and anticipation, and yet with a feeling in my heart that again something would stand in my way. CHAPTER V THE END OF A LONG QUEST I went to seek my mother in my best clothes. I had bought some new things in Milwaukee, and was sure that my appearance would comfort her greatly. Instead of being ragged, poverty-stricken, and neglected-looking, I was a picture of a clean, well-clothed working boy. I had on a good corduroy suit, and because the weather was cold, I wore a new Cardigan jacket. My shirt was of red flannel, very warm and thick; and about my neck I tied a flowered silk handkerchief which had been given me by a lady who was very kind to me once during a voyage by canal, and was called "my girl" by the men on the boat. I wore good kip boots with high tops, with shields of red leather at the knees, each ornamented with a gilt moon and star--the nicest boots I ever had; and I wore my pants tucked into my boot-tops so as to keep them out of the snow and also to show these glories in leather. With clouded woolen mittens on my hands, given me as a Christmas present by Mrs. Fogg, Captain Sproule's sister, that winter I worked for her near Herkimer, and a wool cap, trimmed about with a broad band of mink fur, and a long crocheted woolen comforter about my neck, I was as well-dressed a boy for a winter's day as a body need look for. I took a look at myself in the glass, and felt that even at the first glance, my mother would feel that in casting her lot with me she would be choosing not only the comfort of living with her only son but the protection of one who had proved himself a man. I glowed with pride as I thought of our future together, and of all I would do to make her life happy and easy. I never was a better boy in my life than on that winter evening when I went up the hilly street from the tavern in Madison to the place on a high bluff overlooking a sheet of ice, stretching away almost as far as I could see, which they told me was Fourth Lake, to the house in which I was informed Doctor Rucker lived--a small frame house among stocky, low burr oak trees, on which the dead leaves still hung, giving forth a dreary hiss as the bitter north wind blew through them. I knocked at the door, and was answered by a red-haired young woman, with a silly grin on her face, the smirk flanked on each side with cork-screw curls which hung down over her bright blue dress; which, as I could see, was pulled out at the seams under her round and shapely arms. She put out a soft and plump hand to me, but I did not take it. She looked in my face, and shrank back as if frightened. "Where's Rucker?" I asked; but before I had finished the question he came forward from the other room, clothed in dirty black broadcloth, his patent-medicine-pedler's smile all over his face, with a soiled frilled shirt showing back of his flowered vest, which was unbuttoned except at the bottom, to show the nasty finery beneath. He had on a broad black scarf filling the space between the points of his wide-open standing collar, and sticking out on each side. I afterward recalled the impression of a gold watch-chain, and a broad ring on his finger. He was quite changed in outward appearance from the poverty-stricken skunk I had once known; but was if anything more skunk-like than ever: yet I had to look twice to be sure of him. "I am exceedingly glad to see you in the flesh," said he, coming forward with his hand stuck out--a hand which I stared at but never touched--"exceedingly glad to see you, my young brother. I have had a spiritual vision of you. Honor us by coming in by the fire!" "Where's my mother?" I asked, still standing in the open door. Rucker started at the sound of my voice, which had changed from the boy's soprano into a deep bass--much deeper than it is now. It was the hoarse croak of the hobbledehoy. The young woman had shrunk back behind him now. "Your mother?" said he, in a sort of panther-like purr. "A spirit has been for three days seeking to speak to a lost child through my daughter. Come in, and let us see. Let us see if my daughter can not pierce the mysteries of the unseen in your case. Come in!" The cold was blowing in at the open door, and his tone was a little like that of a man who wants to say, but does not feel it wise to do so, "Come in and shut the door after you!" "Your daughter!" I said, trying to think of something to say that would show what I thought of him, her, and their dirty pretense; "your daughter! Hell!" "Young man," said he, drawing himself up stiffly, "what do you mean--?" "I mean to find my mother!" I cried. "Where is she?" Suddenly the thought of being halted thus longer, and the fear that my mother was not there, drove me crazy. I lunged at Rucker, and with a sweep of my arms, threw him staggering across the room. The girl screamed, and ran to, and behind him. I stormed through to the kitchen, expecting to find my mother back there, working for this smooth, sly, scroundrelly pair; but the place was deserted. There were dirty pots and pans about; and a pile of unwashed dishes stacked high in the sink--and this struck me with despair. If my mother had been about, and able to work, such a thing would have been impossible. So she either was not there or was not able to work--my instinct told me that; and I ran to the foot of the stairs, and calling as I had so often done when a child, "Ma, Ma! Where are you, ma!" I waited to hear her answer. Rucker, pale as a sheet, came up to me, his quivering mouth trying to work itself into a sneaking sort of smile. "Why, Jacob, Jakey," he drooled, "is this you? I didn't know you. Sit down, my son, and I'll tell you the sad, sad news!" I heard him, but I did not trust nor understand him, and I went through that house from cellar to garret, looking for her; my heart freezing within me as I saw how impossible it would be for her to live so. There were two bedrooms, both beds lying just as they had been left in the morning--and my mother always opened her beds up for an airing when she rose, and made them up right after breakfast. The room occupied by the young woman was the room of a slut; the clothes she had taken off the night before, or even before that, lay in a ring about the place where her feet had been when she dropped them in the dust and lint which rolled about in the corners like feathers. Her corset was thrown down in a corner; shoes and stockings littered the floor; her comb was clogged with red hair like a wire fence with dead grass after a freshet; dingy, grimy underclothing lay about. I peered into a closet, in which there were more garments on the floor than on the nails. The other bedroom was quite as unkempt; looking as if the occupant must always do his chamber work at the last moment before going to bed. They were as unclean outwardly as inwardly. After ransacking the house up-chamber, I ran down-stairs and went into the room from which Rucker had come, where I found the girl hiding behind a sofa, peeking over the back of it at me, and screaming "Go away!" All the walls in this room were hung with some thin black cloth, and it looked like the inside of a hearse. There was a stand in one corner, and a large extension table in the middle of the room, with chairs placed about it. In the corner across from the stand was a spiritualist medium's cabinet; and hanging on the walls were a guitar, a banjo and a fiddle. A bell stood in the middle of the table, and there were writing materials, slates, and other things scattered about, which theatrical people call "properties," I am told. I tore the black draperies down, and searched for a place where my mother might be--in bed I expected to find her, if at all; but she was not there. I tried the cellar, but it was nothing but a vegetable cave, dug in the earth, with no walls, and dark as a dungeon when the girl shut down the trap-door and stood on it: from which I threw her by putting my back under it and giving a surge. When I came up she was staggering to her feet, and groaning as she felt of her head for the results of some suspected cut or bump from her fall. Rucker was following me about calling me Jacob and Jakey, a good deal as a man will try to smooth down or pacify a vicious horse or mule; and after I had looked everywhere, I faced him, took him by the throat, and choked him until his tongue stuck out, and his face was purple. "My God," said the girl, who had grown suddenly quiet, "you're killing him!" I looked at his empurpled face, and my madness came back on me like a rush of fire through my veins--and I shut down on his throat again until I could feel the cords draw under my fingers like taut ropes. She laid her hand rather gently on my breast, and looked me steadily in the eye. "Fool!" she almost whispered. "Your mother's dead! Will it bring her back to life for you to stretch hemp?" I guess that by that action she saved my life; but it has been only of late years that I have ceased to be sorry that I did not kill him. I looked back into her eyes for a moment--I remember yet that they were bright blue, with a lighter band about the edge of the sight, instead of the dark edging that most of us have; and as I understood her meaning I took my hands from Rucker's throat, and threw him from me. He lay on the floor for a minute, and as he scrambled to his feet I sank down on the nearest chair and buried my face in my hands. It was all over, then; my long lone quest for my mother--a quest I had carried on since I was a little, scared, downtrodden child. I should never have the chance to serve her in my way as she had served me in hers--my way that would never have been anything but a very small and easy one at the most; while hers had been a way full of torment and servitude. All my strength was gone; and the girl seemed to know it; for she came over to me and patted me on the shoulder in a motherly sort of way. "Poor boy!" she said. "Poor boy! To-morrow, come to me and I'll show you your mother's grave. I'll take you to the doctor that attended her. I know how you feel." I had passed a sleepless night before I remembered to feel revolted at the sympathy of this hussy who had helped to bring my mother to her death--and I did not go near her. But I inquired my way from one doctor to another--there were not many in Madison then--until I found one, named Mix, who had treated my mother in her last illness. She was weak and run down, he said, and couldn't stand a run of lung fever, which had carried her off. "Did she mention me?" I asked. "At the very last," said Doctor Mix, "she said once or twice, 'He had to work too hard!' I don't know who she meant. Not Rucker, eh?" I shook my head--I knew what she meant. "And," said he, "if you can see your way clear to arrange with old Rucker to pay my bill--winter is on now, and I could use the money." I pulled out my pocketbook and paid the bill. "Thank you, my boy," said he, "thank you!" "I'm glad to do it," I answered--and turned away my head. "Anything more I can do for you?" asked Doctor Mix, much kinder than before. "I'd be much obliged," I replied, "if you could tell me where I can find some one that'll be able to show me my mother's grave." "I'll take you there," he said quickly. We rode to the graveyard in his sleigh, the bells jingling too merrily by far, I thought; and then to a marble-cutter from whom I bought a headstone to be put up in the spring. I worked out an epitaph which Doctor Mix, who seemed to see through the case pretty well, put into good language, reading as follows: "Here lies the body of Mary Brouwer Vandemark, born in Ulster County, New York, in 1815; died Madison, Wisconsin, October 19, 1854. Erected to her memory by her son, Jacob T. Vandemark." So I cut the name of Rucker from our family record; but, of course, he never knew. Then the doctor took me back to the tavern, trying to persuade me on the way to locate in Madison. He had some vacant lots he wanted to show me; and said that he and a company of friends had laid out new towns at half a dozen different places in Wisconsin, and even in Minnesota and Iowa. Before we got back he saw, though I tried to be civil, that I was not thinking about what he was saying, and so he let me think in peace; but he shook hands with me kindly at parting, and wished I could have got there in September. "Things might have been different," said he. "You're a darned good boy; and if you'll stay here till spring I'll get you a job." 2 There was no fire in my room, and it was cold; so there was no place to sit except in the barroom, which I found deserted but for one man, when I went back and sat down to think over my future. Should I go back to the canal? I hated to do this, though all my acquaintances were there, and the work was of the sort I had learned to do best; besides, here I was in the West, and all the opportunities of the West were before me, though it looked cold and dreary just now, and no great chances seemed lying about for a boy like me. I was perplexed. I had lost my desire for revenge on Rucker; and just then I felt no ambition, and saw no light. I was ready, I suppose, to begin a life of drifting; this time with no aim, not even a remote one--for my one object in life had vanished. But something in the way of guidance always has come to me at such times; and it came now. The one man who was in the bar when I came in got up, and moving over by me, sat down in a chair by my side. "Cold day," said he. I agreed, and looked him over carefully. He was a tall man who wore a long black Prince Albert coat which came down below his knees, a broad felt hat, and no overcoat. He looked cold, and rather shabby; but he talked with a good deal of style, and used many big words. "Stranger here?" he asked. I admitted that I was. "May I offer," said he, "the hospitalities of the city in the form of a hot whisky toddy?" I thanked him and asked to be excused. "Your name," he ventured, after clearing his throat, "is Vandemark." Then I looked at him still more sharply. How did he know my name? "I have been looking for you," said he, "for some months--some months; and I was so fortunate as to observe the fact when you made a call last evening on our fellow-citizen, Doctor Rucker. I was--ahem--consulted professionally by the late lamented Mrs. Rucker--I am a lawyer, sir--before her death, for the purpose of securing my services in looking after the interests of her son, Mr. Jacob H. Vandemark." "Jacob T. Vandemark," said I. "Why, damn me," said he, looking again at his book, "it _is_ a 'T.' Lawyer's writing, Jacob, lawyer's writing--notoriously bad, you know." I sat thinking about the expression, "the interests of Jacob T. Vandemark," for a long time; but the truth did not dawn an me, my mind working slowly as usual. "What interests?" I asked finally. "The interest," said he, "of her only child in the estate of Mrs. Rucker." Then there recurred to my mind the words in my mother's last letter; that the money had been paid on the settlement of my father's estate, and that she and Rucker were coming out West to make a new start in life. I had never given it a moment's thought before, and should have gone away without asking anybody a single question about it, if this scaly pettifogger, as I now know him to have been, had not sidled up to me. "The estate," said my new friend, "is small, Jacob; but right is right, and there is no reason why this man Rucker should not be made to disgorge every cent that's coming to you--every cent! I know Doctor Rucker slightly, and I hope I shall not shock you if I say that in my opinion he would steal the Lord's Supper, and wipe his condemned lousy red whiskers and his freckled claws with the table-cloth! That's the kind of pilgrim and stranger Rucker is. He will cheat you out of your eye teeth, sir, unless you are protected by the best legal talent to be had--the best to be had--the talent and the advice of the man to whom your late lamented mother went for counsel." "Yes," said I after a while, "I think he will." "That is why your mother," he went on, "advised with me; for even if I have to say it, I'm a living whirlwind in court. Suppose we have a drink!" I sat with my drink before me, slowly sipping it, and trying to see through this man and the new question he had brought up. Certainly, I was entitled to my mother's property--all of it by rights, whatever the law might be--for it came through my father. Surely this lawyer must be a good man, or my mother wouldn't have consulted him. But when I mentioned to my new friend, whose name was Jackway, my claim to the whole estate he assured me that Rucker was the legal owner of his share in it--I forget how much. "And," said he, "I make no doubt the old scoundrel has reduced the whole estate to possession, and is this moment," lowering his voice secretively, "acting as executor _de son tort_--executor _de son tort_, sir! I wouldn't put it past him!" I wrote this, with some other legal expressions in my note-book. "How can I get this money away from him?" said I, coming to the point. "Money!" said he. "How do we know it is money? It may be chattels, goods, wares or merchandise. It may be realty. It may be _choses in action_. We must require of him a complete discovery. We may have to go back to the original probate proceedings through which your mother became seized of this property to obtain the necessary information. How old are you?" I told him that I was sixteen the twenty-seventh of the last July. "A minor," said he; "in law an infant. A guardian _ad litem_ will have to be appointed to protect your interests, and to bring suit for you. I shall be glad to serve you, sir, in the name of justice; and to confound those with whom robbery of the orphan is an occupation, sir, a daily occupation. Come up to my office with me, and we will begin proceedings to make Rucker sweat!" 3 But this was too swift for a Vandemark. In spite of his urging, I insisted that I should have to think it over. He grew almost angry at me at last, I thought; but he went away finally, after I had taken the hint he gave and bought him another drink. The next morning he was back again, urging me to proceed immediately, "so that the property might not be further sequestrated and wasted." He did not know how slow I was to think and act; and suspected that I was going to some other lawyer, I now believe; for I noticed him shadowing me, as the detectives say, every time I walked out. On the third day, while I was still studying the matter, and making no progress, Rucker himself came into the tavern, with his neck bandaged and his head on one side, and in his best clothes; and sitting on the edge of his chair between me and the door, as if ready to take wing at any hostile movement on my part, he broached the subject of my share in my mother's estate. "I want to deal with you," said he in that dangerous whine of his, "as with my own son, Jacob, my own son." There was nothing to say to this, and I said nothing. I only looked at him. He was studying me closely, but had never taken pains to learn my peculiarities when I lived with him, and had to study a total stranger, and a person who was too old to be treated as a child, but who at the same time must be very green in money matters. I was a puzzle to him, and my lack of words made me still more of a problem. "You know, of course," he finally volunteered, "that the estate when it was finally wound up had mostly been eaten up by court expenses and lawyers' fees--the robbers!" I could see he was in earnest in this last remark: but of course lawyers' fees and court expenses were all a mystery to me. I did not even know that lawyers and courts had anything to do with estates. I did not know what an estate was--so I continued to keep still. "There was hardly anything left," said he. I was astonished at this; and I did not believe it. After thinking it over for a few minutes, earnestly, and without any thought of saying anything to catch him up, I said: "You traveled in good style coming west on the canal. You took a steamer up the Lakes. You have been dressing fine ever since the money came in; and you're keeping a woman." He made no reply, except to say that I did not understand, but would when he showed me where every cent of the estate money had gone which he had spent, and just how much was left. As for his daughter--he supposed I knew--but he never finished this speech. I rose to my feet; and he left hurriedly, saying that he would show me a statement in the morning. "I expect to pay your board here," said he, "for a few days, you know--until you decide to move on--or move back." For a week or so I refused to talk with Rucker or Jackway; but sat around and tried to make up my mind what to do. To hire Jackway would take all my savings; and the schedules which Rucker brought me on legal-cap paper I refused even to touch with my hands. I am sure, now, that Rucker had sent Jackway to me in the first place, never suspecting that the matter of the estate had been so far from my mind; and thereby, by too much craft, he lost the opportunity of stealing it all. Jackway kept telling me of Rucker's rascalities, so as to get into my good graces and confidence, in which he succeeded better than he knew; and urging me to pay him a few dollars--just a few dollars--"to begin proceedings to stay waste and sequestration"; but I did not give him anything because it seemed a first step into something I had not understood. 4 I began calling on land agents, thinking I might use what little money I had left to make a first payment on a farm; but the land around Madison was too high in price for me. Two or three of these real estate agents were also lawyers; and I caught Rucker and Jackway together, looking worried and anxious, when I came from the office of one of them who very kindly informed me that, if he were in my place, he would go across the Mississippi and settle in Iowa. He had been as far west as Fort Dodge, and described to me the great prairies, unbroken by the plow, the railroads which were just ready to cross the Mississippi, the rich soil, the chance there was to get a home, and to become my own master. I began to feel an interest in Iowa. I think these days must have been anxious ones for Rucker, greedy as he was for my little fortune, ignorant as he was of the depth of the ignorance of the silent stupid boy with whom he was dealing--and a boy, too, who had made that one remark about his way of living and traveling that seemed to show a knowledge of just what he was doing, and had done. I could see after that, that he thought me much sharper than I was. Lawyer Jackway haunted the hotel, and was spending more money--Rucker's money, I know. He had bought a new overcoat, and was drinking a good deal more than was good for him; but he wormed out of me something about my desire for a farm, and after having had a chance to see Rucker he began talking of a compromise. "The old swindler," said he, "has all the evidence in his own hands; and he and that red-headed spiritual partner of his will swear to anything. As your legal adviser," said he, "and the legal adviser of your sainted mother, I'd advise you to take anything he is willing to give--within bounds, of course, within bounds." So the next time Rucker sidled into the tavern, and began beslavering me about the way the money left by my mother was being eaten up by expenses and debts, I blurted out: "Well, what will you give me to clear out and let you and your red-headed woodpecker alone?" "Now," said he, "you are talking sensibly--sensibly. There is a little farm-out near Blue Mounds that I could, by a hard struggle, let you have; but it would be more than your share--more than your share." This was forty acres, and would have a mortgage on it. I waited a day or so, and told him I wouldn't take it. What I was afraid of was the mortgage; but I didn't give my reasons. Then he came back with a vacant lot in Madison, and then three vacant lots, which I went and looked at, and found in a swamp. Then I told him I wanted money or farm land; and he offered me a lead mine near Mineral Point. All the time he was getting more and more worried and excited; he used to tremble when he talked to me; and as the winter wore away, and the season drew nearer when he wanted to go on his travels, or deal with the properties in which I had found out by this time he was speculating with my mother's money, just as everybody was speculating then, in mines, town sites, farm lands, railway stocks and such things, he was on tenter-hooks, I could see that, to get rid of me, whom he thought he had given the slip forever. Finally he came to me one morning, just as a warm February wind had begun to thaw the snow, and said, beaming as if he had found a gold mine for me: "Jacob, I've got just what you want--a splendid farm in Iowa." And he laid on the table the deed to my farm in Vandemark Township, a section of land in one solid block a mile square. "Of course," said he, "I can't let you have all of it--'but let us say eighty acres, or even I might clean up a quarter-section, here along the east side,"--and he pointed to a plat of it pinned fast to the deed. "The whole piece," said I, "is worth eight hundred dollars, and not a cent more--if it's all good land. That ain't enough." "All good land!" said he--and I could see he was surprised at the fact that I knew Iowa land was selling at a dollar and a quarter an acre. "Why, there ain't anything but good land there. You can put a plow in one corner of that section, and plow every foot of it without taking the share out of the ground." "All or nothing," said I, "and more." Next day he came back and said he would let me have the whole section; but that it would break him. He wanted to be fair with me--more than fair. People had set me against him, he said, looking at Jackway who was drinking at the bar; but nobody could say that he was a man who would not deal fairly with an ignorant boy. "I've got to have a team, a wagon, a cover for the wagon, and provisions for the trip," I said, "and a few hundred dollars to live on for a while after I get to Iowa." At this he threw his hands up, and left me, saying that if I wanted to ruin him I would have to do it through the courts. He had gone as far as he would go, and I would never have another offer as generous as he had made me. The next day I met on the street the red-headed girl, who went by the name of Alice Rucker, and was notorious as a medium. She stopped me, and asked why I hadn't been to see her--carrying the conversation off casually, as if we had been ordinary acquaintances. All I could say--for I was a little embarrassed, was "I do' know"--which was what I had told Rucker and Jackway, in answer to a thousand questions, until they were crazy to know how to come at me. "Let me tell you something," said she. "If you want that Iowa farm, pa--" "Who?" said I. "Rucker," said she, brazening it out with me. "He'll give you the land, and your outfit. Don't let them fool you out of the team and wagon." "Thank you for telling me," said I; "but I guess I'll have to have more." "If you go into court he'll beat you," said she, "and I'm telling you that as a friend, even if you don't believe me." "I'm much obliged," I said; and I believed then, and believe now, that she was sincere. "And when you start," said she, "if you want some one to cook and take care of you, let me know. I like traveling." I turned red at this; and halted and mumbled, until she tripped away, laughing, but looking back at me; but I remembered what she had said, and within a week I had consented that Jackway be appointed guardian _ad litem_ for me in the court proceedings; and in a short time I received a good team of mares, a bay named Fanny and a sorrel named Flora, good, twelve hundred pound chunks, but thin in flesh--I would not take geldings--a wagon, nearly new, a set of wagon bows, enough heavy drilling to make a cover, some bedding, a stove, an old double-barreled shotgun, two pounds of powder and a lot of shot, harness for the team, horse-feed, and as complete an outfit as I could think of, even to the box of axle-grease swinging under the wagon-box. Rucker groaned at every addition; and finally balked when I asked him for a hundred dollars in cash. The court entered up the proper decree, I put my deeds in my pocket, and after making a feed-box for the horses to hang on the back of the wagon-box, I pulled out for Iowa three weeks too soon--for the roads were not yet settled. 5 The night before I started, I sat in the warm barroom, half pleased and half frightened at the new world into which I was about to enter, thinking of my new wagon and the complete equipage of emigration now shown to be mine by the bills of sale and deeds in my pocket, and occasionally putting my fingers to my nose to catch the good smell of the horse which soap and water had not quite removed. This scent I had acquired by currying and combing my mares for hours, clipping their manes and fetlocks, and handling them all over to see if they were free from blemishes. The lawyer, Jackway, my guardian _ad litem_, came into the tavern in a high and mighty and popular way, saying "How de do, ward?" in a way I didn't like, went to the bar and throwing down a big piece of money began drinking one glass after another. As he drank he grew boastful. He bragged to the men about him of his ability. Nobody ever hired Jackway to care for his interests, said he, without having his interests taken care of. "You can go out," said he to a peaceful-looking man who stood watching him, "into the street there, and stab the first man you meet, and Jackway'll get you clear. I'm a living whirlwind! And," looking at me as I sat in the chair by the wall, "you can steal a woman's estate and I'll get it away from her heirs for you." I wondered if he meant me. I hardly believed that he could; for all the while he had made a great to-do about protecting my interests; and I now remembered that he had taken an oath to do so. But he kept sneering at me all the evening, and just as I was leaving to go to bed, he called the crowd up to drink with him. "This is on the estate," he hiccoughed--for he was very drunk by this time--"and I'll give you a toast." They all lined up, slapping him on the back; and as I stood in the door, they all lifted their glasses, and Jackway gave them what he called his "toast," which ran as follows: "Sold again And got the tin, And sucked another Dutchman in!" He paid out of a fat pocketbook, staggering, and pointing at me and looking like a tipsy imp of some sort; and finally he started over toward me, saying, "Hey, Dutchman! Wait a minute an' I'll tell you how you got sucked in!" I grew suddenly very angry; and slammed the door in his face to prevent myself from doing him harm. I had not yet seen why I ought to do him harm; and along the road to Iowa, I was all the time wondering why I got madder and madder at Jackway; and that rhyme kept running through my mind, oftener and oftener, as I drew nearer and nearer my journey's end: "Sold again And got the tin, And sucked another Dutchman in!" It was in the latter part of March. There were snowdrifts in places along the road, and when I reached a place about where Mt. Horeb now is, I had to stop and lie up for three days for a snow-storm. I was ahead of the stream of immigrants that poured over that road in the spring of 1855 in a steady tide. As I made my start from Madison I saw Rucker and Alice standing at the door of the tavern seemingly making sure that I was really getting out of town. He dodged back into the house when I glanced at them; but she walked out into the street and stopped me, as bold as brass. "I'm waiting," said she. "Where shall I ride?" And she put one foot on the hub and stepped up with the other into the wagon box. "I'm just pulling out for Iowa," I said, my face as red as her hair, I suppose. "_We're_ just pulling out," said she. "I've got to move on," said I; "be careful or you'll get your dress muddy on the wheel." She couldn't have expected me to take her, of course; but I thought she looked kind of hurt. There seemed to be something like tears in her eyes as she put her arms around my neck. "Kiss your little step-sister good-by," she said. "She's been a better friend of yours than you'll ever know--you big, nice, blundering greenhorn!" She laid her lips on mine. It was the first kiss I had ever had from any one since I was a little boy; and as I half struggled against but finally returned it, it thrilled me powerfully. Afterward I was disgusted with myself for kissing this castaway; but as I drove on, leaving her standing in the middle of the road looking after me, it almost seemed as if I were leaving a friend. Perhaps she was, in her way, the nearest thing to a friend I had then in the world--strange as it seems. As for Rucker, he was rejoicing, of course, at having trimmed neatly a dumb-head of a Dutch boy--a wrong to my poor mother, the very thought of which even after all these years, makes my blood boil. CHAPTER VI I BECOME COW VANDEMARK I was off with the spring rush of 1855 for the new lands of the West! I kept thinking as I drove along of Lawyer Jackway's sarcastic toast, "Sold again, and got the tin, and sucked another Dutchman in!" But after all I couldn't keep myself from feeling pretty proud, as I watched the play of my horses' ears as they seemed to take in each new westward view as we went over the tops of the low hills, and as I listened to the "chuck, chuck" of the wagon wheels on their well-greased skeins. Rucker and Jackway might have given me a check on the tow-path; but yet I felt hopeful that I was to make a real success of my voyage of life to a home and a place where I could be somebody. There was pleasure in looking back at my riches in the clean, hard-stuffed straw-tick, the stove, the traveling home which belonged to me. It seems a little queer to me now to think of it as I look out of my bay-window at my great fields of corn, my pastures dotted with stock, my feedyard full of fat steers; or as I sit in the directors' room of the bank and take my part as a member of the board. But I am really not as rich now as I was then. I was going to a country which seemed to be drawing everybody else, and must therefore be a good country--and I had a farm. I had a great farm. It was a mile square. It was almost like the estate that General Cantine had near the canal at Ithaca I thought. To my boy's mind it looked too big for me; and sometimes I wondered if I should not be able to rent it out to tenants and grow rich on my income, like the Van Rensselaers of the Manor before the Anti-Rent difficulties. All the while I was passing outfits which were waiting by the roadside, or making bad weather of it for some reason or other; or I was passed by those who had less regard for their horse flesh than I, or did not realize that the horses had to go afoot; or those that drew lighter loads. There were some carriages which went flourishing along with shining covers; these were the aristocrats; there were other slow-going rigs drawn by oxen. Usually there would be two or more vehicles in a train. They camped by the roadside cooking their meals; they stopped at wayside taverns. They gave me all sorts of how-d'ye-does as I passed. Girls waved their hands at me from the hind-ends of rigs and said bold things--to a boy they would not see again; but which left him blushing and thinking up retorts for the next occasion--retorts that never seemed to fit when the time came; and talkative women threw remarks at me about the roads and the weather. Men tried half a dozen times a day to trade me out of my bay mare Fanny, or my sorrel mare Flora--they said I ought to match up with two of a color; and the crow-baits offered me would have stocked a horse-ranch. People with oxen offered me what looked like good swaps, because they were impatient to make better time; and as I went along so stylishly I began turning over in my mind the question as to whether it might not be better to get to Iowa a little later in the year with cattle for a start than to rush the season with my fine mares and pull up standing like a gentleman at my own imaginary door. 2 As I went on to the westward, I began to see Blue Mound rising like a low mountain off my starboard bow, and I stopped at a farm in the foot-hills of the Mound where, because it was rainy, I paid four shillings for putting my horses in the stable. There were two other movers stopping at the same place. They had a light wagon and a yoke of good young steers, and had been out of Madison two days longer than I had been. I noticed that they left their wagon in a clump of bushes, and that while one of them--a man of fifty or more, slept in the house, the other, a young fellow of twenty or twenty-two, lay in the wagon, and that one or the other seemed always to be on guard near the vehicle. The older man had a long beard and a hooked nose, and seemed to be a still sort of person, until some one spoke of slavery; then he broke out in a fierce speech denouncing slaveholders, and the slavocracy that had the nation in its grip. "You talk," said the farmer, "like a black Abolitionist." "I'm so black an Abolitionist," said he, "that I'd be willing to shoulder a gun any minute if I thought I could wipe out the curse of slavery." The farmer was terribly scandalized at this, and when the old man walked away to his wagon, he said to the young man and me that that sort of talk would make trouble and ruin the nation; and that he didn't want any more of it around his place. "Well," said the traveler, "you won't have any more of it from us. We're just pulling out." After the farmer went away, he spoke to me about it. "What do you think of that kind of talk?" he asked. "I don't own any niggers," said I. "I don't ever expect to own any. I don't see how slavery can do me any good; and I think the slaves are human." I had no very clear ideas on the subject, and had done little thinking about it; but what I said seemed to be satisfactory to the young man. He told his friend about it, and after a while the old man, whose name was Dunlap, came to me and shook my hand, saying that he was glad to meet a young fellow of my age who was of the right stripe. "Can you shoot?" he asked. I told him I never had had much chance to learn, but I had a good gun, and had got some game with it almost every day so far. "What kind of a gun?" he asked. I told him it was a double-barreled shotgun, and he looked rather disappointed. Then he asked me if I had ever thought of going to Kansas. No, I told him, I thought I should rather locate in Iowa. "We are going to Kansas," he said. "There's work for real men in Kansas--men who believe in freedom. You had better go along with Amos Thatcher and me." I said I didn't believe I could--I had planned to locate in Iowa. He dropped the subject by saying that I would overtake him and Thatcher on the road, and we could talk it over again. When did I think of getting under way? I answered that I thought I should stay hauled up to rest my horses for a half-day anyhow, so perhaps we might camp that night together. "A good idea," said Thatcher, smilingly, as they drove off. "Join us; we get lonesome." I laid by that forenoon because one of my mares had limped a little the day before, and I was worrying for fear she might not be perfectly sound. I hitched up after noon and drove on, anxiously watching her to see whether I had not been sucked in on horse flesh, as well as in the general settlement of my mother's estate. She seemed to be all right, however, and we were making good headway as night drew on, and I was halted by Amos Thatcher who said he was on the lookout for me. "We have a station off the road a mile or so," said he, "and you'll have a hearty welcome if you come with me--stable for your horses, and a bed to sleep in, and good victuals." I couldn't think what he meant by a station; but it was about time to make camp anyhow, and so I took him into the wagon with me, and we drove across country by a plain trail, through a beautiful piece of oak openings, to a big log house in a fine grove of burr oaks, with a log barn back of it--as nice a farmstead as I had seen. There were fifteen or twenty cattle in the yards, and some sheep and hogs, and many fat hens. If this was a station, I thought, I envied the man who owned it. As we drove up I saw a little negro boy peeping at us from the back of the house, and as we halted a black woman ran out and seized the pickaninny by the ear, and dragged him back out of sight. I heard a whimper from the little boy, which seemed suddenly smothered by something like a hand clapped over his mouth. Mr. Dunlap's wagon was not in sight, but its owner came out at the front door and greeted me in a very friendly way. "What makes you call this a station?" I asked of Thatcher. Dunlap looked at him sternly. "I forgot myself," said Thatcher, more to Dunlap than to me. "Never mind," replied Dunlap. "If I can tell B from a bull's foot, it's all right." Then turning to me he said, "The old lady inside has a meal of victuals ready for us. Come in and we'll let into it." There was nothing said at the meal which explained the things that were so blind to me; but there was a good deal of talk about rifles. The farmer was named Preston, a middle-aged man who shaved all his beard except what grew under his chin, which hung down in a long black fringe over his breast like a window-lambrequin. His wife's father, who was an old Welshman named Evans, had worked in the lead mines over toward Dubuque, until Preston had married his daughter and taken up his farm in the oak openings. They had been shooting at a mark that afternoon, with Sharp's rifles carried by Dunlap and Thatcher, and the old-fashioned squirrel rifles owned on the farm. After supper they brought out these rifles and compared them. Preston insisted that the squirrel rifles were better. "Not for real service," said Dunlap, throwing a cartridge into the breech of the Sharp, and ejecting it to show how fast it could be done. "But I can roll a squirrel's eye right out of his head most every time with the old-style gun," said Preston. "This is the gun that won the Battle of New Orleans." "It wouldn't have won against the Sharp," said Thatcher; "and you know we expect to have a larger mark than a squirrel's head, when we get to Kansas." This was the first breech-loader I had ever seen, and I looked it over with a buying eye. It didn't seem to me that it would be much better for hunting than the old-fashioned rifle, loaded with powder and a molded bullet rammed down with a patch of oiled cloth around it; for after you have shot at your game once, you either have hit it, or it runs or flies away. If you have hit it, you can generally get it, and if it goes away, you have time to reload. Besides those big cartridges must be costly, I thought, and said so to Mr. Dunlap. "When you're hunting Border Ruffians," said he, "a little expense don't count one way or the other; and you may be willing to pay dear for a chance to reload three or four times while the other man is ramming home a new charge. Give me the new guns, the new ideas, and the old doctrine of freedom to fight for. Don't you see?" "Why, of course," said I, "I'm for freedom. That's why I'm going out on the prairies." "Prairies!" said old Evans. "Prairies! What do you expect to do on the prairies?" "Farm," I answered. "All these folks that are rushing to the prairies," said the old man, "will starve out and come back. God makes trees grow to show men where the good land is. I read history, and there's no country that's good for anything, except where men have cut the trees, niggered off the logs, grubbed out the stumps, and made fields of it--and if there are stones, it's all the better. 'In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,' said God to Adam, and when you go to the prairies where it's all ready for the plow, you are trying to dodge God's curse on our first parents. You won't prosper. It stands to reason that any land that is good will grow trees." "Some of this farm was prairie," put in Preston, "and I don't see but it's just as good as the rest." "It was all openings," replied Evans. "The trees was here once, and got killed by the fires, or somehow. It was all woods once." "You cut down trees to make land grow grass," said Thatcher. "I should think that God must have meant grass to be the sign of good ground." "Isn't the sweat of your face just as plenty when you delve in the prairies?" asked Dunlap. "You fly in the face of God's decree, and run against His manifest warning when you try to make a prairie into a farm," said Evans. "You'll see!" "Sold again, and got the tin, and sucked another Dutchman in!" was the ditty that ran through my head as I heard this. Old man Evans' way of looking at the matter seemed reasonable to my cautious mind; and, anyhow, when a man has grown old he knows many things that he can give no good reason for. I have always found that the well-educated fellow with a deep-sounding and plausible philosophy that runs against the teachings of experience, is likely, especially in farming, to make a failure when he might have saved himself by doing as the old settlers do, who won't answer his arguments but make a good living just the same, while the new-fangled practises send their followers to the poor-house. At that moment, I would have traded my Iowa farm for any good piece of land covered with trees. But Dunlap and Thatcher had something else to talk to me about. They were for the prairies, especially the prairies of Kansas. "Kansas," said Dunlap, "will be one of the great states of the Union, one of these days. Come with us, and help make it a free state. We need a hundred thousand young farmers, who believe in liberty, and will fight for it. Come with us, take up a farm, and carry a Sharp's rifle against the Border Ruffians!" This sounded convincing to me, but of course I couldn't make up my mind to anything of this sort without days and days of consideration; but I listened to what they said. They told me of an army of free-state emigrants that was gathering along the border to win Kansas for freedom. They, Dunlap and Thatcher, were going to Marion, Iowa, and from there by the Mormon Trail across to a place called Tabor, and from there to Lawrence, Kansas. They were New England Yankees. Thatcher had been to college, and was studying law. Dunlap had been a business man in Connecticut, and was a friend of John Brown, who was then on his way to Kansas. "The Missouri Compromise has been repealed," said Thatcher, his eyes shining, "and the Kansas-Nebraska Bill has thrown the fertile state of Kansas into the ring to be fought for by free-state men and pro-slavery men. The Border Ruffians of Missouri are breaking the law every day by going over into Kansas, never meaning to live there only long enough to vote, and are corrupting the state government. They are corrupting it by violence and illegal voting. If slavery wins in Kansas and Nebraska, it will control the Union forever. The greatest battle in our history is about to be fought out in Kansas, a battle to see whether this nation shall be a slave nation, in every state and every town, or free. Dunlap and I and thousands of others are going down there to take the state of Kansas into our own hands, peacefully if we can, by violence if we must. We are willing to die to make the United States a free nation. Come with us!" "But we don't expect to die," urged Dunlap, seeing that this looked pretty serious to me. "We expect to live, and get farms, and make homes, and prosper, after we have shown the Border Ruffians the muzzles of those rifles. Thatcher, bring the passengers in!" 3 Thatcher went out of the room the back way. "We call this a station," went on Dunlap, "because it's a stopping-place on the U. G. Railway." "What's the U. G. Railway?" I asked. "Don't you know that?" he queried. "I'm only a canal hand," I answered, "going to a farm out on the prairie, that I was euchred into taking in settling with a scoundrel for my share of my father's property; and I'm pretty green." Thatcher came in then, leading the little black boy by the hand, and following him was the negro woman carrying a baby at her breast, and holding by the hand a little woolly-headed pickaninny about three years old. They were ragged and poverty-stricken, and seemed scared at everything. The woman came in bowing and scraping to me, and the two little boys hid behind her skirts and peeked around at me with big white eyes. "Tell the gentleman," said Thatcher, "where you're going." "We're gwine to Canayda," said she, "'scusin' your presence." "How are you going to get to Canada?" asked Thatcher. "The good white folks," said she, "will keep us hid out nights till we gits thar." "What will happen," said Thatcher, "if this young man tells any one that he's seen you?" "The old massa," said she, "will find out, an' he'll hunt us wif houn's, an' fotch us back', and then he'll sell us down the ribber to the cotton-fiel's." I never heard anything quite so pitiful as this speech. I had never known before what it must mean to be really hunted. The woman shrank back toward the door through which she had come, her face grew a sort of grayish color; and then ran to me and throwing herself on her knees, she took hold of my hands, and begged me for God's sake not to tell on her, not to have her carried back, not to fix it so she'd be sold down the river to work in the cotton-fields. "I won't," I said, "I tell you I won't. I want you to get to Canada!" "God bress yeh," she said. "I know'd yeh was a good young gemman as soon as I set eyes on yeh! I know'd yeh was quality!" "Who do you expect to meet in Canada?" asked Thatcher. "God willin'," said she, "I'm gwine to find Abe Felton, the pa of dese yere chillun." "The Underground Railway," said Dunlap, "knows where Abe is, and will send Sarah along with change of cars. You may go, Sarah. Now," he went on, as the negroes disappeared, "you have it in your power to exercise the right of an American citizen and perform the God-accursed legal duty to report these fugitives at the next town, join a posse to hunt them down under a law of the United States, get a reward for doing it, and know that you have vindicated the law--or you can stand with God and tell the law to go to hell--where it came from--and help the Underground Railway to carry these people to heaven. Which will you do?" "I'll tell the law to go to hell," said I. Dunlap and Thatcher looked at each other as if relieved. I have always suspected that I was taken into their secret without their ordinary precautions; and that for a while they were a little dubious for fear that they had spilt the milk of secrecy. But all my life people have told me their secrets. They urged me hard to go with them; and talked so favorably about the soil of the prairies that I began to think well again of my Iowa farm. When I had made it plain that I had to have a longer time to think it over, they began urging me to let them have my horses on some sort of a trade; and I began to see that a part of what they had wanted all the time was a faster team as well as a free-state recruit. They urged on me the desirability of having cattle instead of horses when I reached my farm. "Cows, yes," said I, "but not steers." So I slept over it until morning. Then I made them the proposition that if they would arrange with Preston to trade me four cows, which I would select from his herd, and would provide for my board with Preston until I could break them to drive, and would furnish yokes and chains in place of my harness, I would let them have the team for a hundred dollars boot-money. Preston said he'd like to have me make my selection first, and when I picked out three-year-old heifers, two of which were giving milk, he said it was a whack, if it didn't take me more than a week to break them. Dunlap and Thatcher hitched up, and started off the next morning. I had become Cow Vandemark overnight, and am still Cow Vandemark in the minds of the old settlers of Vandemark Township and some who have just picked the name up. But I did not take on my new name without a struggle, for Flora and Fanny had become dear to me since leaving Madison--my first horses. How I got my second team of horses is connected with one of the most important incidents in my life; it was a long time before I got them and it will be some time before I can tell about it. In the meantime, there were Flora and Fanny, hitched to Dunlap and Thatcher's light wagon, disappearing among the burr oaks toward the Dubuque highway. I thought of my pride as I drove away from Madison with these two steeds, and of the pretty figure I cut the morning when red-haired Alice climbed up, offered to go with me, and kissed me before she climbed down. Would she have done this if I had been driving oxen, or still worse, those animals which few thought worth anything as draught animals--cows? And then I thought of Flora's lameness the day before yesterday. Was it honest to let Dunlap and Thatcher drive off to liberate the nation with a horse that might go lame? "Let me have a horse," said I to Preston. "I want to catch them and tell them something." I rode up behind the Abolitionists' wagon, waving my hat and shouting. They pulled up and waited. "What's up?" asked Dunlap. "Going with us after all? I hope so, my boy." "No," said I, "I just wanted to say that that nigh mare was lame day before yesterday, and I--I--I didn't want you to start off with her without knowing it." Dunlap asked about her lameness, and got out to look her over. He felt of her muscles, and carefully scrutinized her for swelling or swinney or splint or spavin or thoroughpin. Then he lifted one foot after another, and cleaned out about the frog, tapping the hoof all over for soreness. Down deep beside the frog of the foot which she had favored he found a little pebble. "That's what it was," said he, holding the pebble up. "She'll be all right now. Thank you for telling me. It was the square thing to do." "If you don't feel safe to go on with the team," said I, "I'll trade back." "No," said he, "we're needed in Kansas; and," turning up an oil-cloth and showing me a dozen or so of the Sharp's rifles, "so are these. And let me tell you, boy, if I'm any judge of men, the time will come when you won't feel so bad to lose half a dozen horses, as you feel now to be traded out of Flora and Fanny, and make a hundred dollars by the trade. Get up, Flora; go long, Fanny; good-by, Jake!" And they drove off to the Border Wars. I had made my first sacrifice to the cause of the productiveness of the Vandemark Farm. That night a wagon went away from the Preston farm with the passengers going to Canada by the U.G. Railway The next morning I began the task of fitting yokes to my two span of heifers, and that afternoon, I gave Lily and Cherry their first lesson. I had had some experience in driving cattle on Mrs. Fogg's farm in Herkimer County, but I should have made a botch job of it if it had not been for Mr. Preston, who knew all there was to know about cattle, and while protesting that cows could not be driven, helped me drive them. In less than a week my cows were driving as prettily as any oxen. They were light and active, and overtook team after team of laboring steers every day I drove them. Furthermore, they gave me milk. I fed them well, worked them rather lightly, and by putting the new milk in a churn I bought at Mineral Point, I found that the motion of the wagon would bring the butter as well as any churning. I had cream for my coffee, butter for my bread, milk for my mush, and lived high. A good deal of fun was poked at me about my team of cows; but people were always glad to camp with me and share my fare. Economically, our cows ought to be made to do a good deal of the work of the farms. I have always believed this; but now a German expert has proved it. I read about it the other day in a bulletin put out by the Agricultural Department; but I proved it in Vandemark Township before the man was born that wrote the bulletin. If not pushed too hard, cows will work and give almost as much milk as if not worked at all. This statement of course won't apply to the fancy cows which are high-power milk machines, and need to be packed in cotton, and kept in satin-lined stalls; but to such cows as farmers have, and always will have, it does apply. I was sorry to leave the Prestons, they were such whole-souled, earnest people; and before I did leave them I was a full-fledged Abolitionist so far as belief was concerned. I never did become active, however, in spiriting slaves from one station to another of the U.G. Railway. I drove out to the highway, and turning my prow to the west, I joined again in the stream of people swarming westward. The tide had swollen in the week during which I had laid by at the Prestons'. The road was rutted, poached deep where wet and beaten hard where dry, or pulverized into dust by the stream of emigration. Here we went, oxen, cows, mules, horses; coaches, carriages, blue jeans, corduroys, rags, tatters, silks, satins, caps, tall hats, poverty, riches; speculators, missionaries, land-hunters, merchants; criminals escaping from justice; couples fleeing from the law; families seeking homes; the wrecks of homes seeking secrecy; gold-seekers bearing southwest to the Overland Trail; politicians looking for places in which to win fame and fortune; editors hunting opportunities for founding newspapers; adventurers on their way to everywhere; lawyers with a few books; Abolitionists going to the Border War; innocent-looking outfits carrying fugitive slaves; officers hunting escaped negroes; and most numerous of all, homeseekers "hunting country"--a nation on wheels, an empire in the commotion and pangs of birth. Down I went with the rest, across ferries, through Dodgeville, Mineral Point and Platteville, past a thousand vacant sites for farms toward my own farm so far from civilization, shot out of civilization by the forces of civilization itself. I saw the old mining country from Mineral Point to Dubuque, where lead had been dug for many years, and where the men lived who dug the holes and were called Badgers, thus giving the people of Wisconsin their nickname as distinguished from the Illinois people who came up the rivers to work in the spring, and went back in the fall, and were therefore named after a migratory fish and called Suckers; and at last, I saw from its eastern bank far off to the west, the bluffy shores of Iowa, and down by the river the keen spires and brick and wood buildings of the biggest town I had seen since leaving Milwaukee, the town of Dubuque. I camped that night in the northwestern corner of Illinois, in a regular city of movers, all waiting their turns at the ferry which crossed the Mississippi to the Land of Promise. 4 Iowa did not look much like a prairie country from where I stood. The Iowa shore towered above the town of Dubuque, clothed with woods to the top, and looking more like York State than anything I had seen since I had taken the schooner at Buffalo to come up the Lakes. I lay that night, unable to sleep. For one thing, I needed to be wakeful, lest some of the motley crowd of movers might take a fancy to my cattle. I was learning by experience how to take care of myself and mine; besides, I wanted to be awake early so as to take passage by ferry-boat "before soon" as the Hoosiers say, in the morning. That April morning was still only a gray dawn when I drove down to the ferry, without stopping for my breakfast. A few others of those who looked forward to a rush for the boat had got there ahead of me, and we waited in line. I saw that I should have to go on the second trip rather than the first, but movers can not be impatient, and the driving of cattle cures a person of being in a hurry; so I was in no great taking because of this little delay. As I sat there in my wagon, a black-bearded, scholarly-looking man stepped up and spoke to me. "Going across?" he asked. "As soon as the boat will take me," I said. "Heavy loaded?" he asked. "Have you room for a passenger?" "I guess I can accommodate you," I answered. "Climb in." "It isn't for myself I'm asking," he said. "There's a lady here that wants to ride in a covered wagon, and sit back where she can't see the water. It makes her dizzy--and scares her awfully; can you take her?" "If she can ride back there on the bed," said I. He peeped in, and said that this was the very place for her. She could lie down and cover up her head and never know she was crossing the river at all. In a minute, and while it was still twilight, just as the ferry-boat came to the landing, he returned with the lady. She was dressed in some brown fabric, and wore a thick veil over her face; but as she climbed in I saw that she had yellow hair and bright eyes and lips; and that she was trembling so that her hands shook as she took hold of the wagon-bow, and her voice quivered as she thanked me, in low tones. The man with the black beard pressed her hand as he left her. He offered me a dollar for her passage; but I called his attention to the fact that it would cost only two shillings more for me to cross with her than if I went alone, and refused to take more. "There are a good many rough fellows," said he, "at these ferries, that make it unpleasant for a lady, sometimes--" "Not when she's with me," I said. He looked at me sharply, as if surprised that I was not so green as I looked--though I was pretty verdant. Anyhow, he said, if I should be asked if any one was with me, it would save her from being scared if I would say that I was alone--she was the most timid woman in the world. "I'll have to tell the ferryman," I said. "Will you?" he asked. "Why?" "I'd be cheating him if I didn't," I answered. "All right," he said, as if provoked at me, "but don't tell any one else." "I ain't very good at lying," I replied. He said for me to do the best I could for the lady, and hurried off. In the meantime, the lady had crept back on my straw-bed, and pulled the quilts completely over her. She piled pillows on one side of her, and stirred the straw up on the other, so that when she lay down the bed was as smooth as if nobody was in it. It looked as it might if a heedless boy had crawled out of it after a night's sleep, and carelessly thrown the coverlet back over it. I could hardly believe I had a passenger. When I was asked for the ferriage, I paid for two, and the ferryman asked where the other was. "Back in the bed," I said. He looked back, and said, "Well, I owe you something for your honesty. I never'd have seen him. Sick?" "Not very," said I. "Don't like the water." "Some are that way," he returned, and went on collecting fares. As we drove up from the landing, through the rutted streets of the old mining and Indian-trading town, the black-bearded man came to me as we stopped, held back by a jam of covered wagons--a wonderful sight, even to me--and as if talking to me, said to the woman, "You'd better ride on through town;" and then to me, "Are you going on through?" "I've got to buy some supplies," said I; "but I've nothing to stop me but that." "Tell me what you want," he said hurriedly, and looking about as if expecting some danger, "and I'll buy it for you and bring it on. Which way are you going?" "West into Iowa," I answered. "Go on," said he, "and I'll make it right with you. Camp somewhere west of town. I'll come along to-night or to-morrow. I'll make it right with you." "I don't see through this," I said, with my usual indecision as to doing something I did not understand. "I thought I'd look around Dubuque a little." "For God's sake," said the woman from the bed, "take me on--take me on!" Her tones were so pleading, she seemed in such an agony of terror, that I suddenly made up my mind in her favor. Surely there would be no harm in carrying her on as she wished. "All right," I said to her, but looking at him, "I'll take you on! You can count on me." And then to him, "I'll drive on until I find a good camping-place late this afternoon. You'll have to find us the best way you can." He thanked me, and I gave him a list of the things I wanted. Then he went on up the street ahead of us, walking calmly, and looking about him as any stranger might have done. We stood for some time, waiting for the jam of teams to clear, and I gee-upped and whoa-hawed on along the street, until we came to a building on which was a big sign, "Post-Office." There was a queue of people waiting for their mail, extending out at the door, and far down the sidewalk. In this string of emigrants stood our friend, the black-bearded man. Just as we passed, a rather thin, stooped man, walking along on the other side of the street, rushed across, right in front of my lead team, and drawing a pistol, aimed at the black-bearded man, who in turn stepped out of line and drew his own weapon. "I call upon you all to witness," said the black-bearded man, "that I act in self-defense." A bystander seized the thin man's pistol hand, and yelled at him not to shoot or he might kill some one--of course he meant some one he did not aim at, but it sounded a little funny, and I laughed. Several joined in the laugh, and there was a good deal of confusion. At last I heard the black-bearded man say, "I'm here alone. He's accused his wife of being too thick with a dozen men. He's insanely jealous, gentlemen. I suppose his wife may have left him, but I'm here alone. I just crossed the river alone, and I'm going west. If he's got a warrant, he's welcome to have it served if he finds his wife with me. Come on, gentlemen--but take the fool's pistol away from him." As I drove on I saw that the woman had thrown off the quilt, and was peeping out at the opening in the cover at the back, watching the black-bearded and the thin man moving off in a group of fellows, one of whom held the black-bearded man by the arm a good deal as a deputy sheriff might have done. The roads leading west out of Dubuque were horrible, then, being steep stony trails coming down the hollows and washed like watercourses at every rain. Teams were stalled, sometimes three and four span of animals were used to get one load to the top, and we were a good deal delayed. I was so busy trying to keep from upsetting when I drove around stalled outfits and abandoned wagons, and so occupied in finding places where I might stop and breathe my team, that I paid little attention to my queer-acting passenger; but once when we were standing I noticed that she was covered up again, and seemed to be crying. As we topped the bluffs, and drew out into the open, she sat up and began to rearrange her hair. After a few miles, we reached a point from which I could see the Iowa prairie sweeping away as far as the eye could see. I drew out by the roadside to look at it, as a man appraises one with whom he must live--as a friend or an enemy. I shall never forget the sight. It was like a great green sea. The old growth had been burned the fall before, and the spring grass scarcely concealed the brown sod on the uplands; but all the swales were coated thick with an emerald growth full-bite high, and in the deeper, wetter hollows grew cowslips, already showing their glossy, golden flowers. The hillsides were thick with the woolly possblummies[5] in their furry spring coats protecting them against the frost and chill, showing purple-violet on the outside of a cup filled with golden stamens, the first fruits of the prairie flowers; on the warmer southern slopes a few of the splendid bird's-foot violets of the prairie were showing the azure color which would soon make some of the hillsides as blue as the sky; and standing higher than the peering grass rose the rough-leafed stalks of green which would soon show us the yellow puccoons and sweet-williams and scarlet lilies and shooting stars, and later the yellow rosin-weeds, Indian dye-flower and goldenrod. The keen northwest wind swept before it a flock of white clouds; and under the clouds went their shadows, walking over the lovely hills like dark ships over an emerald sea. [5] "Paas-bloeme" one suspects is the Rondout Valley origin of this term applied to a flower, possibly seen by the author on this occasion for the first time--the American pasque-flower, the Iowa prairie type of which is _Anemone patens_: the knightliest little flower of the Iowa uplands.--G.v.d.M. The wild-fowl were clamoring north for the summer's campaign of nesting. Everywhere the sky was harrowed by the wedged wild geese, their voices as sweet as organ tones; and ducks quacked, whistled and whirred overhead, a true rain of birds beating up against the wind. Over every slew, on all sides, thousands of ducks of many kinds, and several sorts of geese hovered, settled, or burst up in eruptions of birds, their back-feathers shining like bronze as they turned so as to reflect the sunlight to my eyes; while so far up that they looked like specks, away above the wind it seemed, so quietly did they circle and sail, floated huge flocks of cranes--the sand-hill cranes in their slaty-gray, and the whooping cranes, white as snow with black heads and feet, each bird with a ten-foot spread of wing, piping their wild cries which fell down to me as if from another world. It was sublime! Bird, flower, grass, cloud, wind, and the immense expanse of sunny prairie, swelling up into undulations like a woman's breasts turgid with milk for a hungry race. I forgot myself and my position in the world, my loneliness, my strange passenger, the problems of my life; my heart swelled, and my throat filled. I sat looking at it, with the tears trickling from my eyes, the uplift of my soul more than I could bear. It was not the thought of my mother that brought the tears to my eyes, but my happiness in finding the newest, strangest, most delightful, sternest, most wonderful thing in the world--the Iowa prairie--that made me think of my mother. If I only could have found her alive! If I only could have had her with me! And as I thought of this I realized that the woman of the ferry had climbed over the back of the spring-seat and was sitting beside me. "I don't wonder," said she, "that you cry. Gosh! It scares me to death!" CHAPTER VII ADVENTURE ON THE OLD RIDGE ROAD Vandemark Township and Monterey County, as any one may see by looking at the map of Iowa, had to be reached from Wisconsin by crossing the Mississippi at Dubuque and then fetching across the prairie to the journey's end; and in 1855 a traveler making that trip naturally fell in with a good many of his future neighbors and fellow-citizens pressing westward with him to the new lands. Some were merely hunting country, and were ready to be whiffled off toward any neck of the woods which might be puffed up by a wayside acquaintance as ignorant about it as he. Some were headed toward what was called "the Fort Dodge country," which was anywhere west of the Des Moines River. Some had been out and made locations the year before and were coming on with their stuff; some were joining friends already on the ground; some had a list of Gardens of Eden in mind, and meant to look them over one after the other until a land was found flowing with milk and honey, and inhabited by roast pigs with forks sticking in their backs and carving knives between their teeth. Very few of the tillers of the soil had farms already marked down, bought and paid for as I had; and I sometimes talked in such a way as to show that I was a little on my high heels; but they were freer to tack, go about, and run before the wind than I; for some one was sure to stick to each of them like a bur and steer him to some definite place, where he could squat and afterward take advantage of the right of preemption, while I was forced to ferret out a particular square mile of this boundless prairie, and there settle down, no matter how far it might be from water, neighbors, timber or market; and fight out my battle just as things might happen. If the woman in the wagon was "scared to death" at the sight of the prairie, I surely had cause to be afraid; but I was not. I was uplifted. I felt the same sense of freedom, and the greatness of things, that came over me when I first found myself able to take in a real eyeful in driving my canal-boat through the Montezuma Marsh, or when I first saw big waters at Buffalo. I was made for the open, I guess. There were wagon trails in every westerly direction from all the Mississippi ferries and landings; and the roads branched from Dubuque southwestward to Marion, and on to the Mormon trail, and northwestward toward Elkader and West Union; but I had to follow the Old Ridge Road west through Dubuque, Delaware, Buchanan and Blackhawk Counties, and westward. It was called the Ridge Road because it followed the knolls and hog-backs, and thus, as far as might be, kept out of the slews. The last bit of it so far as I know was plowed up in 1877 in the northeastern part of Grundy County. I saw this last mile of the old road on a trip I made to Waterloo, and remember it. This part of it had been established by a couple of Hardin County pioneers who got lost in the forty-mile prairie between the Iowa and Cedar Rivers about three years before I came in and showed their fitness for citizenship by filling their wagon with stakes on the way back and driving them on every sightly place as guides for others--an Iowa Llano Estacado was Grundy Prairie. This last bit of it ran across a school section that had been left in prairie sod till then. The past came rolling back upon me as I stopped my horses and looked at it, a wonderful road, that never was a highway in law, curving about the side of a knoll, the comb between the tracks carrying its plume of tall spear grass, its barbed shafts just ripe for boys to play Indian with, which bent over the two tracks, washed deep by the rains, and blown out by the winds; and where the trail had crossed a wet place, the grass and weeds still showed the effects of the plowing and puddling of the thousands of wheels and hoofs which had poached up the black soil into bubbly mud as the road spread out into a bulb of traffic where the pioneering drivers sought for tough sod which would bear up their wheels. A plow had already begun its work on this last piece of the Old Ridge Road, and as I stood there, the farmer who was breaking it up came by with his big plow and four horses, and stopped to talk with me. "What made that old road?" I asked. "Vell," said he, "dot's more as I know. Somebody, I dank." And yet, the history of Vandemark Township was in that old road that he complained of because he couldn't do a good job of breaking across it--he was one of those German settlers, or the son of one, who invaded the state after the rest of us had opened it up. The Old Ridge Road went through Dyersville, Manchester, Independence, Waterloo, and on to Fort Dodge--but beyond there both the road and--so far as I know--the country itself, was a vague and undefined thing. So also was the road itself beyond the Iowa River, and for that matter it got to be less and less a beaten track all the way as the wagons spread out fanwise to the various fords and ferries and as the movers stopped and settled like nesting cranes. Of course there was a fringe of well-established settlements a hundred miles or so beyond Fort Dodge, of people who, most of them, came up the Missouri River. Our Iowa wilderness did not settle up in any uniform way, but was inundated as a field is overspread by a flood; only it was a flood which set up-stream. First the Mississippi had its old town, away off south of Iowa, near its mouth; then the people worked up to the mouth of the Missouri and made another town; then the human flood crept up the Mississippi and the Missouri, and Iowa was reached; then the Iowa valleys were occupied by the river immigration, and the tide of settlement rose until it broke over the hills on such routes as the Old Ridge Road; but these cross-country streams here and there met other trickles of population which had come up the belts of forest on the streams. I was steering right into the wilderness; but there were far islands of occupation--the heft of the earliest settlements strongly southern in character--on each of the Iowa streams which I was to cross, snuggled down in the wooded bottom lands on the Missouri, and even away beyond at Salt Lake, and farther off in Oregon and California where the folk-freshet broke on the Pacific--a wave of humanity dashing against a reef of water. Of course, I knew very little of these things as I sat there, ignorant as I was, looking out over the grassy sea, in my prairie schooner, my four cows panting from the climb, and with the yellow-haired young woman beside me, who had been wished on me by the black-bearded man on leaving the Illinois shore. Most of it I still had to spell out through age and experience, and some reading. I only knew that I had been told that the Ridge Road would take me to Monterey County, if the weather wasn't too wet, and I didn't get drowned in a freshet at a ferry or slewed down and permanently stuck fast somewhere with all my goods. "Gee-up," I shouted to my cows, and cracked my blacksnake over their backs; and they strained slowly into the yoke. The wagon began chuck-chucking along into the unknown. "Stop!" said my passenger. "I've got to wait here for my--for my husband." "I can't stop," said I, "till I get to timber and water." "But I must wait," she pleaded. "He can't help but find us here, because it's the only way to come; but if we go on we may miss him--and--and-- I've just got to stop. Let me out, if you won't stop." I whoaed up and she made as if to climb out. "He may not get out of Dubuque to-day," I said. "He said so. And for you to wait here alone, with all these movers going by, and with no place to stay to-night will be a pretty pokerish thing to do." Finally we agreed that I should drive on to water and timber, unless the road should fork; in which case we were to wait at the forks no matter what sort of camp it might be. The Ridge Road followed pretty closely the route afterward taken by the Illinois Central Railroad; but the railroad takes the easiest grades, while the Ridge Road kept to the high ground; so that at some places it lay a long way north or south of the railway route on which trains were running as far as Manchester within about two years. It veered off toward the head waters of White Water Creek on that first day's journey; and near a new farm, where they kept a tavern, we stopped because there was water in the well, and hay and firewood for sale. It was still early. The yellow-haired woman, whose name I did not know, alighted, and when I found that they would keep her for the night, went toward the farm-house without thanking me--but she was too much worried about something to think of that, I guess; but she turned and came back. "Which way is Monterey Centre?" she asked. "Away off to the westward," I answered. "Is it far?" "A long ways," I said. "Is it on this awful prairie?" she inquired. "Yes," said I, "I guess it is. It's farther away from timber than this I calculate." "My lord," she burst out. "I'll simply die of the horrors!" She looked over the trail toward Dubuque, and then slowly went into the house. So, then, these two with all their strange actions were going to Monterey County! They would be neighbors of mine, maybe; but probably not. They looked like town people; and I knew already the distance that separated farmers from the dwellers in the towns--a difference that as I read history, runs away back through all the past. They were far removed from what I should be--something that I realized more and more all through my life--the difference between those who live on the farms and those who live on the farmers. There was a two-seated covered carriage standing before the house, and across the road were two mover-wagons, with a nice camp-fire blazing, and half a dozen men and women and a lot of children about it cooking a meal of victuals. I pulled over near them and turned my cows out, tied down head and foot so they could bait and not stray too far. I noticed that their cows, which were driven after the wagon, had found too fast for them the pace set by the horse teams, had got very foot-sore, and were lying down and not feeding--for I drove them up to see what was the matter with them. 2 Before starting-time in the morning, I had swapped two of my driving cows for four of their lame ones, and hauled up by the side of the road until I could break my new animals to the yoke and allow them to recuperate. I am a cattleman by nature, and was more greedy for stock than anxious to make time--maybe that's another reason for being called Cow Vandemark. The neighbors used to say that I laid the foundation of my present competence by trading one sound cow for two lame ones every few miles along the Ridge Road, coming into the state, and then feeding my stock on speculators' grass in the summer and straw that my neighbors would otherwise have burned up in the winter. What was a week's time to me? I had a lifetime in Iowa before me. "Whose rig is that?" I asked, pointing to the carriage. "Belongs to a man name of Gowdy," the mover told me. "Got a hell-slew of wuthless land in Monterey County an' is going out to settle on it." "How do you know it's worthless?" I inquired pretty sharply; for a man must stand up for his own place whether he's ever seen it or not. "They say so," said he. "Why?" I asked. "Out in the middle of the Monterey Prairie," he said. "You can't live in this country 'less you settle near the timber." "Instead of stopping at this farm," I said, "I should think he'd have gone on to the next settlement. Horses lame?" "Best horses I've seen on the road," was the answer. "Kentucky horses. Gowdy comes from Kentucky. Stopped because his wife is bad sick." "Where's he?" I asked. "Out shooting geese," said he. "Don't seem to fret his gizzard about his wife; but they say she's struck with death." All the while I was cooking my supper I was thinking of this woman, "struck with death," and her husband out shooting geese, while she struggled with our last great antagonist alone. One of the women came over from the other camp with her husband, and I spoke to her about it. "This man," said she, "jest acts out what all the men feel. A womern is nothing but a thing to want as long as she is young and can work. But this womern hain't quite alone. She's got a little sister with her that knows a hull lot better how to do for her than any darned man would!" It grew dark and cold--a keen, still, frosty spring evening which filled the sky with stars and bespoke a sunny day for to-morrow, with settled warmer weather. The geese and ducks were still calling from the sky, and not far away the prairie wolves were howling about one of the many carcasses of dead animals which the stream of immigration had already dropped by the wayside. I was dead sleepy, and was about to turn in, when my black-bearded man last seen in Dubuque with a constable holding him by the arm, came driving up, and went about among the various wagons as if looking for something. I knew he was seeking me, and spoke to him. "Oh!" he said, as if all at once easier in his mind. "Where's my--" "She's in the house," I said; "this is a kind of a tavern." "Good!" said he. "I'm much obliged to you. Here's your supplies. I had to buy this light wagon and a team of horses in Dubuque, and it took a little time, it took a little time." I now noticed that he had a way of repeating his words, and giving them a sort of friendly note as if he were taking you into his confidence. When I offered to pay him for the supplies, he refused. "I'm in debt to you. I don't remember what they cost--got them with some things for myself; a trifle, a trifle. Glad to do more for you--no trouble at all, none whatever." "Didn't you have any trouble in Dubuque?" I asked, thinking of the man who had threatened to shoot him in front of the post-office, and how the black-bearded man had called upon the bystanders to bear witness that he was about to shoot in self-defense. He gave me a sharp look; but it was too dark to make it worth anything to him. "No trouble at all," he said. "What d'ye mean?" Before I could answer there came up a man carrying a shotgun in one hand, and a wild goose over his shoulder. Following him was a darky with a goose over each shoulder. I threw some dry sticks on my fire, and it flamed up showing me the faces of the group. Buckner Gowdy, or as everybody in Monterey County always called him, Buck Gowdy, stood before us smiling, powerful, six feet high, but so big of shoulder that he seemed a little stooped, perfectly at ease, behaving as if he had always known all of us. He wore a little black mustache which curled up at the corners of his mouth like the tail feathers of a drake. His clothes were soaked and gaumed up with mud from his tramping and crawling through the marshes; but otherwise he looked as fresh as if he had just risen from his bed, while the negro seemed ready to drop. When Buck Gowdy spoke, it was always with a little laugh, and that slight stoop toward you as if there was something between him and you that was a sort of secret--the kind of laugh a man gives who has had many a joke with you and depends on your knowing what it is that pleases him. His eyes were brown, and a little close together; and his head was covered with a mass of wavy dark hair. His voice was rich and deep, and pitched low as if he were telling you something he did not want everybody to hear. He swore constantly, and used nasty language; but he had a way with him which I have seen him use to ministers of the gospel without their seeming to take notice of the improper things he said. There was something intimate in his treatment of every one he spoke to; and he was in the habit of saying things, especially to women, that had all sorts of double meanings--meanings that you couldn't take offense at without putting yourself on some low level which he could always vow was far from his mind. And there was a vibration in his low voice which always seemed to mean that he felt much more than he said. "My name's Gowdy," he said; "all you people going west for your health?" "I," said the black-bearded man, "am Doctor Bliven; and I'm going west, I'm going west, not only for my health, but for that of the community." "Glad to make your acquaintance," said Gowdy; "and may I crave the acquaintance of our young Argonaut here?" "Let me present Mr.--" said Doctor Bliven, "Mr.--Mr.--" "Vandemark," said I. "Let me present Mr. Vandemark," said the doctor, "a very obliging young man to whom I am already under many obligations, many obligations." Buckner Gowdy took my hand, bringing his body close to me, and looking me in the eyes boldly and in a way which was quite fascinating to me. "I hope, Mr. Vandemark," said he, "that you and Doctor Bliven are going to settle in the neighborhood to which I am exiled. Where are you two bound for?" "I expect to open a drug store and begin the practise of medicine," said the doctor, "at the thriving town of Monterey Centre." "I've got some land in Monterey County," said I; "but I don't know where in the county it is." Doctor Bliven started; and Buckner Gowdy shook my hand again, and then the doctor's. "A sort of previous neighborhood reunion," said he. "I expect one of these days to be one of the old residenters of Monterey County myself. I am a fellow-sufferer with you, Mr. Vandemark--I also have land there. Won't you and the doctor join me in a night-cap in honor of our neighborship; and drink to better acquaintance? And let's invite our fellow wayfarers, too. I have some game for them." He looked across to the other camp, and we went over to it, Gowdy giving the third goose and the gun to the negro who had hard work to manage them. I had a roadside acquaintance with the movers, but did not know their names. In a jiffy Gowdy had all of them, and had found out that they expected to locate near Waverly. In five minutes he had begun discussing with a pretty young woman the best way to cook a goose; and soon wandered away with her on some pretense, and we could hear his subdued, vibratory voice and low laugh from the surrounding darkness, and from time to time her nervous giggle. Suddenly I remembered his wife, certainly very sick in the house, and the talk that she was "struck with death"--and he out shooting geese, and now gallivanting around with a strange girl in the dark. There must be some mistake--this man with the bold eyes and the warm and friendly handclasp, with the fascinating manners and the neighborly ideas, could not possibly be a person who would do such things. But even as I thought this, and made up my mind that, after all, I would join him and the queer-behaving doctor in a friendly drink, a woman came flying out of the house and across the road, calling out, asking if any one knew where Mr. Gowdy was, that his wife was dying. He and the girl came to the fire quickly, and as they came into view I saw a movement of his arm as if he was taking it from around her waist. "I'm here," said he--and his voice sounded harder, somehow. "What's the matter?" "Your wife," said the woman, "--she's taken very bad, Mr. Gowdy." He started toward the house without a word; but before he went out of sight he turned and looked for a moment with a sort of half-smile at the girl. For a while we were all as still as death. Finally Doctor Bliven remarked that lots of folks were foolish about sick people, and that more patients were scared to death by those about them than died of disease. The girl said that that certainly was so. Doctor Bliven then volunteered the assertion that Mr. Gowdy seemed to be a fine fellow, and a gentleman if he ever saw one. Just then the woman came from across the road again and asked for "the man who was a doctor." "I'm a doctor," said Bliven. "Somebody wants me?" She said that Mr. Gowdy would like to have him come into the house--and he went hurriedly, after taking a medicine-case from his democrat wagon. I saw my yellow-haired passenger of the Dubuque ferry meet him before the door, throw her arms about him and kiss him. He returned her greeting, and they went through the door together into the house. 3 I turned in, and slept several hours very soundly, and then suddenly found myself wide awake. I got up, and as I did almost every night, went out to look after my cattle. I found all but one of them, and fetched a compass about the barns and stables, searching until I found her. As I passed in front of the door I heard moanings and cryings from a bench against the side of the house, and stopped. It was dawn, and I could see that it was either a small woman or a large child, huddled down on the bench crying terribly, with those peculiar wrenching spasms that come only when you have struggled long, and then quite given up to misery. I went toward her, then stepped back, then drew closer, trying to decide whether I should go away and leave her, or speak to her; and arguing with myself as to what I could possibly say to her. She seemed to be trying to choke down her weeping, burying her head in her hands, holding back her sobs, wrestling with herself. Finally she fell forward on her face upon the bench, her hands spread abroad and hanging down, her face on the hard cold wood--and all her moanings ceased. It seemed to me that she had suddenly dropped dead; for I could not hear from her a single sigh or gasp or breath, though I stepped closer and listened--not a sign of life did she give. So I put my arm under her and raised her up, only to see that her face was ghastly white, and that she seemed quite dead. I picked her up, and found that, though she was slight and girlish, she was more woman than child, and carried her over to the well where there was cold water in the trough, from which I sprinkled a few icy drops in her face--and she gasped and looked at me as if dazed. "You fainted away," I said, "and I brought you to." "I wish you hadn't!" she cried. "I wish you had let me die!" "What's the matter, little girl?" I asked, seating her on the bench once more. "Is there anything I can do?" "Oh! oh! oh! oh!" she cried, maybe a dozen times--and nothing more, until finally she burst out: "She was all I had in the world. My God, what will become of me!" And she sprang up, and would have run off, I believe, if Buckner Gowdy had not overtaken her, and coaxingly led her back into the house. * * * * * We come now into a new state of things in the history of Vandemark Township. We meet not only the things that made it, but the actors in the play. Buckner Gowdy, Doctor Bliven, their associates, and others not yet mentioned will be found helping to make or mar the story all through the future; for an Iowa community was like a growing child in this, that its character in maturity was fixed by its beginnings. I know communities in Iowa that went into evil ways, and were blighted through the poison distilled into their veins by a few of the earliest settlers; I know others that began with a few strong, honest, thinking, reading, praying families, and soon began sending out streams of good influence which had a strange power for better things; I knew other settlements in which there was a feud from the beginning between the bad and the good; and in some of them the blight of the bad finally overwhelmed the good, while in others the forces of righteousness at last grappled with the devil's gang, and, sometimes in violence, redeemed the neighborhood to a place in the light. In one of these classes Monterey County, and even Vandemark Township, took its place. Buckner Gowdy and Doctor Bliven, the little girl who fainted away on the wooden bench in the night, and the yellow-haired woman who stole a ride with me across the Dubuque ferry had their part in the building up of our great community--and others worked with them, some for the good and some for the bad. Now I come to people whose histories I know by the absorption of a lifetime's experience. I know that it was Mrs. Bliven's husband--we always called her that, of course--who expected to arrest the pair of them as they crossed the Dubuque ferry; and that I was made a cat's-paw in slipping her past her pursuers and saving Bliven from arrest. I know that Buckner Gowdy was a wild and turbulent rakehell in Kentucky and after many bad scrapes was forced to run away from the state, and was given his huge plantation of "worthless" land--as he called it--in Iowa; that he had married his wife, who was a poor girl of good family named Ann Royall, because he couldn't get her except by marrying her. I know that her younger sister, Virginia Royall, came with them to Iowa, because she had no other relative or friend in the world except Mrs. Gowdy. I pretty nearly know that Virginia would have killed herself that night on the prairie by the Old Ridge Road, because of a sudden feeling of terror, at the situation in which she was left, at the prairies and the wild desolate road, at Buck Gowdy, at life in general--if she had had any means with which to destroy her life. I know that Buck Gowdy took her into the house and comforted her by telling her that he would care for her, and send her back to Kentucky. * * * * * A funeral by the wayside! This was my first experience with a kind of tragedy which was not quite so common as you might think. Buckner Gowdy instead of giving his wife a grave by the road, as many did, sent the man of the house back to Dubuque for a hearse, the women laid out the corpse, and after a whole day of waiting, the hearse came, and went back over the road down the Indian trail through the bluffs to some graveyard in the old town by the river. Virginia Royall sat in the back seat of the carriage with Buckner Gowdy, and the darky, Pinckney Johnson--we all knew him afterward--drove solemnly along wearing white gloves which he had found somewhere. Virginia shrank away over to her own side of the seat as if trying to get as far from Buckner Gowdy as possible. The movers moved on, leaving me four of their cows instead of two of mine, and I went diligently to work breaking them to the yoke. New prairie schooners came all the time into view from the East, and others went over the sky-line into the West. 4 And that day the Fewkes family hove into sight in a light democrat wagon drawn by a good-sized apology for a horse, poor as a crow, and carrying sail in the most ferocious way of any beast I ever saw. He had had a bad case of poll-evil and his head was poked forward as if he was just about to bite something, and his ears were leered back tight to his head with an expression of the most terrible anger--I have known people who went through the world in a good deal the same way for much the same reasons. Old Man Fewkes was driving, and sitting by him was Mrs. Fewkes in a faded calico dress, her shoulders wrapped in what was left of a shawl. Fewkes was letting old Tom take his own way, which he did by rushing with all vengeance through every bad spot and then stopping to rest as soon as he reached a good bit of road. The old man was thin and light-boned, with a high beak of a nose which ought to have indicated strength of character, I suppose; but the other feature that also tells a good deal, the chin, was hidden by a gray beard which hung in long curving locks over his breast and saved him the expense of a collar or cravat. His hands were like claws--I never saw such hands doing much of the hard work of the world--and, like his face, were covered with great patches which, if they had not been so big would have been freckles. His wife was a perfect picture of those women who had the life drailed out of them by a yielding to the whiffling winds of influence that carried the dead leaves of humanity hither and yon in the advance of the frontier. She sat stooped over on the stiff broad seat, with her shoulders drawn down as no shoulders but hers could be drawn. It was her one outstanding point that she had no collar-bones. It doesn't seem possible that this could be so; but she could bring her shoulders together in front until they touched. She was rather proud of this--I suppose every one must have something to be proud of. I guess the old man's chin must have been pretty weak; for the boys, who were seated on the back seat, both had high noses and no chins to speak of. The oldest was over twenty, I suppose, and was named Celebrate. His mother explained to me that he was born on the Fourth of July, and they called him at first Celebrate Independence Fewkes; but finally changed it to Celebrate Fourth--I am telling you this so as to give you an idea as to what sort of folks they were. Celebrate was tall and well-built, and could be a good hand if he tried; which he would do once in a while for half a day or so if flattered. The second son was named Surajah Dowlah Fewkes--the name was pronounced Surrager by everybody. Old Man Fewkes said they named him this because a well-read man had told them it might give him force of character; but it failed. He was a harmless little chap, and there was nothing bad about him except that he was addicted to inventions. When they came into camp that day he was explaining to Celebrate a plan for catching wild geese with fish-hooks baited with corn, and that evening came to me to see if he couldn't borrow a long fish-line. "I can ketch meat for a dozen outfits with it," he said, "if I can borrow a fish-hook." Walking along behind the wagon came the fifth member of the family, Rowena, a girl of seventeen. She went several rods behind the wagon, and as they rushed and plodded along according to old Tom's temper, I noticed that she rambled over the prairie a good deal picking flowers; and you would hardly have thought to look at her that she belonged to the Fewkes outfit at all. I guess that was the way she wanted it to look. She was as vigorous as the others were limpsey and boneless; and there was in her something akin to the golden plovers that were running in hundreds that morning over the prairies--I haven't seen one for twenty-five years! That is, she skimmed over the little knolls rather than walked, as if made of something lighter than ordinary human clay. Her dress was ragged, faded, and showed through the tears in it a tattered quilted petticoat, and she wore no bonnet or hat; but carried in her hand a boy's cap--which, according to the notions harbored by us then, it would have been immodest for her to wear. Her hair was brown and blown all about her head, and her face was tanned to a rich brown--a very bad complexion then, but just the thing the society girl of to-day likes to show when she returns from the seashore. When her family had halted, she did not come to them at once, but made a circuit or two about the camp, like a shy bird coming to its nest, or as if she hated to do it; and when she did come it was in a sort of defiant way, swinging herself and tossing her head, and looking at every one as bold as brass. I was staring at the astonishing horse, the queer wagon, and the whole outfit with more curiosity than manners, I reckon, when she came into the circle, and caught my unmannerly eye. "Well," she said, her face reddening under the tan, "if you see anything green throw your hat at it! Sellin' gawp-seed, or what is your business?" "I beg your pardon," "I meant no offense," and even "Excuse me" were things I had never learned to say. I had learned to fight any one who took offense at me; and if they didn't like my style they could lump it--such was my code of manners, and the code of my class. To beg pardon was to knuckle under--and it took something more than I was master of in the way of putting on style to ask to be excused, even if the element of back-down were eliminated. Remember, I had been "educated" on the canal. So I tried to look her out of countenance, grew red, retreated, and went about some sort of needless work without a word--completely defeated. I thought she seemed rather to like this; and that evening I went over and offered Mrs. Fewkes some butter and milk, of which I had a plenty. I was soon on good terms with the Fewkes family. Old Man Fewkes told me he was going to Negosha--a region of which I had never heard. It was away off to the westward, he said; and years afterward I made up my mind that the name was made up of the two words Nebraska and Dakota--not very well joined together. Mrs. Fewkes was not strong for Negosha; and when Fewkes offered to go to Texas, she objected because it was so far. "Why," said the old man indignantly, "it hain't only a matter of fifteen hundred mile! An' the trees is in constant varder!" He still harped on Negosha, though, and during the evening while we were fattening up on my bread and meat, which I had on a broad hint added to our meal, he told me that what he really wanted was an estate where he could have an artificial lake and keep some deer and plenty of ducks and geese. Swans, too, he said could be raised at a profit, and sold to other well-to-do people. He said that by good farming he could get along with only a few hundred acres of plow land. Mrs. Fewkes grew more indulgent to these ideas as the food satisfied her hungry stomach. Celebrate believed that if he could once get out among 'em he could do well as a hunter and trapper; while Surajah kept listening to the honking of the wild geese and planning to catch enough of them with baited hooks to feed the whole family all the way to Negosha, and provide plenty of money by selling the surplus to the emigrants. Rowena sat in her ragged dress, her burst shoes drawn in under her skirt, looking at her family with an expression of unconcealed scorn. When she got a chance to speak to me, she did so in a very friendly manner. "Did you ever see," said she, "such a set of darned infarnal fools as we are?" Before the evening was over, however, and she had hidden herself away in her clothes under a thin and ragged comforter in their wagon, she had joined in the discussion of their castle in Spain in a way that showed her to be a legitimate Fewkes. She spoke for a white saddle horse, a beautiful side-saddle, a long blue riding-habit with shot in the seam, and a man to keep the horse in order. She wanted to be able to rub the horse with a white silk handkerchief without soiling it. Ah, well! dreams hovered over all our camps then. The howling of the wolves couldn't drive them away. Poor Rowena! CHAPTER VIII MY LOAD RECEIVES AN EMBARRASSING ADDITION I still had some corn for my cattle, of the original supply which I had got from Rucker in Madison. Hay was fifteen dollars a ton, and all it cost the producer was a year's foresight and the labor of putting it up; for there were millions of acres of wild grass going to waste which made the sweet-smelling hay that old horsemen still prefer to tame hay. It hadn't quite the feeding value, pound for pound, that the best timothy and clover has; but it was a wonderful hay that could be put up in the clear weather of the fall when the ground is dry and warm, and cured so as to be free from dust. My teams never got the heaves when I fed prairie hay. It graveled me like sixty to pay such a price, but I had to do it because the season was just between hay and grass. Sometimes I thought of waiting over until the summer of 1856 to make hay for sale to the movers; but having made my start for my farm I could not bring myself to give up reaching it that spring. So I only waited occasionally to break in or rest up the foot-sore and lame cattle for which I traded from time to time. The Fewkes family went on after I had given them some butter, some side pork and a milking of milk. While I was baking pancakes that last morning, Rowena came to my fire, and snatching the spider away from me took the job off my hands, baking the cakes while I ate. She was a pretty girl, slim and well developed, and she had a fetching way with her eyes after friendly relations were established with her--which was pretty hard because she seemed to feel that every one looked down on her, and was quick to take offense. "Got any saleratus?" she asked. "No," said I. "Why?" She stepped over to the Fewkes wagon and brought back a small packet of saleratus, a part of which she stirred into the batter. "It's gettin' warm enough so your milk'll sour on you," said she. "This did. Don't you know enough to use saleratus to sweeten the sour milk? You better keep this an' buy some at the next store." "I wish I had somebody along that could cook," said I. "Can't you cook?" she asked. "I can." I told her, then, all about my experience on the canal; and how we used to carry a cook on the boat sometimes, and sometimes cooked for ourselves. I induced her to sit by me on the spring seat which I had set down on the ground, and join me in my meal while I told her of my adventures. She seemed to forget her ragged and unwashed dress, while she listened to the story of my voyages from Buffalo to Albany, and my side trips to such places as Oswego. This canal life seemed powerfully thrilling to the poor girl. She could only tell of living a year or so at a time on some run-down or never run-up farm in Indiana or Illinois, always in a log cabin in a clearing; or of her brothers and sisters who had been "bound out" because the family was so large; and now of this last voyage in search of an estate in Negosha. "I can make bread," said she, after a silence. "Kin you?" When I told her I couldn't she told me how. It was the old-fashioned salt-rising bread, the receipt for which she gave me; and when I asked her to write it down I found that she was even a poorer scribe than I was. We were two mighty ignorant young folks, but we got it down, and that night I set emptins[6] for the first time, and I kept trying, and advising with the women-folks, until I could make as good salt-rising bread as any one. When we had finished this her father was calling her to come, as they were starting on toward Negosha; and I gave Rowena money enough to buy her a calico dress pattern at the next settlement. She tried to resist, and her eyes filled with tears as she took the money and chokingly tried to thank me for it. She climbed into the wagon and rode on for a while, but got out and came back to me while old Tom went on in those mad rushes of his, and circling within a few yards of me she said, "You're right good," and darted off over the prairie at a wide angle to the road. [6] Our author resists firmly all arguments in favor of the generally accepted dictionary spelling, "emptyings." He says that the term can not possibly come from any such idea as things which are emptied, or emptied out. The editor is reconciled to this view in the light of James Russell Lowell's discussion of "emptins" in which he says: "Nor can I divine the original." Mr. Lowell surely must have considered "emptyings"--and rejected it.--G.v.d.M. I watched her with a buying eye, as she circled like a pointer pup and finally caught up with the wagon, a full mile on to the westward. I had wondered once if she had not deserted the Fewkes party forever. I had even, such is the imagination of boyhood, made plans and lived them through in my mind, which put Rowena on the nigh end of the spring seat, and made her a partner with me in opening up the new farm. But she waved her hand as she joined her family--or I thought so at least, and waved back--and was gone. The Gowdy outfit did not return until after I had about cured the lameness of my newly-acquired cows and set out on my way over the Old Ridge Road for the West. The spring was by this time broadening into the loveliest of all times on the prairies (when the weather is fine), the days of the full blowth of the upland bird's-foot violets. Some southern slopes were so blue with them that you could hardly tell the distant hill from the sky, except for the greening of the peeping grass. The possblummies were still blowing, but only the later ones. The others were aging into tassels of down. The Canada geese, except for the nesters, had swept on in that marvelous ranked army which ends the migration, spreading from the east to the west some warm morning when the wind is south, and extending from a hundred feet in the air to ten thousand, all moved by a common impulse like myself and my fellow-migrants, pressing northward though, instead of westward, with the piping of a thousand organs, their wings whirring, their eyes glistening as if with some mysterious hope, their black webbed feet folded and stretched out behind, their necks strained out eagerly to the north, and held a little high I thought as if to peer over the horizon to catch a glimpse of their promised land of blue lakes, tall reeds, and broad fields of water-celery and wild rice, with dry nests downy with the harvests of their gray breasts; and fluffy goslings swimming in orderly classes after their teachers. And up from the South following these old honkers came the snow geese, the Wilson geese, and all the other little geese (we ignorantly called all of them "brants"), with their wild flutings like the high notes of clarinets--and the ponds became speckled with teal and coot. The prairie chickens now became the musicians of the morning and evening on the uplands, with their wild and intense and almost insane chorus, repeated over and over until it seemed as if the meaning of it must be forced upon every mind like a figure in music played with greatening power by a violinist so that the heart finally almost breaks with it--"Ka-a-a-a-a-a, ka, ka, ka, ka! _Ka-a-a-a-a-a-a,_ ka, ka, ka, ka, ka, ka, ka! KA-A-A-A-A-A-A, ka, ka, ka, ka, ka, ka, ka, ka!"--Oh, there is no way to tell it!--And then the cock filled in the harmony with his lovely contribution: facing the courted hen, he swelled out the great orange globes at the sides of his head, fluffed out his feathers, strutted forward a few steps, and tolled his deep-toned bell, with all the skill of a ventriloquist, making it seem far away when he was on a near-by knoll, like a velvet gong sounded with no stroke of the hammer, as if it spoke from some inward vibration set up by a mysterious current--a liquid "Do, re, me," here full and distinct, there afar off, the whole air tremulous with it, the harmony to the ceaseless fugue in the soprano clef of the rest of the flock--nobody will ever hear it again! Nobody ever drew from it, and from the howling of the wolves, the honking of the geese, the calls of the ducks, the strange cries of the cranes as they soared with motionless wings high overhead, or rowed their way on with long slow strokes of their great wings, or danced their strange reels and cotillions in the twilight; and from the myriad voices of curlew, plover, gopher, bob-o-link, meadowlark, dick-cissel, killdeer and the rest--day-sounds and night-sounds, dawn-sounds and dusk-sounds--more inspiration than did the stolid Dutch boy plodding west across Iowa that spring of 1855, with his fortune in his teams of cows, in the covered wagon they drew, and the deed to his farm in a flat packet of treasures in a little iron-bound trunk--among them a rain-stained letter and a worn-out woman's shoe. 2 I got the saleratus at Dyersville, and just as I came out of the little store which was, as I remember it, the only one there, I saw the Gowdy carriage come down the short street, the horses making an effort to prance under the skilful management of Pinck Johnson, who occupied the front seat alone, while Virginia Royall sat in the back seat with Buckner Gowdy, her arm about the upright of the cover, her left foot over the side as it might be in case of a person who was ready to jump out to escape the danger of a runaway, an overturn, or some other peril. Gowdy did not recognize me, or if he did he did not speak to me. He got out of the carriage and went first into the store, coming out presently with some packages in his hand which he tossed to the darky, and then he joined the crowd of men in front of the saloon across the way. Soon I saw him go into the gin-mill, the crowd following him, and the noise of voices grew louder. I had had enough experience with such things to know pretty well what was going on; the stink of spilled drinks, and profanity and indecency--there was nothing in them to toll me in from the flowery prairie. As I passed the carriage Virginia nodded to me; and looking at her I saw that she was pale and tremulous, with a look in her eyes like that of a crazy man I once knew who imagined that he was being followed by enemies who meant to kill him. There is no word for it but a hunted look. She came to my wagon, pretty soon, and surprised me by touching my arm as I was about to start on so as to make a few more miles before camping. I had got my team straightened out, and ready to start, when I felt her hand on my arm, and on turning saw her standing close to me, and speaking almost in a whisper. "Do you know any one," she asked, "good people--along the road ahead--people we'll overtake--that would be friends to a girl that needs help?" "Be friends," I blundered, "be friends? How be friends?" "Give her work," she said; "take her in; take care of her. This girl needs friends--other girls--women--some one to take the place of a mother and sisters. Yes, and she needs friends to take the place of a father and brothers. A girl needs friends--friends all the time--as you were to me back there in the night." I wondered if she meant herself; and after thinking over it for two or three days I made up my mind that she did; and then I was provoked at myself for not understanding: but what could I have done or said if I had understood? I remembered, though, how she had skithered[7] back to the carriage as she saw Pinck Johnson coming out of the saloon with Buck Gowdy; and had then clambered out again and gone into the little hotel where they seemed to have decided to stay all night; while I went on over roads which were getting more and more miry as I went west. I had only been able to tell her of the Fewkes family--Old Man Fewkes, with his bird's claws and a beard where a chin should have been, Surajah Dowlah Fewkes with no thought except for silly inventions, Celebrate Fourth Fewkes with no ideas at all-- [7] A family word, to the study of which one would like to direct the attention of the philologists, since traces of it are found in the conversation of folk of unsophisticated vocabulary outside the Clan van de Marck. Doubtless it is of Yankee origin, and hence old English. It may, of course, be derived according to Alice-in-Wonderland principles from "skip" and "hither" or "thither" or all three; but the claim is here made that it comes, like monkeys and men, from a common linguistic ancestor.--G.v.d.M. "But isn't there a man among them?" she had asked. "A man!" I repeated. "A man that knows how to shoot a pistol, or use a knife," she explained; "and who would shoot or stab for a weak girl with nobody to take care of her." I shook my head. Not one of these was a real man in the Kentucky, or other proper sense: and Ma Fewkes with her boneless shoulders was not one of those women of whom I had seen many in my life, who could be more terrible to a wrong-doer than an army with bowie-knives. "There's only two in the outfit," I went on, "that have got any sprawl to them; and they are old Tom their bunged-up horse, and Rowena Fewkes." "Who is she?" inquired Virginia Royall. "A girl about your age," said I. "She's ragged and dirty, but she has a little gumption." And then she had skipped away, as I finally concluded, to keep Gowdy from seeing her in conversation with me. 3 I pulled out for Manchester with Nathaniel Vincent Creede, whom everybody calls just "N.V.," riding in the spring seat with me, and his carpetbag and his law library in the back of the wagon. His library consisted of _Blackstone's Commentaries_--I saw them in his present library in Monterey Centre only yesterday--_Chitty on Pleading_, the _Code of Iowa of_ 1850, the _Session Laws_ of the state so far as it had any session laws--a few thin books bound in yellow and pink boards. Even these few books made a pretty heavy bundle for a man to carry in one hand while he lugged all his other worldly goods in the other. "Books are damned heavy, Mr. Vandemark," said he; "law books are particularly heavy. My library is small; but there is an adage in our profession which warns us to beware of the man of one book. He's always likely to know what's in the damned thing, you know, Mr. Vandemark; and the truth being a seamless web, if a lawyer knows all about the law in one book, he's prone to make a hell of a straight guess at what's in the rest of 'em. Hence beware of the man of one book. I may safely lay claim to being that man--in a figurative way; though there are half a dozen volumes or so back there--the small pedestal on which I stand reaching up toward a place on the Supreme Bench of the United States." He had had a drink or two with Buckner Gowdy back there in the saloon, and this had taken the brakes off his tongue--if there were any provided in his temperament. So, aside from Buck Gowdy, I was the first of his fellow-citizens of Monterey County to become acquainted with N.V. Creede. He reminded me at first of Lawyer Jackway of Madison, the guardian _ad litem_ who had sung the song that still recurred to me occasionally-- "Sold again, And got the tin, And sucked another Dutchman in!" But N.V. looked a little like Jackway from the fact only that he wore a long frock coat, originally black, a white shirt, and a black cravat. He was very tall, and very erect, even while carrying those books and that bag. He was smooth-shaven, and was the first man I ever saw who shaved every day, and could do the trick without a looking-glass. His eyes were black and very piercing; and his voice rolled like thunder when he grew earnest--which he was likely to do whenever he spoke. He would begin to discuss my cows, the principles of farming, the sky, the birds of passage, the flowers, the sucking in of the Dutchman--which I told him all about before we had gone five miles--the mire-holes in the slews, anything at all--and rising from a joke or a flighty notion which he earnestly advocated, he would lower his voice and elevate his language and utter a little gem of an oration. After which he would be still and solemn for a while--to let it sink in I thought. N.V. was at that time twenty-seven years old. He came from Evansville, Indiana, by the Ohio from Evansville to St. Louis, and thence up the Mississippi. From Dubuque he had partly walked and partly ridden with people who were willing to give him a lift. "I am like unto the Apostle Peter," he said when he asked for the chance to ride with me, "silver and gold have I none; but such as I have I give unto thee." "What do you mean?" I asked; for it is just as well always to be sure beforehand when it comes to pay--though, of course, I should have been glad to have him with me without money and without price. "In the golden future of Iowa," he said, "you will occasionally want legal advice. I will accept transportation in your very safe, but undeniably slow equipage as a retainer." "Captain Sproule used to say," I said, "that what you pay the lawyer is the least of the matter when you go to law." "Wise Captain Sproule," replied N.V.; "and my rule shall be to keep my first client, Mr. Jacob T. Vandemark, out of the courts; and in addition to my prospective legal services, I can wield the goad-stick and manipulate the blacksnake. Moreover, when these feet of mine get their blisters healed, I can help drive the cattle; and I can gather firewood, kindle fires, and perhaps I may suggest that my conversation may not be entirely unprofitable." I told him I would take him in as a passenger; and there our life-long friendship began. His conversation was not unprofitable. He had the vision of the future of Iowa which I had until then lacked. He could see on every quarter-section a prosperous farm, and he knew what the building of the railways must mean. As we forded the Maquoketa he laughed at the settlers working at the timber, grubbing out stumps, burning off the logs, struggling with roots. "Your ancestors, the Dutch," said he, "have been held up to ridicule because they refused to establish a town until they found a place where dykes had to be built to keep out the sea, though there were plenty of dry places available. These settlers are acting just as foolishly. They have been used to grubbing, and they go where grubbing has to be done. Two miles either way is better land ready for the plow! Why can't every one be wise like us?" "They have to have wood for houses, stables, and fuel," I said. "I hope my land has timber on it." "The railroads are coming," said he, "and they will bring you coal and wood and everything you want. They are racing for the crossings of the Mississippi. Soon they will reach the Missouri--and some day they will cross the continent to the Pacific. No more Erie Canals; no more Aaron Burr conspiracies for the control of the mouth of the Mississippi. Towns! Cities! Counties! States! We are pioneers; but civilization is treading on our heels. I feel it galling my kibes[8]--and what are a few blisters to me! I see in my own adopted city of Lithopolis, Iowa, a future Sparta or Athens or Rome, or anyhow, a Louisville or Cincinnati or Dubuque--a place in which to achieve greatness--or anyhow, a chance to deal in town lots, defend criminals, or prosecute them, and where the unsettled will have to be settled in the courts as well as on the farm. On to Lithopolis! G'lang, Whiteface, g'lang!" [8] The editor acknowledges the invaluable assistance of Honorable N.V. Creede in the editing of the proofs of this and a few other passages.--G.v.d.M. "I thought you were going to Monterey Centre," I said. "Not if the court knows itself," he said, "and it thinks it does. Lithopolis is the permanent town in Monterey County, and Monterey Centre is the mushroom." 4 Monterey County, like all the eastern counties of Iowa, all the counties along the Missouri, and every other county which was crossed by a considerable river, was dotted with paper towns. We passed many of these staked-out sites on the Old Ridge Road; and we heard of them from buyers of and dealers in their lots. Lithopolis was laid out by Judge Horace Stone, the great outsider in the affairs of the county until he died. He platted a town in Howard County when the town-lot fever first broke out, at a place called Stone's Ferry, and named it Lithopolis, because his name was Stone, and for the additional reason that there was a stone quarry there. I've been told that the word means Stone City. The people insisted upon calling it Stone's Ferry and would not have the name Lithopolis. Judge Stone raved and tore, but he was voted down, and pulled up stakes in disgust, sold out his interests and went on to Monterey County, where he could establish a new city and name it Lithopolis. He seemed to care more for the name than anything else, and never seemed to see how funny it was that he felt it possible to make a city wherever he decreed. This was a part of the spirit of the time. The prairies were infested with Romuluses and Remuses, flourishing, not on the milk of the wolves, but seemingly on their howls, of which they often gave a pretty fair imitation. "But Monterey Centre is the county-seat," I suggested. "It just thinks it's going to be," said N.V. "The fact is that Monterey County is not organized, but is attached to the county south of it for judicial purposes. Let me whisper in your ear that it will soon be organized, and that the county-seat will not be Monterey Centre, but Lithopolis--that classic municipality whose sonorous name will be the admiration of all true Americans and the despair of the spelling classes in our schools. Lithopolis! It has the cadence of Alexander, and Alcibiades, and Numa Pompilius, and Belisarius--it reeks of greatness! Monterey Centre--ever been there? Ever seen that poverty-stricken, semi-hamlet, squatting on the open prairie, and inhabited by a parcel of dreaming Nimshies?" "No," said I; "have you?" "No," he replied. "What difference does it make? He that goeth up against Lithopolis and them that dwell therein, the same is a dreaming Nimshi." The beginnings of faction were in our town-sites; for most of them were in no sense towns, or even villages. There was a future county-seat fight in the rivalry between Monterey Centre and Lithopolis--and not only these, but in the rival rivalries of Cole's Grove, Imperial City, Rocksylvania, New Baltimore, Cathedral Rock, Waynesville and I know not how many more projects, all ambitiously laid out in the still-unorganized county of Monterey, and all but one or two now quite lost to all human memory or thought, except as some diligent abstractor of titles or real-estate lawyer discovers something of them in the chain of title of a farm; the spires and gables of the 'fifties realized only in the towering silo, the spinning windmill, or the vine-clad porch of a substantial farm-house. But in the heyday of their new-driven corner stakes, what wars were waged for the power to draw people into them; and especially, how the county-seat fights raged like prairie fires set out by those Nimrods who sought to make up in the founding of cities for what they lacked as hunters, in comparison with the establisher of Babel and Erech and Accad and Calneh in the land of Shinar. Between the Maquoketa and Independence I lost N.V. Creede, merely because I traded for some more lame cows and a young Alderney bull, and had to stop to break them. He stayed with me two days, and then caught a ride with one of Judge Horace Stone's teams which was making a quick trip to Lithopolis. "Good-by, Mr. Vandemark," said he at parting, "and good luck. I am sorry not to be able to remunerate you for your hospitality, which I shall always remember for its improving conversation, its pancakes, its pork and beans, and its milk and butter, rather than for its breathless speed. And take the advice of your man of the law in parting: in your voyages over the inland waterways of life, look not upon the flush when it is red--not even the straight one; for had I not done that on a damned steamboat coming up from St. Louis I should not have been thus in my old age forsaken. And let me tell you, one day my coachman will pull up at the door of your farm-house and take you and your wife and children in my coach and four for a drive--perhaps to see the laying of the corner-stone of the United States court-house in Lithopolis. I go from your ken, but I shall return--good-by." I was sorry to see him go. It was lonesome without him; and I was troubled by my live stock. I soon saw that I was getting so many cattle that without help in driving them I should be obliged to leave and come back for some of them. I found a farmer named Westervelt who lived by the roadside, and had come to Iowa from Herkimer County, in York State. He even knew some of the relatives of Captain Sproule; so in view of the fact that he seemed honest, I left my cattle with him, all but four cows, and promised to return for them not later than the middle of July. I made him give me a receipt for them, setting forth just what the bargain was, and I paid him then and there for looking out for them--and N.V. Creede said afterward that the thing was a perfectly good legal document, though badly spelled. "It calls," said he, "for an application of the doctrine of _idem sonans_--but it will serve, it will serve." I marveled that the Gowdy carriage still was astern of me after all this time; and speculated as to whether there was not some other road between Dyersville and Independence, by which they had passed me; but a few miles east of Independence they came up behind me as I lay bogged down in a slew, and drove by on the green tough sod by the roadside. I had just hitched the cows to the end of the tongue, by means of the chain, when they trotted by, and sweeping down near me halted. Virginia still sat as if she had never moved, her hand gripping the iron support of the carriage top, her foot outside the box as if she was ready to spring out. Buck Gowdy leaped out and came down to me. "In trouble, Mr. Vandemark?" he inquired. "Can we be of any assistance?" "I guess I can make it," I said, scraping the mud off my trousers and boots. "Gee-up there, Liney!" My cows settled slowly into the yoke, and standing, as they did now, on firm ground, they deliberately snaked the wagon, hub-deep as it was, out of the mire, and stopped at the word on the western side of the mud-hole. "Good work, Mr. Vandemark!" he said. "Those knowledgy folk back along the road who said you were trading yourself out of your patrimony ought to see you put the thing through. If you ever need work, come to my place out in the new Earthly Eden." "I'll have plenty of work of my own," I said; "but maybe, sometime, I may need to earn a little money. I'll remember." I stopped at Independence that night; and so did the Gowdy party. I was on the road before them in the morning, but they soon passed me, Virginia looking wishfully at me as they went by, and Buck Gowdy waving his hand in a way that made me think he must be a little tight--and then they drove on out of sight, and I pursued my slow way wondering why Virginia Royall had asked me so anxiously if I knew any good people who would take in and shelter a friendless girl--and not only take her in, but fight for her. I could not understand what she had said in any other way. I had a hard time that day. The road was already cut up and at the crossings of the swales the sod on which we relied to bear up our wheels was destroyed by the host of teams that had gone on before me. That endless stream across the Dubuque ferry was flowing on ahead of me; and the fast-going part of it was passing me every hour like swift schooners outstripping a slow, round-bellied Dutch square-rigger. The mire-holes were getting deeper and deeper; for the weather was showery. I helped many teams out of their troubles, and was helped by some; though my load was not overly heavy, and I had four true-pulling heavy cows that, when mated with the Alderney bull I had left behind me with Mr. Westervelt, gave me the best stock of cattle--they and my other cows--in Monterey County, until Judge Horace Stone began bringing in his pure-bred Shorthorns; and even then, by grading up with Shorthorn blood I was thought by many to have as good cattle as he had. So I got out of most of my troubles on the Old Ridge Road with my cows, as I did later with them and their descendants when the wheat crop failed us in the 'seventies; but I had a hard time that day. It grew better in the afternoon; and as night drew on I could see the road for miles ahead of me a solitary stretch of highway, without a team; but far off, coming over a hill toward me, I saw a figure that looked strange and mysterious to me, somehow. 5 It seemed to be a woman or girl, for I could see even at that distance her skirts blown out by the brisk prairie wind. She came over the hill as if running, and at its summit she appeared to stop as if looking for something afar off. At that distance I could not tell whether she gazed backward, forward, to the left or the right, but it impressed me that she stood gazing backward over the route to the west along which she had come. Then, it was plain, she began running down the gentle declivity toward me, and once she fell and either lay or sat on the ground for some time. Presently, though, she got up, and began coming on more slowly, sometimes as if running, most of the time going from side to side of the road as if staggering--and finally she went out of my sight, dropping into a wide valley, to the bottom of which I could not see. It was strange, as it appeared to me; this lone woman, the prairie, night, and the sense of trouble; but, I thought, like most queer things, it would have some quite simple explanation if one could see it close-by. I made camp a few hundred yards from the road by a creek, along the banks of which grew many willows, and some little groves of box-elders and popples, which latter in this favorable locality grew eight or ten feet tall, and were already breaking out their soft greenish catkins and tender, quivering, pointed leaves: in one of these clumps I hid my wagon, and in the midst of it I kindled my camp-fire. It seemed already a little odd to find myself where I could not look out afar over the prairie. The little creek ran bank-full, but clear, and not muddy as our streams now always are after a rain. One of the losses of Iowa through civilization has been the disappearance of our lovely little brooks. Then every few miles there ran a rivulet as clear as crystal, its bottom checkered at the riffles into a brilliant pattern like plaid delaine by the shining of the clean red, white and yellow granite pebbles through the crossed ripples from the banks. Now these watercourses are robbed of their flow by the absorption of the rich plowed fields, are all silted up, and in summer are dry; and in spring and fall they are muddy bankless wrinkles in the fields, poached full by the hoofs of cattle and the snouts of hogs; and through many a swale, you would now be surprised to know, in 1855 there ran a brook two feet wide in a thousand little loops, with beautiful dark quiet pools at the turns, some of them mantled with white water-lilies, and some with yellow. Over-hanging banks of rooty turf, had these creeks, under which the larger and soberer fishes lurked in dignified caution like bank presidents, too wise for any common bait, but eager for the big good things. The narrower reaches were all overshadowed by the long grass until you had to part the greenery to see the water. Now such a valley is a forest of corn unbroken by any vestige of brook, creek, rivulet or rill. That night at a spot which is now plow-land, I have no doubt, I listened to the frogs and prairie-chickens while I caught a mess of chubs, shiners, punkin-seeds and bullheads in a little pond not ten feet broad, within a hundred yards of my wagon, and then rolled them in flour and fried them in butter over my fire, wondering all the time about the woman I had seen coming eastward on the road ahead of me. I was still in sight of the road, and the twilight was settling down gradually; the air was so clear that even in the absence of a moon, it was long after sunset before it was dark; so I could sit in my dwarf forest, and keep watch of the road to the west to see whether that woman was really a lonely wanderer against the stream of travel, or only a stray from some mover's wagon camped ahead of me along the road. A pack of wolves just off the road and to the west at that moment began their devilish concert over some wayside carcass--just at the moment when she came in sight. She appeared in the road where it came into my view twenty rods or so beyond the creek, and on the other side of it. I heard her scream when the first howls of the wolves broke the silence; and then she came running, stumbling, falling, partly toward me and partly toward a point up-stream, where I thought she must mean to cross the brook--a thing which was very easy for one on foot, since it called only for a little jump from one bank to the other. She seemed to be carrying something which when she fell would fly out of her hand, and which in spite of her panic she would pick up before she ran on again. She came on uncertainly, but always running away from the howls of the wolves, and just before she reached the little creek, she stopped and looked back, as if for a sight of pursuers--and there were pursuers. Perhaps a hundred yards back of her I saw four or five slinking dark forms; for the cowardly prairie wolf becomes bold when fled from, and partly out of curiosity, and perhaps looking forward to a feast on some dead or dying animal, they were stalking the girl, silent, shadowy, evil, and maybe dangerous. She saw them too--and with another scream she plunged on through the knee-high grass, fell splashing into the icy water of the creek, and I lost sight of her. My first thought was that she was in danger of drowning, notwithstanding the littleness of the brook; and I ran to the point from which I had heard her plunge into the water, expecting to have to draw her out on the bank; but I found only a place where the grass was wallowed down as she had crawled out, and lying on the ground was the satchel she had been carrying. Dark as it was I could see her trail through the grass as she had made her way on; and I followed it with her sachel in my hand, with some foolish notion of opening a conversation with her by giving it back to her. A short distance farther, on the upland, were my four cows, tied head and foot so they could graze, lying down to rest; and staggering on toward them went the woman's form, zigzagging in bewilderment. She came all at once upon the dozing cows, which suddenly gathered themselves together in fright, hampered by their hobbling ropes, and one of them sent forth that dreadful bellow of a scared cow, worse than a lion's roar. The woman uttered another piercing cry, louder and shriller than any she had given yet; she turned and ran back to me, saw my dark form before her, and fell in a heap in the grass, helpless, unnerved, quivering, quite done for. "Don't be afraid," said I; "I won't let them hurt you--I won't let anything hurt you!" I didn't go very near her at first, and I did not touch her. I stood there repeating that the wolves would not hurt her, that it was only a gentle cow which had made that awful noise, that I was only a boy on my way to my farm, and not afraid of wolves at all, or of anything else. I kept repeating these simple words of reassurance over and over, standing maybe a rod from her; and from that distance stepping closer and closer until I stood over her, and found that she was moaning and catching her breath, her face in her arms, stretched out on the cold ground, wet and miserable, all alone on the boundless prairie except for a foolish boy who did not know what to do with her or with himself, but was repeating the promise that he would not let anything hurt her. She has told me since that if I had touched her she would have died. It was a long time before she said anything. "The wolves!" she cried. "The wolves!" "They are gone," I said. "They are all gone--and I've got a gun." "Oh! Oh!" she cried: "Keep them away! Keep them away!" She kept saying this over and over, sitting on the ground and staring out into the darkness, starting at every rustle of the wind, afraid of everything. It was a long time before she uttered a word except exclamations of terror, and every once in a while she broke down in convulsive sobbings. I thought there was something familiar in her voice; but I could not see well enough to recognize her features, though it was plain that she was a young girl. "The wolves are gone," I said; "I have scared them off." "Don't let them come back," she sobbed. "Don't let them come back!" "I've got a little camp-fire over yonder," I said; "and if we go to it, I'll build it up bright, and that will scare them most to death. They're cowards, the wolves--camp-fire will make 'em run. Let's go to the fire." She made an effort to get up, but fell back to the ground in a heap. I was just at that age when every boy is afraid of girls; and while I had had my dreams of rescuing damsels from danger and serving them in other heroic ways as all boys do, when the pinch came I did not know what to do; she put up her hand, though, and I took it and helped her to her feet; but she could not walk. Summoning up my courage I picked her up and carried her toward the fire. She said nothing, except, of course, that she was too heavy for me to carry; but she clung to me convulsively. I could feel her heart beating furiously against me, and she was twitching and quivering in every limb. "You are the boy who took care of me back there when my sister died," said she as I carried her along. "Are you Mrs. Gowdy's sister?" I asked. "I am Virginia Royall," she said. 6 She was very wet and very cold. I set her down on the spring seat where she could lean back, and wrapped her in a buffalo robe, building up the fire until it warmed her. "I'm glad it's you!" she said. Presently I had hot coffee for her, and some warm milk, with the fish and good bread and butter, and a few slices of crisp pork which I had fried, and browned warmed-up potatoes. There was smear-case too, milk gravy and sauce made of English currants. She began picking at the food, saying that she could not eat; and I noticed that her lips were pale, while her face was crimson as if with fever. She had had nothing to eat for twenty-four hours except some crackers and cheese which she had hidden in her satchel before running away; so in spite of the fact that she was in a bad way from all she had gone through, she did eat a fair meal of victuals. I thought she ought to be talked to so as to take her mind from her fright; but I could think of nothing but my way of cooking the victuals, and how much I wished I could give her a better meal--just the same sort of talk a woman is always laughed at for--but she did not say much to me. I suppose her strange predicament began returning to her mind. I had already made up my mind that she should sleep in the wagon, while I rolled up in the buffalo robe by the fire; but it seemed a very bad and unsafe thing to allow her to go to bed wet as she was. I was afraid to mention it to her, however, until finally I saw her shiver as the fire died down. I tried to persuade her to use the covered wagon as a bedroom, and to let me dry her clothes by the fire; but she hung back, saying little except that she was not very wet, and hesitating and seeming embarrassed; but after I had heated the bed-clothes by the fire, and made up the bed as nicely as I could, I got her into the wagon and handed her the satchel which I had clung to while bringing her back; and although she had never consented to my plan she finally poked her clothes out from under the cover at the side of the wagon, in a sort of damp wad, and I went to work getting them in condition to wear again. I blushed as I unfolded the wet dress, the underwear, and the petticoats, and spread them over a drying rack of willow wands which I had put up by the fire. I had never seen such things before; and it seemed as if it would be very hard for me to meet Virginia in the open day afterward--and yet as I watched by the clothes I had a feeling of exaltation like that which young knights may have had as they watched through the darkness by their armor for the ceremony of knighthood; except that no such knight could have had all my thoughts and feelings. Perhaps the Greek boy who once intruded upon a goddess in her temple had an experience more like mine; though in my case the goddess had taken part in the ceremony and consented to it. There would be something between us forever, I felt, different from anything that had ever taken place between a boy and girl in all the world (it always begins in that way), something of which I could never speak to her or to any one, something which would make her different to me, in a strange, intimate, unspeakable way, whether I ever saw her again or not. Oh, the lost enchantment of youth, which makes an idol of a discarded pair of corsets, and locates a dream land about the combings of a woman's hair; and lives a century of bliss in a day of embarrassed silence! It must have been three o'clock, for the rooster of the half-dozen fowls which I had traded for had just crowed, when Virginia called to me from the wagon. "That man," said she in a scared voice, "is hunting for me." "Yes," said I, only guessing whom she meant. "If he takes me I shall kill myself!" "He will never take you from me," I said. "What can you do?" "I have had a thousand fights," I said; "and I have never been whipped!" I afterward thought of one or two cases in which bigger boys had bested me, though I had never cried "Enough!" and it seemed to me that it was not quite honest to leave her thinking such a thing of me when it was not quite so. And it looked a little like bragging; but it appeared to quiet her, and I let it go. From the mention she had made back there at Dyersville of men who could fight, using pistol or knife, she apparently was accustomed to men who carried and used weapons; but, thought I, I had never owned, much less carried, any weapons except my two hard fists. Queer enough to say I never thought of the strangeness of a boy's making his way into a new land with a strange girl suddenly thrown on his hands as a new and precious piece of baggage to be secreted, smuggled, cared for and defended. CHAPTER IX THE GROVE OF DESTINY When I had got up in the morning and rounded up my cows I started a fire and began whistling. I was not in the habit of whistling much; but I wanted her to wake up and dress so I could get the makings of the breakfast out of the wagon. After I had the fire going and had whistled all the tunes I knew--_Lorena, The Gipsy's Warning, I'd Offer Thee This Hand of Mine,_ and _Joe Bowers_, I tapped on the side of the wagon, and said "Virginia!" She gave a scream, and almost at once I heard her voice calling in terror from the back of the wagon; and on running around to the place I found that she had stuck her head out of the opening of the wagon cover and was calling for help and protection. "Don't be afraid," said I. "There's nobody here but me." "Somebody called me 'Virginia,'" she cried, her face pale and her whole form trembling. "Nobody but that man in all this country would call me that." She hardly ever called Gowdy by any other name but "that man," so far as I have heard. Something had taken place which struck her with a sort of dumbness; and I really believe she could not then have spoken the name Gowdy if she had tried. What it was that happened she never told any one, unless it was Grandma Thorndyke, who was always dumb regarding the sort of thing which all the neighbors thought took place. To Grandma Thorndyke sex must have seemed the original curse imposed on our first parents; eggs and link sausages were repulsive because they suggested the insides of animals and vital processes; and a perfect human race would have been to her made up of beings nourished by the odors of flowers, and perpetuated by the planting of the parings of finger-nails in antiseptic earth--or something of the sort. My live-stock business always had to her its seamy side and its underworld which she always turned her face away from--though I never saw a woman who could take a new-born pig, calf, colt or fowl, once it was really brought forth so it could be spoken of, and raise it from the dead, almost, as she could. But every trace of the facts up to that time had to be concealed, and if not they were ignored by Grandma Thorndyke. New England all over! If Gowdy was actually guilty of the sort of affront to little Virginia for which the public thought him responsible, I do not see how the girl could ever have told it to grandma. I do not see how grandma could ever have been made to understand it. I suspect that the worst that grandma ever believed, was that Gowdy swore or used what she called vulgar language in Virginia's presence. Knowing him as we all did afterward, we suspected that he attempted to treat her as he treated all women--and as I believe he could not help treating them. It seems impossible of belief--his wife's orphan sister, the recent death of Ann Gowdy, the girl's helplessness and she only a little girl; but Buck Gowdy was Buck Gowdy, and that escape of his wife's sister and her flight over the prairie was the indelible black mark against him which was pointed at from time to time forever after whenever the people were ready to forgive those daily misdoings to which a frontier people were not so critical as perhaps they should have been. Indeed he gained a certain popularity from his boast that all the time he needed to gain control over any woman was half an hour alone with her--but of that later, if at all. "That was me that called you 'Virginia,'" said I. "I want to get into the wagon to get things for breakfast--after you get up." "I never thought of your calling me Virginia," she answered--and I had no idea what was in her mind. I saw no reason why I shouldn't call her by her first name. "Miss" Royall would have been my name for the wife of a man named Royall. It was not until long afterward that I found out how different my manners were from those to which she was accustomed. I never thought of such a thing as varying from my course of conduct on her account; and just as would have been the case if my outfit had been a boat for which time and tide would not wait, I yoked up, after the breakfast was done, and prepared to negotiate the miry crossing of the creek and pull out for Monterey County, which I hoped to reach in time to break some land and plant a small crop. We did not discuss the matter of her going with me--I think we both took that for granted. She stood on a little knoll while I was making ready to start, gazing westward, and when the sound of cracking whips and the shouts of teamsters told of the approach of movers from the East, even though we were some distance off the trail, she crept into the wagon so as to be out of sight. She had eaten little, and seemed weak and spent; and when we started, I arranged the bed in the wagon for her to lie upon, just as I had done for Doctor Bliven's woman, and she seemed to hide rather than anything else as she crept into it. So on we went, the wagon jolting roughly at times, and at times running smoothly enough as we reached dry roads worn smooth by travel. Sometimes as I looked back, I could see her face with the eyes fixed upon me questioningly; and then she would ask me if I could see any one coming toward us on the road ahead. "Nobody," I would say; or, "A covered wagon going the wrong way," or whatever I saw. "Don't be afraid," I would add; "stand on your rights. This is a free country. You've got the right to go east or west with any one you choose, and nobody can say anything against it. And you've got a friend now, you know." "Is anybody in sight?" she asked again, after a long silence. I looked far ahead from the top of a swell in the prairie and then back. I told her that there was no one ahead so far as I could see except teams that we could not overtake, and nobody back of us but outfits even slower than mine. So she came forward, and I helped her over the back of the seat to a place by my side. For the first time I could get a good look at her undisturbed--if a bashful boy like me could be undisturbed journeying over the open prairie with a girl by his side--a girl altogether in his hands. First I noticed that her hair, though dark brown, gave out gleams of bright dark fire as the sun shone through it in certain ways. I kept glancing at that shifting gleam whenever we turned the slow team so that her hair caught the sun. I have seen the same flame in the mane of a black horse bred from a sorrel dam or sire. As a stock breeder I have learned that in such cases there is in the heredity the genetic unit of red hair overlaid with black pigment. It is the same in people. Virginia's father had red hair, and her sister Ann Gowdy had hair which was a dark auburn. I was fascinated by that smoldering fire in the girl's hair; and in looking at it I finally grew bolder, as I saw that she did not seem to suspect my scrutiny, and I saw that her brows and lashes were black, and her eyes very, very blue--not the buttermilk blue of the Dutchman's eyes, like mine, with brows and lashes lighter than the sallow Dutch skin, but deep larkspur blue, with a dark edging to the pupil--eyes that sometimes, in a dim light, or when the pupils are dilated, seem black to a person who does not look closely. Her skin, too, showed her ruddy breed--for though it was tanned by her long journey in the sun and wind, there glowed in it, even through her paleness, a tinge of red blood--and her nose was freckled. Glimpses of her neck and bosom revealed a skin of the thinnest, whitest texture--quite milk-white, with pink showing through on account of the heat. She had little strong brown hands, and the foot which she put on the dashboard was a very trim and graceful foot like that of a thoroughbred mare, built for flight rather than work, and it swelled beautifully in its grass-stained white stocking above her slender ankle to the modest skirt. A great hatred for Buck Gowdy surged through me as I felt her beside me in the seat and studied one after the other her powerful attractions--the hatred, not for the man who misuses the defenseless girl left in his power by cruel fate; but the lust for conquest over the man who had this girl in his hands and who, as she feared, was searching for her. I mention these things because, while they do not excuse some things that happened, they do show that, as a boy who had lived the uncontrolled and, by association, the evil life which I had lived, I was put in a very hard place. 2 After a while Virginia looked back, and clutched my arm convulsively. "There's a carriage overtaking us!" she whispered. "Don't stop! Help me to climb back and cover myself up!" She was quite out of sight when the carriage turned out to pass, drove on ahead, and then halted partly across the road so as to show that the occupants wanted word with me. I brought my wagon to a stop beside them. "We are looking," said the man in the carriage, "for a young girl traveling alone on foot over the prairie." The man was clearly a preacher. He wore a tall beaver hat, though the day was warm, and a suit of ministerial black. His collar stood out in points on each side of his chin, and his throat rested on a heavy stock-cravat which went twice around his neck and was tied in a stout square knot under his chin on the second turn. Under this black choker was a shirt of snowy white, as was his collar, while his coat and trousers looked worn and threadbare. His face was smooth-shaven, and his hair once black was now turning iron-gray. He was then about sixty years old. "A girl," said I deceitfully, "traveling afoot and alone on the prairie? Going which way?" The woman in the carriage now leaned forward and took part in the conversation. She was Grandma Thorndyke, of whom I have formerly made mention. Her hair was white, even then. I think she was a little older than her husband; but if so she never admitted it. He was a slight small man, but wiry and strong; while she was taller than he and very spare and grave. She wore steel-bowed spectacles, and looked through you when she spoke. I am sure that if she had ever done so awful a thing as to have put on a man's clothes no one would have seen through her disguise from her form, or even by her voice, which was a ringing tenor and was always heard clear and strong carrying the soprano in the First Congregational Church of Monterey Centre after Elder Thorndyke had succeeded in getting it built. "Her name is Royall," said Grandma Thorndyke--I may as well begin calling her that now as ever--"Genevieve Royall. When last seen she was walking eastward on this road, where she is subject to all sorts of dangers from wild weather and wild beasts. A man on horseback named Gowdy, with a negro, came into Independence looking for her this morning after searching everywhere along the road from some place west back to the settlement. She is sixteen years old. There wouldn't be any other girl traveling alone and without provision. Have you passed such a person?" "No, I hain't," said I. The name "Genevieve" helped me a little in this deceit. "You haven't heard any of the people on the road speak of this wandering girl, have you?" asked Elder Thorndyke. "No," I answered; "and I guess if any of them had seen her they'd have mentioned it, wouldn't they?" "And you haven't seen any lone girl or woman at all, even at a distance?" inquired Grandma Thorndyke. "If she passed me," I said, turning and twisting to keep from telling an outright lie, "it was while I was camped last night. I camped quite a little ways from the track." "She has wandered off upon the trackless prairie!" exclaimed Grandma Thorndyke. "God help her!" "He will protect her," said the elder piously. "Maybe she met some one going west," I suggested, rather truthfully, I thought, "that took her in. She may be going back west with some one." "Mr. Gowdy told us back in Independence," returned Elder Thorndyke, "that he had inquired of every outfit he met from the time she left him clear back to that place; and he overtook the only two teams on that whole stretch of road that were going east. It is hard to understand. It's a mystery." "Was he going on east?" I asked--and I thought I heard a stir in the bed back of me as I waited for the answer. "No," said the elder, "he is coming back this way, hunting high and low for her. I have no doubt he will find her. She can not have reached a point much farther east than this. She is sure to be found somewhere between here and Independence--or within a short distance of here. There is nothing dangerous in the weather, the wild animals, or anything, but the bewilderment of being lost and the lack of food. God will not allow her to be lost." "I guess not," said I, thinking of the fate which led me to my last night's camp, and of Gowdy's search having missed me as he rode by in the night. They drove on, leaving us standing by the roadside. Virginia crept forward and peeked over the back of the seat after them until they disappeared over a hillock. Then she began begging me to go where Gowdy could not find us. He would soon come along, she said, with that tool of his, Pinck Johnson, searching high and low for her as that man had said. Everybody would help him but me. I was all the friend she had. Even those two good people who were inquiring were helping Gowdy. I must drive where he could not find us. I must! "He can't take you from me," I declared, "unless you want to go!" "What can you do?" she urged wildly. "You are too young to stand in his way. Nobody can stand in his way. Nobody ever did! And they are two to one. Let us hide! Let us hide!" "I can stand in anybody's way," I said, "if I want to." I was not really afraid of them if worst came to worst, but I did see that it was two to one; so I thought of evading the search, but the hiding of a team of four cows and a covered wagon on the open Iowa prairie was no easy trick. If I turned off the road my tracks would show for half a mile. If once the problem of hiding my tracks was solved, the rest would be easy. I could keep in the hollows for a few miles until out of sight of the Ridge Road, and Gowdy might rake the wayside to his heart's content and never find us except by accident; but I saw no way of getting off the traveled way without advertising my flight. Of course Gowdy would follow up every fresh track because it was almost the only thing he could do with any prospect of striking the girl's trail. I thought these things over as I drove on westward. I quieted her by saying that I had to think it out. It was a hot afternoon by this time, and looked like a stormy evening. The clouds were rolling up in the north and west in lofty thunderheads, pearl-white in the hot sun, with great blue valleys and gorges below, filled with shadows. Virginia, in a fever of terror, spent a part of her time looking out at the hind-end of the wagon-cover for Gowdy and Pinck Johnson, and a part of it leaning over the back of the seat pleading with me to leave the road and hide her. Presently the clouds touched the sun, and in a moment the day grew dark. Far down near the horizon I could see the black fringe of the falling rain under the tumbling clouds, and in a quarter of an hour the wind began to blow from the storm, which had been mounting the sky fast enough to startle one. The storm-cloud was now ripped and torn by lightning, and deep rumbling peals of thunder came to our ears all the time louder and nearer. The wind blew sharper, and whistled shrilly through the rigging of my prairie schooner, there came a few drops of rain, then a scud of finer spray: and then the whole plain to the northwest turned white with a driving sheet of water which came on, swept over us, and blotted everything from sight in a great commingling of wind, water, fire and thunder. Virginia cowered on the bed, throwing the quilt over her. My cattle turned their rumps to the storm and stood heads down, the water running from their noses, tails and bellies, and from the bows and yokes. I had stopped them in such a way as to keep us as dry as possible, and tried to cheer the girl up by saying that this wasn't bad, and that it would soon be over. In half an hour the rain ceased, and in an hour the sun was shining again, and across the eastern heavens there was displayed a beautiful double rainbow, and a faint trace of a third. "That means hope," I said. She looked at the wonderful rainbow and smiled a little half-smile. "It doesn't mean hope," said she, "unless you can think out some way of throwing that man off our track." "Oh," I answered, with the brag that a man likes to use when a helpless woman throws herself on his resources, "I'll find some way if I make up my mind I don't want to fight them." "You mustn't think of that," said she. "You are too smart to be so foolish. See how well you answered the questions of that man and woman." "And I didn't lie, either," said I, after getting under way again. "Wouldn't you lie," said she, "for me?" It was, I suppose, only a little womanly probe into character; but it thrilled me in a way the poor girl could not have supposed possible. "I would do anything for you," said I boldly; "but I'd a lot rather fight than lie." 3 The cloud-burst had flooded the swales, and across the hollows ran broad sheets of racing water. I had crossed two or three of these, wondering whether I should be able to ford the next real watercourse, when we came to a broad bottom down the middle of which ran a swift shallow stream which rose over the young grass. For a few rods the road ran directly down this casual river of flood water, and as I looked back it all at once came into my mind that I might follow this flood and leave no track; so instead of swinging back into the road I took instantly the important resolution to leave the Ridge Road. By voice and whip I turned my cattle down the stream to the south, and for a mile I drove in water half-hub deep. Looking back I saw that I left no trace except where two lines of open water showed through the grass on the high spots where cattle and wheels had passed, and I knew that in an hour the flood would run itself off and wipe out even this trace. I felt a sense of triumph, and mingled with this was a queer thrill that set my hands trembling at the consciousness that the prairie had closed about me and this girl with the milk-white neck and the fire in her hair who had asked me if I would not even lie "for her." We wound down the flooded swale, we left the Ridge Road quite out of sight, we finally drew up out of the hollow and took to the ridges and hog-backs making a new Ridge Road for ourselves. Nowhere in sight was there the slightest trace of humanity or human settlement. We were alone. Still bearing south I turned westwardly, after rolling up the covers to let in the drying wind. I kept looking back to see if we were followed; for now I was suddenly possessed of the impulse to hide, like a thief making for cover with stolen goods. Virginia, wearied out with the journey, the strain of her escape, and the nervous tension, was lying on the couch, often asking me if I saw any one coming up from behind. The country was getting more rolling and broken as we made our way down toward the Cedar River, or some large creek making into it--but, of course, journeying without a map or chart I knew nothing about the lay of the land or the watercourses. I knew, though, that I was getting into the breaks of a stream. Finally, in the gathering dusk I saw ahead of me the rounded crowns of trees; and pretty soon we entered one of those beautiful groves of hardwood timber that were found at wide distances along the larger prairie streams--I remember many of them and their names, Buck Grove, Cole's Grove, Fifteen Mile Grove, Hickory Grove, Crabapple Grove, Marble's Grove, but I never knew the name of this, the shelter toward which we had been making. I drove in between scattered burr oaks like those of the Wisconsin oak openings, and stopped my cattle in an open space densely sheltered by thickets of crabapple, plum and black-haw, and canopied by two spreading elms. Virginia started up, ran to the front of the wagon and looked about. "Where are we?" she asked. "This is our hiding-place," I replied. "But that man--won't he follow our tracks?" "We didn't leave any tracks," I said. "How could we come without leaving tracks?" she queried, standing close to me and looking up into my face. "Did you notice," said I, "that for miles we drove in the water--back there on the prairie after the rain?" "Yes." "We drove in the water when we left the road, and we left no tracks. Not even an Indian could track us. We can't be tracked. We've lost Gowdy--forever." I thought at first that she was going to throw her arms about my neck; but instead she took both my hands and pressed them in a long clasp. It was the first time she had touched me, or shown emotion toward me--emotion of the sort for which I was now eagerly longing. I did not return her pressure. I merely let her hold my hands until she dropped them. I wanted to do a dozen things, but there is nothing stronger than the unbroken barriers of a boy's modesty--barriers strong as steel, which once broken down become as though they never were; while a woman even in her virgin innocence, is always offering unconscious invitation, always revealing ways of seeming approach, always giving to the stalled boy, arguments against his bashfulness--arguments which may prove absurd or not when he acts upon them. It is the way of a maid with a man, Nature's way--but a perilous way for such a time and such a situation. That night we sat about the tiny camp-fire and talked. She told me of her life in Kentucky, of her grief at the loss of her sister, of many simple things; and I told her of my farm--a mile square--of my plans, of my life on the canal--which seemed to impress her as it had Rowena Fewkes as a very adventurous career. I was sure she was beginning to like me; but of one thing I did not tell her. I did not mention my long unavailing search for my mother, nor the worn shoe and the sad farewell letter in the little iron-bound trunk in the wagon. I searched for tales which would make of me a man; but when it grew dark I put out the fire. I was not afraid of Buck Gowdy's finding us; but I did not want any one to discover us. And that night I drew out the loads of chicken shot from my gun and reloaded it with buckshot. I could not sleep. After Virginia had lain down in the wagon, I walked about silently so as not to rouse her, prowling like a wolf. I crept to the side of the wagon and listened for her breathing; and when I heard it my hands trembled, and my heart pounded in my breast. All the things through which I had lived without partaking of them came back into my mind. I thought of what I heard every day on the canal--that all women were alike; that they existed only for that sort of companionship with men with which my eyes were so ignorantly familiar; that all their protestations and refusals were for effect only; that a man need only to be a man, to know what he wanted, and conquer it. And I felt rising in me like a tide the feeling that I was now a man. The reader who has believed of me that I passed through that canal life unspotted by its vileness has asked too much of me. The thing was not possible. I now thought of the irregular companionships of that old time as inexplicable no longer. They were the things for which men lived--the inevitable things for every real man. Only this which agitated me so terribly was different from them--no matter what happened, it would be pure and blameless--for it would be us! 4 I suppose it may have been midnight or after, when I heard a far-off splashing sound in the creek far above us. At first I thought of buffalo--though there were none in Iowa so far as I knew at that time--and only a few deer or bear; but finally, as the sound, which was clearly that of much wading, drew even with my camp, I began to hear the voices of men--low voices, as if even in that wilderness the speakers were afraid of being overheard. "I'm always lookin'," said one, "to find some of these damned movers campin' in here when we come in with a raise." "If I find any," said another, "they will be nepoed, damned quick." This, I knew--I had heard plenty of it--was the lingo of thieves and what the story-writers call bandits--though we never knew until years afterward that we had in Iowa a distinct class which we should have called bandits, but knew it not. They stole horses, dealt in counterfeit money, and had scattered all over the West from Ohio to the limits of civilization a great number of "stations" as they called them where any man "of the right stripe" might hide either himself or his unlawful or stolen goods. "A raise" was stolen property. "A sight" was a prospect for a robbery, and to commit it was, to "raise the sight," or if it was a burglary or a highway robbery, the man robbed was "raked down." A man killed was "nepoed"--a word which many new settlers in Wisconsin got from the Indians[9]. [9] This bit of frontier argot was rather common in the West in the 'fifties. The reappearance in the same sense of "napoo" for death in the armies of the Allies in France is a little surprising.--G.v.d.M. In a country in which horses constitute the means of communication, the motive power for the farm and the most easily marketable form of property, the stealing of horses was the commonest sort of crime; and where the population was so sparse and unorganized, and unprovided with means of sending news abroad, horse-stealing, offering as it did to the criminally inclined a ready way of making an easy living, gradually grew into an occupation which flourished, extended into other forms of crime, had its connections with citizens who were supposed to be honest, entered our politics, and finally was the cause of a terrible crisis in the affairs of Monterey County, and, indeed, of other counties in Iowa as well as in Illinois. I softly reached for my shotgun, and then lay very quiet, hoping that the band would pass our camp by. There were three men as I made them out, each riding one horse and leading another. They had evidently made their way into the creek at some point higher up, and were wading down-stream so as to leave no trail. Cursing as their mounts plunged into the deep holes in the high water, calling one another and their steeds the vilest of names seemingly as a matter of ordinary conversation, they went on down-stream and out of hearing. It did not take long for even my slow mind to see that they had come to this grove as I had done, for the purpose of hiding, nor to realize that it might be very unsafe for us to be detected in any discovery of these men in possession of whatever property they might have seized. It did not seem probable that we should be "nepoed"--but, after all, why not? Dead men tell no tales, cattle as well as merchandise were salable; and as for Virginia, I could hardly bring myself to look in the face the dangers to which she might be exposed in this worst case which I found myself conjuring up. I listened intently for any sound of the newcomers, but everything was as silent as it had been before they had passed like evil spirits of the night; and from this fact I guessed that, they had made camp farther down-stream among the trees. I stepped to the back of the wagon, and putting in my hand I touched the girl's hair. She took my hand in hers, and then dropped it. "What is it?" she whispered. "Don't be scared," I said, "but be very still. Some men just went by, and I'm afraid they are bad." "Is it that man?" she asked. "No," said I, "strangers--bad characters. I want them to go on without knowing we're here." She seemed rather relieved at that, and told me that she was not frightened. Then she asked me where they went. I told her, and said that when it got lighter I meant to creep after them and see if they were still in the grove. "Don't leave me," said she. "I reckon I'm a little frightened, after all, and it's very lonesome in here all alone. Please get into the wagon with me!" I said nothing. Instead I sat for some time on the wagon-tongue and asked myself what I should do, and what she meant by this invitation. At last I started up, and trembling like a man climbing the gallows, I climbed into the wagon. There, sitting in the spring seat in the gown she had worn yesterday, with her little shoes on the dashboard, sat Virginia trying to wrap herself in the buffalo-robe. I folded it around her and took my seat by her side. With scarcely a whisper between us we sat there and watched the stars wheel over to the west and down to their settings. At last I felt her leaning over against my shoulder, and found that she was asleep; and softly putting my arms about her outside the warm buffalo-robe, I held her sleeping like a baby until the shrill roundelays of the meadow-larks told me it was morning. Then after taking away my arms I awakened her. CHAPTER X THE GROVE OF DESTINY DOES ITS WORK Virginia opened her eyes and smiled at me. I think this was the first time that she had given me more than just a trace of a smile; but now she smiled, a very sweet winning smile; and getting spryly out of the wagon she said that she had been a lazy and useless passenger all the time she had been with me, and that from then on she was going to do the cooking. I told her that I wasn't going to let her do it, that I was strong and liked to cook; and I stammered and blundered when I tried to hint that I liked cooking for her. She looked very dense at this and insisted that I should build the fire, and show her where the things were; and when I had done so she pinned back her skirts and went about the work in a way that threw me into a high fever. "You may bring the new milk," said she, "and by that time I'll have a fine breakfast for you." When the milk was brought, breakfast was still a little behindhand, but she would not let me help. Anyhow, I felt in spite of my talk that I wanted to do some other sort of service for her: I wanted to show off, to prove myself a protector, to fight for her, to knock down or drive off her foes and mine; and as I saw the light smoke curling up through the tree-tops I asked myself where those men were who had made their way past us in such a dark and secret sort of way and with so much bad talk back there in the middle of the night. I wondered if they had camped where they could see the smoke of our fire, or hear our voices or the other sounds we made. I almost wished that they might. I had now in a dim, determined, stubborn way claimed this girl in my heart for my own; and I felt without really thinking of it, that I could best foreclose my lien by defeating all comers before I dragged her yielding to my cave. It is the way of all male animals--except spiders, perhaps, and bees--and a male animal was all that I was that morning. I picked up my gun and told her that I must find out where those men were before breakfast. "No, no!" said she anxiously, "don't leave me! They might shoot you--and--then--" I smiled disdainfully. "If there's any shooting to be done, I'll shoot first. I won't let them see me, though; but I must find out what they are up to. Wait and keep quiet. I'll soon be back." I knew that I should find their horses' hoof-marks at whatever place they had left the stream; and I followed the brook silently, craftily and slowly, like a hunter trailing a wild beast, examining the bank of soft black rooty earth for their tracks. Once or twice I passed across open spaces in the grove. Here I crept on my belly through the brush and weeds shoving my gun along ahead of my body. My heart beat high. I never for a moment doubted the desperate character of the men, and in this I think I showed good judgment; for what honest horsemen would have left the Ridge Road, or if any honest purpose had drawn them away, what honest men would have forced their horses to wade in the channel of a swollen stream in the middle of the night? They must have been trying to travel without leaving tracks, just as I had done. Their talk showed them to be bad characters, and their fox-like actions proved the case against them. So I crawled forward believing fully that I should be in danger if they once found out that I had uncovered their lurking-place. I carefully kept from making any thrashing or swishing of boughs, any crackling of twigs, or from walking with a heavy footfall; and I wondered more and more as I neared what I knew must be the other end of the grove, why they had not left the water and made camp. For what other purpose had they come to this patch of woods? At last I heard the stamping of horses, and I lay still for a while and peered all about me for signs of the animals or their possessors. I moved slowly, then, so as to bring first this open space in line with my eyes, and then that, until, crawling like a lizard, I found my men. They were lying on the ground, wrapped in blankets, all asleep, very near the other end of the grove. In the last open spot of the timber, screened from view from the prairie by clumps of willows and other bushes, were six horses, picketed for grazing. There were two grays, a black, two bays and a chestnut sorrel--the latter clearly a race-horse. They were all good horses. There were rifles leaning against the trees within reach of the sleeping men; and from under the coat which one of them was using for a pillow there stuck out the butt of a navy revolver. Something--perhaps it was that consciousness which horses have of the approach of other beings, scent, hearing, or a sense of their own which we can not understand--made the chestnut race-horse lift his head and nicker. One of the men rose silently to a sitting posture, and reached for his rifle. For a moment he seemed to be looking right at me; but his eyes passed on, and he carefully examined every bit of foliage and every ant-hill and grass-mound, and all the time he strained his ears for sounds. I held my breath. At last he lay down again; but in a few minutes he got up, and woke the others. This was my first sight of Bowie Bushyager. Everybody in Monterey County, and lots of other people will remember what the name of Bowie Bushyager once meant; but it meant very little more than that of his brother, Pitt Bushyager, who got up, grumbling and cursing when Bowie shook him awake. Bowie was say twenty-eight then, and a fine specimen of a man in build and size. He was six feet high, had a black beard which curled about his face, and except for his complexion, which was almost that of an Indian, his dead-black eye into which you could see no farther than into a bullet, and for the pitting of his face by smallpox, he would have been handsome. "Shut up!" said he to his brother Pitt. "It's time we're gittin' our grub and pullin' out." Pitt was even taller than Bowie, and under twenty-five in years. His face was smooth-shaven except for a short, curly black mustache and a little goatee under his mouth His eyes were larger than Bowie's and deep brown, his hair curled down over his rolling collar, and he moved with an air of ease and grace that were in contrast with the slow power of Bowie. There was no doubt of it--Pitt Bushyager was handsome in a rough, daredevil sort of way. I am describing them, not from the memory of that morning, but because I knew them well afterward. I knew all the Bushyager boys, and their father and mother and sisters; and in spite of everything, I rather liked both Pitt and Claib. Bowie was a forbidding fellow, and Asher, who was between Bowie and Pitt in age, while he was as big and strong as any of them, was the gentlest man I ever saw in his manners. He did more of the planning than Bowie did. Claiborne Bushyager was about my own age; while Forrest was older than Bowie. He was always able to convince people that he was not a member of the gang, and now, an old white-haired, soft-spoken man, still owns the original Bushyager farm, with two hundred acres added, where I must confess he has always made enough money by good farming to account for all the property he has. These men were an important factor in the history of Monterey County for many years, and I knew all of them well; but had they known that I saw them that morning in the grove I guess I should not have lived to write this history; though it was years before the people came to believing such things of them. The third man in the grove I never saw again. Judging from what we learned afterward, I think it is safe to say that this Unknown was one of the celebrated Bunker gang of bandits, whose headquarters were on the Iowa River somewhere between Eldora and Steamboat Rock, in Hardin County. He was a small man with light hair and eyes, and kept both the Bushyagers on one side of him all the time I had them in view. When he spoke it was almost in a whisper, and he kept darting sharp glances from side to side all the time, and especially at the Bushyagers. When they left he rode the black horse and led one of the grays. I know, because I crept back to my own camp, took my breakfast with Virginia, and then spied on the Bushyagers until dinner-time. After dinner I still found them there arguing about the policy of starting on or waiting until night. Bowie wanted to start; but finally the little light-haired man had his way; and they melted away across the knolls to the west just after sunset. I returned with all the air of having driven them off, and ate my third meal cooked by Virginia Royall. 2 I do not know how long we camped in this lonely little forest; for I lost reckoning as to time. Once in a while Virginia would ask me when I thought it would be safe to go on our way; and I always told her that it would be better to wait. I had forgotten my farm. When I was with her, I could not overcome my bashfulness, my lack of experience, my ignorance of every manner of approach except that of the canallers to the waterside women, with which I suddenly found myself as familiar through memory as with the route from my plate to my mouth; that way I had fully made up my mind to adopt; but something held me back. I now began leaving the camp and from some lurking-place in the distance watching her as a cat watches a bird. I lived over in my mind a thousand times the attack I would make upon her defense, and her yielding after a show of resistance. I became convinced at last that she would not make even a show of resistance; that she was probably wondering what I was waiting for, and making up her mind that, after all, I was not much of a man. I saw her one evening, after looking about to see if she was observed, take off her stockings and go wading in the deep cool water of the creek--and I lay awake at night wondering whether, after all, she had not known that I was watching her, and had so acted for my benefit--and then I left my tossed couch and creeping to the side of the wagon listened, trembling in every limb, with my ear to the canvas until I was able to make out her regular breathing only a few inches from my ear. And when in going away--as I always did, finally--I made a little noise which awakened her, she called and asked me if I had heard anything, I said no, and pacified her by saying that I had been awake and watching all the time. Then I despised myself for saying nothing more. I constantly found myself despising my own decency. I felt the girl in my arms a thousand times as I had felt her for those delicious hours the night she had invited me to share the wagon with her, and we had sat in the spring seat wrapped in the buffalo-robe, as she slept with her head on my shoulder. I tormented myself by asking if she had really slept, or only pretended to sleep. Once away from her, once freed from the innocent look in her eyes, I saw in her behavior that night every advance which any real man might have looked for, as a signal to action. Why had I not used my opportunity to make her love me--to force from her the confession of her love? Had I not failed, not only in doing what I would have given everything I possessed or ever hoped to possess to have been able to do; but also had I not failed in that immemorial duty which man owes to woman, and which she had expected of me? Would she not laugh at me with some more forceful man when she had found him? Was she not scorning me even now? I had heard women talk of greenhorns and backwoods boys in those days when I had lived a life in which women played an important, a disturbing, and a baleful part for every one but the boy who lived his strange life on the tow-path or in the rude cabin; and now these outcast women came back to me and through the very memories of them poisoned and corrupted my nature. They peopled my dreams, with their loud voices, their drunkenness, their oaths, their obscenities, their lures, their tricks, their awful counterfeit of love; and, a figure apart from them in these dreams, partaking of their nature only so far as I desired to have it so, walked Virginia Royall, who had come to me across the prairie to escape a life with Buckner Gowdy. But to the meaning of this fact I shut the eye of my mind. I was I, and Gowdy was Gowdy. It was no time for thought. Every moment I pressed closer and closer to that action which I was sure would have been taken by Eben Sproule, or Bill the Sailor--the only real friends I had ever possessed. We used to go fishing along the creek; and ate many a savory mess of bullheads, sunfish and shiners, which I prepared and cooked. We had butter, and the cows, eased of the labors of travel, grew sleek and round, and gave us plenty of milk. I saved for Virginia all the eggs laid by my hens, except those used by her in the cooking. She gave me the daintiest of meals; and I taught her to make bread. To see her molding it with her strong small hands, was enough to have made me insane if I had had any sense left. She showed me how to make vinegar pies; and I failed in my pies made of the purple-flowered prairie oxalis; but she triumphed over me by using the deliriously acid leaves as a flavoring for sandwiches--we were getting our first experience as prairie-dwellers in being deprived of the common vegetable foods of the garden and forest. One day I cooked a delicious mess of cowslip greens with a ham-bone. She seemed to be happy; and I should have been if I had not made myself so miserable. I remember almost every moment of this time--so long ago. One day as we were fishing we were obliged to clamber along the bank where a tree crowded us so far over the water that Virginia, in stooping to pass under the body of the tree, was about to fall; and I jumped down into the stream and caught her in my arms as she was losing her hold. I found her arms about my neck as she clung to me; and, standing in the water, I turned her about in my arms, rather roughly of necessity, caught one arm about her waist and the other under the hollows of her knees and held her so. "Don't let me fall," she begged. "I won't," I said--and I could say no more. "You've got your feet all wet," said she. "I don't care," I said--and stopped. "How clumsy of me!" she exclaimed. "It was a hard place to get around," said I. "I hope you didn't lose the fish," said she. "No," said I, "I dropped the string of them in the grass." Now this conversation lasted a second, from one way of looking at it, and a very long time from another; and all the time I was standing there, knee-deep in the water, with Virginia's arms about my neck, her cheek almost against mine, one of my arms about her waist and the other under the hollows of her knees--and I had made no movement for putting her ashore. "You're very strong," said she, "or you would have dropped me in the water." "Oh," said I, "that's nothing"--and I pressed her closer. "How will you get me back on land?" she asked; and really it was a subject which one might have expected to come up sooner or later. I turned about with her and looked down-stream; then I turned back and looked up-stream; then I looked across to the opposite bank, at least six feet away; then I carried her up-stream for a few yards; then I started back down-stream. "There's no good place there," said I--and I looked a long, long look into her eyes which happened to be scanning my face just then. She blushed rosily. "Any place will do," she said. "Let me down right here where I can get the fish!" And slowly, reluctantly, with great pains that she should not be scratched by briars, bitten by snakes, brushed by poison-ivy, muddied by the wet bank, or threatened with another fall, I put her down. She looked diligently in the grass for the fish, picked them up, and ran off to camp. After she had disappeared, I heard the bushes rustle, and looked up as I sat on the bank wringing the water from my socks and pouring it from my boots. "Thank you for keeping me dry," said she. "You did it very nicely. And now you must stay in the wagon while I dry your socks and boots for you--you poor wet boy!" 3 She had not objected to my holding her so long; she rather seemed to like it; she seemed willing to go on camping here as long as I wished; she was wondering why I was so backward and so bashful; she was in my hands; why hold back? Why not use my power? If I did not I should make myself forever ridiculous to all men and to all women--who, according to my experience, were never in higher feather than when ridiculing some greenhorn of a boy. This thing must end. My affair with Virginia must be brought to a crisis and pushed to a decision. At once! I wandered off again and from my vantage-point I began to watch her and gather courage from watching her. I could still feel her in my arms--so much more of a woman than I had at first suspected from seeing her about the camp. I could see her in my mind's eye wading the stream like a beautiful ghost. I could think of nothing but her all the time,--of her and the wild life of boats and backwoods harbors. And at last I grew suddenly calm. I began to laugh at myself for my lack of decision. I would carefully consider the matter, and that night I would act. I took my gun and wandered off across the prairie after a few birds for our larder. There were upland plover in great plenty; and before I had been away from the camp fifteen minutes I had several in my pockets. It was early in the afternoon; but instead of walking back to camp at once I sat down on a mound at the mouth of the old den of a wolf or badger and laid my plans; much as a wolf or badger might have done. Then I went back. The sun was shining with slanting mid-afternoon rays down among the trees by the creek. I looked for Virginia; but she was not about the wagon, neither sitting in the spring seat, nor on her box by the fire, nor under her favorite crabapple-tree. I looked boldly in the wagon, without the timid tapping which I had always used to announce my presence--for what did I care now for her privacy?--but she was not there. I began searching for her along the creek in the secluded nooks which abounded, and at last I heard her voice. I was startled. To whom could she be speaking? I would have nobody about, now. I would show him, whoever he was! This grove was mine as long as I wanted to stay there with my girl. The blood rose to my head as I went quietly forward until I could see Virginia. She was alone! She had taken a blanket from the wagon and spread it on the ground upon the grass under a spreading elm, and scattered about on it were articles of clothing which she had taken from her satchel--that satchel to which the poor child had clung so tightly while she had come to my camp across the prairie on the Ridge Road that night--which now seemed so long ago. There was a dress on which she had been sewing; for the needle was stuck in the blanket with the thread still in the garment; but she was not working. She had in her lap as she sat cross-legged on the blanket, a little wax doll to which she was babbling and talking as little girls do. She had taken off its dress, and was carefully wiping its face, telling it to shut its eyes, saying that mama wouldn't hurt it, asking it if she wasn't a bad mama to keep it shut up all the time in that dark satchel, asking it if it wasn't afraid in the dark, assuring it that mama wouldn't let anybody hurt it--and all this in the sweetest sort of baby-talk. And then she put its dress on, gently smoothed its hair, held it for a while against her bosom as she swayed from side to side telling it to go to sleep, hummed gently a cradle song, and put it back in the satchel as a mother might put her sleeping baby in its cradle. I crept silently away. It was dark when I returned to camp, and she had supper ready and was anxiously awaiting me. She ran to me and took my hand affectionately. "What kept you so long?" she asked earnestly. "I have been anxious. I thought something must have happened to you!" And as we approached the fire, she looked in my face, and cried out in astonishment. "Something has happened to you. You are as white as a sheet. What is it? Are you sick? What shall I do if you get sick!" "No," I said, "I am not sick. I am all right--now." "But something has happened," she insisted. "You are weak as well as pale. Let me do something for you. What was it?" "A snake," I said, for an excuse. "A rattlesnake. It struck at me and missed. It almost struck me. I'll be all right now." The longer I live the surer I am that I told her very nearly the truth. That night we sat up late and talked. She was only a dear little child, now, with a bit of the mother in her. She was really affectionate to me, more so than ever before, and sometimes I turned cold as I thought of how her affection might have been twisted into deviltry had it not been so strangely brought home to me that she was a child, with a good deal of the mother in her. I turned cold as I thought of her playing with her doll while I had been out on the prairie laying poison plots against her innocence, her defenselessness, her trust in me. Why, she was like my mother! I had not thought of my mother for days. When she had been young like Virginia, she must have been as beautiful; and she had played with dolls; but never except while she was an innocent child, as Virginia now was. For the first time I talked of mother to Virginia. I told her of my mother's goodness to me while Rucker was putting me out to work in the factory--and Virginia grew hot with anger at Rucker, and very pitiful of the poor little boy going to work before daylight and coming home after dark. I told her of my running away, and of my life on the canal, with all the beautiful things I had seen and the interesting things I had done, leaving out the fighting and the bad things. I told her of how I had lost my mother, and my years of search for her, ending at that unmarked grave by the lake. Virginia's eyes shone with tears and she softly pressed my hand. I took from my little iron-bound trunk that letter which I had found in the old hollow apple-tree, and we read it over together by the flickering light of a small fire which I kindled for the purpose; and from the very bottom of the trunk, wrapped in a white handkerchief which I had bought for this use, I took that old worn-out shoe which I had found that dark day at Tempe--and I began telling Virginia how it was that it was so run over, and worn in such a peculiar way. My mother had worked so hard for me that she had had a good deal of trouble with her feet--and such a flood of sorrow came over me that I broke down and cried. I cried for my mother, and for joy at being able to think of her again, and for guilt, and with such a mingling of feeling that finally I started to rush off into the darkness--but Virginia clung to me and wiped away my tears and would not let me go. She said she was afraid to be left alone, and wanted me with her--and that I was a good boy. She didn't wonder that my mother wanted to work for me--it must have been almost the only comfort she had. "If she had only lived," I said, "so I could have made a home for her!" "She knows all about that," said Virginia; "and when she sees you making a home for some one else, how happy it will make her!" Virginia was the older of the two, now, the utterer of words of comfort; and I was the child. The moon rose late, but before we retired it flooded the grove with light. The wolves howled on the prairie, and the screech-owls cried pitifully in the grove; but I was happy. I told Virginia that we must break camp in the morning and move on. I must get to my land, and begin making that home. She sighed; but she did not protest. She would always remember this sojourn in the grove, she said; she had felt so safe! She hardly knew what she would do when we reached the next settlement; but she must think out some way to get back to Kentucky. When the time came for her to retire, I carried her to the wagon and lifted her in--and then went to my own bed to sleep the first sound sweet sleep I had enjoyed for days. The air had been purified by the storm. CHAPTER XI IN DEFENSE OF THE PROPRIETIES Virginia and I arrived in Waterloo about two days after we left the Grove of Destiny, as my granddaughter Gertrude insists on calling the place at which we camped after we left Independence. We went in a sort of rather-guess way back to the Ridge Road, very happy, talking to each other about ourselves all the while, and admiring everything we saw along the way. The wild sweet-williams were in bloom, now, and scattered among them were the brilliant orange-colored puccoons; and the grass even on the knolls was long enough to wave in the wind like a rippling sea. It was a cool and sunny spell of weather, with fleecy clouds chasing one another up from the northwest like great ships under full sail running wing-and-wing before the northwest wind which blew strong day and night. It was a new sort of weather to me--the typical high-barometer weather of the prairies after a violent "low." The driving clouds on the first day were sometimes heavy enough to spill over a scud of rain (which often caught Virginia like a cold splash from a hose), and were whisked off to the southeast in a few minutes, followed by a brilliant burst of sunshine--and all the time the shadows of the clouds raced over the prairie in big and little bluish patches speeding forever onward over a groundwork of green and gold dotted with the white and purple and yellow of the flowers. We were now on terms of simple trust and confidence. We played. We bet each other great sums of money as to whether or not the rain-scud coming up in the west would pass over us, or miss us, or whether or not the shadow of a certain cloud would pass to the right or the left. People with horse teams who were all the time passing us often heard us laughing, and looked at us and smiled, waving their hands, as Virginia would cry out, "I won that time!" or "You drove slow, just to beat me!" or "Well, I lost, but you owe me twenty-five thousand dollars yet!" Once an outfit with roan horses and a light wagon stopped and hailed us. The woman, sitting by her husband, had been pointing at us and talking to him. "Right purty day," he said. "Most of the time," I answered; for it had just sloshed a few barrels of water from one of those flying clouds and forced us to cover ourselves up. "Where's your folks?" he asked. "We ain't too old to travel alone," I replied; "but we'll catch up with the young folks at Waterloo!" He laughed and whipped up his team. "Go it while you're young!" he shouted as he went out of hearing. We were rather an unusual couple, as any one could see; though most people doubtless supposed that there were others of our party riding back under the cover. Virginia had not mentioned Buckner Gowdy since we camped in the Grove of Destiny; and not once had she looked with her old look of terror at an approaching or overtaking team, or scuttled back into the load to keep from being seen. I guess she had come to believe in the sufficiency of my protection. 2 Waterloo was a town of seven or eight years of age--a little straggling village on the Red Cedar River, as it was then called, building its future on the growth of the country and the water-power of the stream. It was crowded with seekers after "country," and its land dealers and bankers were looking for customers. It seemed to be a strong town in money, and I had a young man pointed out to me who was said to command unlimited capital and who was associated with banks and land companies in Cedar Rapids and Sioux City,--I suppose he was a Greene, a Weare, a Graves, a Johnson or a Lusch. Many were talking of the Fort Dodge country, and of the new United States Land Office which was just then on the point of opening at Fort Dodge. They tried to send me to several places where land could be bought cheaply, in the counties between the Cedar and the Iowa Rivers, and as far west as Webster County; but when I told them that I had bought land they at once lost interest in me. We camped down by the river among the trees, and it was late before we were free to sleep, on account of the visits we received from movers and land men; but finally the camp-fires died down, the songs ceased, the music of accordions and fiddles was heard no more, and the camp of emigrants became silent. Virginia bade me good night, and I rolled up in my blankets under the wagon. I began wondering, after the questions which had been asked as to our relationship, just what was to be the end of this strange journey of the big boy and the friendless girl. We were under some queer sort of suspicion--that was clear. Two or three wives among the emigrants had tried to get a word with Virginia in private; and some of the men had grinned and winked at me in a way that I should have been glad to notice according to my old canal habits; but I had sense enough to see that that would never do. Virginia was now as free from care as if she had been traveling with her brother; and what could I say? What did I want to say? By morning I had made up my mind that I would take her to my farm and care for her there, regardless of consequences--and I admit that I was not clear as to the proprieties. Every one was a stranger to every one else in this country. Whose business was it anyhow? Doctor Bliven and his companion--I had worked out a pretty clear understanding of their case by this time--were settling in the new West and leaving their past behind them. Who could have anything to say against it if I took this girl with me to my farm, cared for her, protected her; and gave her the home that nobody else seemed ready to give? "Do you ever go to church?" asked Virginia. "It's Sunday." "Is there preaching here to-day?" I asked. "Don't you hear the bell?" she inquired. "Let's go!" said I. We were late; and the heads of the people were bowed in prayer as we went in; so we stood by the door until the prayer was over. The preacher was Elder Thorndyke. I was surprised at seeing him because he had told me that he and his wife were going to Monterey Centre; but there he was, laboring with his text, speaking in a halting manner, and once in a while bogging down in a dead stop out of which he could not pull himself without giving a sort of honk like a wild goose. It was his way. I never sat under a preacher who had better reasoning powers or a worse way of reasoning. Down in front of him sat Grandma Thorndyke, listening intently, and smiling up to him whenever he got in hub-deep; but at the same time her hands were clenched into fists in her well-darned black-silk gloves. I did not know all this then, for her back was toward us; but I saw it so often afterward! It was that honking habit of the elder's which had driven them, she often told me, from New England to Ohio, then to Illinois, and finally out to Monterey Centre. The new country caught the halt like Elder Thorndyke, the lame like the Fewkeses, the outcast like the Bushyagers and the Blivens, the blind like me, the far-seeing like N.V. Creede, the prophets like old Dunlap the Abolitionist and Amos Thatcher, and the great drift of those who felt a drawing toward the frontier like iron filings to a magnet, or came with the wind of emigration like tumble-weeds before the autumn blast. I remembered that when Virginia was with me back there by the side of the road that first day, Elder Thorndyke and his wife had come by inquiring for her; and I did not quite relish the idea of being found here with her after all these long days; so when church was out I took Virginia by the hand and tried to get out as quickly as possible; but when we reached the door, there were Elder Thorndyke and grandma shaking hands with the people, and trying to be pastoral; though it was clear that they were as much strangers as we. The elder was filling the vacant pulpit that day by mere chance, as he told me; but I guess he was really candidating a little after all. It would have been a bad thing for Monterey Centre if he had received the call. They greeted Virginia and me with warm handclasps and hearty inquiries after our welfare; and we were passing on, when Grandma Thorndyke headed us off and looked me fairly in the face. "Why," said she, "you're that boy! Wait a minute." She stepped over and spoke to her husband, who seemed quite in the dark as to what she was talking about. She pointed to us--and then, in despair, she came back to us and asked us if we wouldn't wait until the people were gone, as she wanted us to meet her husband. "Oh, yes," said Virginia, "we'll be very glad to." "Let us walk along together," said grandma, after the elder had joined us. "Ah--this is my husband, Mr. Thorndyke, Miss--" "Royall," said Virginia, "Virginia Royall. And this is Jacob Vandemark." "Where do you live?" asked grandma. "I'm going out to my farm in Monterey County," I said; "and Virginia is--is--riding with me a while." "We are camping," said Virginia, smiling, "down by the river. Won't you come to dinner with us?" 3 Grandma ran to some people who were waiting, I suppose, to take them to the regular minister's Sunday dinner, and seemed to be making some sort of plea to be excused. What it could have been I have no idea; but I suspect it must have been because of the necessity of saving souls; some plea of duty; anyhow she soon returned, and with her and the elder we walked in silence down to the grove where our wagon stood among the trees, with my cows farther up-stream picketed in the grass. "Just make yourselves comfortable," said I; "while I get dinner." "And," said the elder, "I'll help, if I may." "You're company," I said. "Please let me," he begged; "and while we work we'll talk." In the meantime Grandma Thorndyke was turning Virginia inside out like a stocking, and looking for the seamy side. She carefully avoided asking her about our whereabouts for the last few days, but she scrutinized Virginia's soul and must have found it as white as snow. She found out how old she was, how friendless she was, how--but I rather think not why--Virginia had run away from Buck Gowdy; and all that could be learned about me which could be learned without entering into details of our hiding from the world together all those days alone on the trackless prairie. That subject she avoided, though of course she must have had her own ideas about it. And after that, she came and helped me with the dinner, talking all the time in such a way as to draw me out as to my past. I told her of my life on the canal--and she looked distrustfully at me. I told her of my farm, and of how I got it; and that brought out the story of my long hunt for my mother, and of my finding of her unmarked grave. Of my relations with Virginia she seemed to want no information. By the time our dinner was over--one of my plentiful wholesome meals, with some lettuce and radishes and young onions I had bought the night before--we were chatting together like old friends. "That was a better dinner," said the elder, "than we'd have had at Mr. Smith's." "But Jacob, here," said grandma, "is not a deacon of the church." "That doesn't lessen my enjoyment of the dinner," said the elder. "No," said Grandma Thorndyke dryly, "I suppose not. But now let us talk seriously. This child"--taking Virginia's hand--"is the girl they were searching for back there along the road." "Ah," said the elder. "She had perfectly good reasons for running away," went on Grandma Thorndyke, "and she is not going back to that man. He has no claim upon her. He is not her guardian. He is only the man who married her sister--and as I firmly believe, killed her!" "I wouldn't say that," said the elder. "Now I calculate," said Grandma Thorndyke, "and unless I am corrected I shall so report--and I dare any one to correct me!--that this child"--squeezing Virginia's hand--"had taken refuge at some dwelling along the road, and that this morning--not later than this morning--as Jacob drove along into Waterloo he overtook Virginia walking into town where she was going to seek a position of some kind. So that you two children were together not longer than from seven this morning until just before church. You ought not to travel on the Sabbath!" "No, ma'am," said I; for she was attacking me. "Now we are poor," went on Grandma Thorndyke, "but we never have starved a winter yet; and we want a child like you to comfort us, and to help us--and we mustn't leave you as you are any longer. You must ride on with Mr. Thorndyke and me." This to Virginia--who stretched out her hands to me, and then buried her face in them in Grandma Thorndyke's lap. She was crying so that she did not hear me when I asked: "Why can't we go on as we are? I've got a farm. I'll take care of her!" "Children!" snorted grandma. "Babes in the wood!" I think she told the elder in some way without words to take me off to one side and talk to me; for he hummed and hawed, and asked me if I wouldn't show him my horses. I told him that I was driving cows, and went with him to see them. I now had six again, besides those I had left with Mr. Westervelt back along the road toward Dubuque; and it took me quite a while to explain to him how I had traded and traded along the road, first my two horses for my first cows, and then always giving one sound cow for two lame ones, until I had great riches for those days in cattle. He thought this wonderful, and said that I was a second Job; and had every faculty for acquiring riches. I had actually made property while moving, an operation that was so expensive that it bankrupted many people. It was astonishing, he insisted; and began looking upon me with more respect--making property being the thing in which he was weakest, except for laying up treasures in Heaven. He was surprised, too, to learn that cows could be made draught animals. He had always thought of them as good for nothing but giving milk. In fact I found myself so much wiser than he was in the things we had been discussing that when he began to talk to me about Virginia and the impossibility of our going together as we had been doing, it marked quite a change in our relationship--he having been the scholar and I the teacher. "Quite a strange meeting," said he, "between you and Miss Royall." "Yes," said I, thinking it over, from that first wolf-hunted approach to my camp to our yesterday of clouds and sunshine; "I never had anything like it happen to me." "Mrs. Thorndyke," said he, "is a mighty smart woman. She knows what'll do, and what won't do better than--than any of us." I wasn't ready to admit this, and therefore said nothing. "Don't you think so?" he asked. "I do' know," I said, a little sullenly. "A girl," said he, "has a pretty hard time in life if she loses her reputation." Again I made no reply. "You are just two thoughtless children," said he; "aren't you now?" "She's nothing," said I, "but a little innocent child!" "Now that's so," said he, "that's so; but after all she's old enough so that evil things might be thought of her--evil things might be said; and there'd be no answer to them, no answer. Why, she's a woman grown--a woman grown; and as for you, you're getting a beard. This won't do, you know; it is all right if there were just you and Miss Royall and my wife and me in the world; but you wouldn't think for a minute of traveling with this little girl the way you have been--the way you speak of doing, I mean--if you knew that in the future, when she must make her way in the world with nothing but her friends, this little boy-and-girl experience might take her friends from her; and when she will have nothing but her good name you don't want, and would not for the world have anything thoughtlessly done now, that might take her good name from her. You are too young to understand this as you will some day----" "The trouble with me," I blurted out, "is that I've never had much to do with good women--only with my mother and Mrs. Fogg--and they could never have anything said against them--neither of them!" "Where have you lived all your life?" he asked. Then I told him of the way I had picked up my hat and come up instead of being brought up, of the women along the canal, of her who called herself Alice Rucker, of the woman who stole across the river with me--but I didn't mention her name--of as much as I could think of in my past history; and all the time Elder Thorndyke gazed at me with increasing interest, and with something the look we have in listening to tales of midnight murder and groaning ghosts. I must have been an astonishing sort of mystery to him. Certainly I was a castaway and an outcast to his ministerial mind; and boy as I was, he seemed to feel for me a sort of awed respect mixed up a little with horror. "Heavenly Father!" he blurted out. "You have escaped as by the skin of your teeth." "I do' know," said I. "But don't you understand," he insisted, "that this trip has got to end here? Suppose your mother, when she was a child in fact, but a woman grown also, like Miss Royall, had been placed as she is with a boy of your age and one who had lived your life----" "No," said I, "it won't do. You can have her!" 4 I really felt as if I was giving up something that had belonged to me. I felt the pangs of renunciation. We walked back to the wagon in silence, and found Virginia and Grandma Thorndyke sitting on the spring seat with grandma's arm about the girl, with a handkerchief in her hand, just as if she had been wiping the tears from Virginia's eyes; but the girl was laughing and talking in a manner more lively than I had ever seen her exhibit. She was as happy, apparently, as I was gloomy and downcast. I wanted the Thorndykes to go away so that I could have a farewell talk with Virginia; but they stayed on and stayed on, and finally, after dark, grandma rose with a look at Virginia which she seemed to understand, and they took my girl's satchel and all walked off together toward the tavern. I sat down and buried my face in my hands, Virginia's good-by had been so light, so much like the parting of two mere strangers. And after all what was I to her but a stranger? She was of a different sort from me. She had lived in cities. She had a good education--at least I thought so. She was like the Thorndykes--city folks, educated people, who could have no use for a clodhopper like me, a canal hand, a rough character. And just as I had plunged myself into the deepest despair, I heard a light footfall, and Virginia knelt down before me on the ground and pulled my hands from my eyes. "Don't cry," said she. "We'll see each other again. I came back to bid you good-by, and to say that you've been so good to me that I can't think of it without tears! Good-by, Jacob!" She lifted my face between her two hands, kissed me the least little bit, and ran off. Back in the darkness I saw the tall figure of Grandma Thorndyke, who seemed to be looking steadily off into the distance. Virginia locked arms with her and they went away leaving me with my cows and my empty wagon--filled with the goods in which I took so much pride when I left Madison. With the first rift of light in the east I rose from my sleepless bed under the wagon--I would not profane her couch inside by occupying it--and yoked up my cattle. Before noon I was in Cedar Falls; and from there west I found the Ridge Road growing less and less a beaten track owing to decreasing travel; but plainly marked by stakes which those two pioneers had driven along the way as I have said for the guidance of others in finding a road which they had missed themselves. We were developing citizenship and the spirit of America. Those wagon loads of stakes cut on the Cedar River in 1854 and driven in the prairie sod as guides for whoever might follow showed forth the true spirit of the American pioneer. But I was in no frame of mind to realize this. I was drawing nearer and nearer my farm, but for a day or so this gave me no pleasure. My mind was on other things. I was lonelier than I had been since I found Rucker in Madison. I talked to no one--I merely followed the stakes--until one morning I pulled into a strange cluster of houses out on the green prairie, the beginning of a village. I drew up in front of its blacksmith shop and asked the name of the place. The smith lifted his face from the sole of the horse he was shoeing and replied, "Monterey Centre." I looked around at my own county, stretching away in green waves on all sides of the brand-new village; which was so small that it did not interfere with the view. I had reached my own county! I had been a part of it on this whole wonderful journey, getting acquainted with its people, picking up the threads of its future, now its history. Prior to this time I had been courting the country; now I was to be united with it in that holy wedlock which binds the farmer to the soil he tills. Out of this black loam was to come my own flesh and blood, and the bodies, and I believe, in some measure, the souls of my children. Some dim conception of this made me draw in a deep, deep breath of the fresh prairie air. CHAPTER XII HELL SLEW, ALIAS VANDEMARK'S FOLLY That last night before I reached my "home town" of Monterey Centre, I had camped within two or three miles of the settlement. I forgot all that day to inquire where I was: so absent-minded was I with all my botheration because of losing Virginia. I was thinking all the time of seeing her again, wondering if I should ever see her alone or to speak to her, ashamed of my behavior toward her--in my thoughts at least--vexed because I had felt toward her, except for the last two or three days, things that made it impossible to get really acquainted and friendly with her. I was absorbed in the attempt to figure out the meaning of her friendly acts when we parted, especially her coming back, as I was sure she had, against the will of Grandma Thorndyke; and that kiss she had given me was a much greater problem than making time on my journey: I lived it over and over again a thousand times and asked myself what I ought to have done when she kissed me, and never feeling satisfied with myself for not doing more of something or other, I knew not what. It was well for me that my teams were way-wised so that they drove themselves. I could have made Monterey Centre easily that night; for it was only about eight o'clock by the sun next morning when I pulled up at the blacksmith shop, and was told by Jim Boyd, the smith, that I was in Monterey Centre. And now I did not know what to do. I did not know where my land was, nor how to find out. Monterey Prairie was as blank as the sea, except for a few settlers' houses scattered about within a mile or two of the village. I sat scratching my head and gazing about me like a lunkhead while Boyd finished shoeing a horse, and had begun sharpening the lay of a breaking-plow--when up rode Pitt Bushyager on one of the horses he and his gang had had in the Grove of Destiny back beyond Waterloo. I must have started when I saw him; for he glanced at me sharply and suspiciously, and his dog-like brown eyes darted about for a moment, as if the dog in him had scented game: then he looked at my jaded cows, at my muddy wagon, its once-white cover now weather-beaten and ragged, and at myself, a buttermilk-eyed, tow-headed Dutch boy with a face covered with down like a month-old gosling; and his eyes grew warm and friendly, as they usually looked, and his curly black mustache parted from his little black goatee with a winning smile. After he had turned his horse over to the smith, he came over and talked with me. He said he had seen cows broken to drive by the Pukes--as we used to call the Missourians--but never except by those who were so "pore" that they couldn't get horses, and he could see by my nice outfit, and the number of cows I had, that I could buy and sell some of the folks that drove horses. What was my idea in driving cows? "They are faster than oxen," I said, "and they'll make a start in stock for me when I get on my farm; and they give milk when you're traveling. I traded my horses for my first cows, and I've been trading one sound cow for two lame ones all along the road. I've got some more back along the way." "Right peart notion," said he. "I reckon you'll do for Iowa. Where you goin'?" Then I explained about my farm, and my problem in finding it. "Oh, that's easy!" said he. "Oh, Mr. Burns!" he called to a man standing in a doorway across the street. "Come over here, if you can make it suit. He's a land-locater," he explained to me. "Makes it a business to help newcomers like you to get located. Nice man, too." By this time Henderson L. Burns had started across the street. He was dressed stylishly, and came with a sort of prance, his head up and his nostrils flaring like a Jersey bull's, looking as popular as a man could appear. We always called him "Henderson L." to set him apart from Hiram L. Burns, a lawyer that tried to practise here for a few years, and didn't make much of an out of it. "Mr. Burns," said Pitt Bushyager, "this is Mr.--" "Vandemark," said I: "Jacob Vandemark"--you see I did not know then that my correct name is Jacobus. "Mine's Bushyager," said he, "Pitt Bushyager, Got a raft of brothers and sisters--so you'll know us better after a while. Mr. Burns, this is Mr. Vandemark." "Glad to meet you, Mr. Vandemark," said Henderson L., flaring his nostrils, and shaking my hand till it ached. "Hope you're locating in Monterey County. Father with you?" "No," said I, "I am alone in the world--and this outfit is all I've got." "Nice outfit," said he. "Good start for a young fellow; and let me give you a word of advice. Settle in Monterey County, as close to Monterey Centre as you can get. People that drive through, hunting for the earthly paradise, are making a great mistake; for this is the garden spot of the garden of the world. This is practically, and will without a shadow of doubt be permanently the county-seat of the best county in Iowa, and that means the best in the known world. We are just the right distance from the river to make this the location of the best town in the state, and probably eventually the state capital. Land will increase in value by leaps and bounds. No stumps, no stones, just the right amount of rainfall--the garden spot of the West, Mr. Vandemark, the garden spot--" "This boy," said Pitt Bushyager, "has land already entered. I told him you'd be able to show it to him." "Land already entered?" he queried. "I don't seem to remember the name of Vandemark on the records. Sure it's in this county?" I went back to the little flat package in the iron-bound trunk, found my deed, and gave it to him. He examined it closely. "Not recorded," said he. "Out near Hell Slew, somewhere. Better let me take you over to the recorder's office, and have him send it in for record. Name of John Rucker on the records. I think the taxes haven't been paid for a couple of years. Better have him send and get a statement. I'll take you to the land. That's my business--guarantee it's the right place, find the corners, and put you right as a trivet all for twenty-five dollars." "To-day?" I asked. "I want to get to breaking." "Start as soon as we get through here," said he as we entered the little board shack which bore the sign, "County Offices." "No time to lose if you're going to plant anything this year. Le'me have that deed. This is Mr. Vandemark, Bill." I don't remember what "Bill's" full name was, for he went back to the other county as soon as the government of Monterey was settled. He took my deed, wrote a memorandum of filing on the back of it, and tossed it into a basket as if it amounted to nothing, after giving me a receipt for it. Henderson L. had some trouble to get me to leave the deed, and the men about the little substitute for a court-house thought it mighty funny, I guess; but I never could see anything funny about being prudent. Then he got his horse, hitched to a buckboard buggy, and wanted me to ride out to the land with him; but I would not leave my cows and outfit. Henderson L. said he couldn't bother to wait for cows; but when he saw my shotgun, and the twenty-five dollars which I offered him, he said if I would furnish the gun and ammunition he would kill time along the road, so that the whole outfit could be kept together. He even waited while I dickered with Jim Boyd for a breaking plow, which I admitted I should need the first thing, as soon as Jim mentioned it to me[10]. [10] The date on the deed shows this to have been May 25, 1855--the day the author first saw what has since become Vandemark Township. Although its history is so far written, the township was not yet legally in existence.--G.v.d.M. "This is Mr. Thorkelson," said he as he rejoined me after two or three false starts. "He's going to be a neighbor of yours. I'm going to locate him on a quarter out your way--Mr. Vandemark, Mr. Thorkelson." Magnus Thorkelson gave me his hand bashfully. He was then about twenty-five; and had on the flat cap and peasant's clothes that he wore on the way over from Norway. He had red hair and a face spotted with freckles; and growing on his chin and upper lip was a fiery red beard. He was so tall that Henderson L. tried to tell him not to come to the Fourth of July celebration, or folks might think he was the fireworks; but Magnus only smiled. I don't believe he understood: for at that time his English was not very extensive; but after all, he is as silent now as he was then. We looked down on all kinds of "old countrymen" then, and thought them much below us; but Magnus and I got to be friends as we drove the cows across the prairie, and we have been friends ever since. It was not until years after that I saw what a really remarkable man Magnus was, physically, and mentally--he was so mild, so silent, so gentle. He carried a carpetbag full of belongings in one hand, which he put in the wagon, and a fiddle in its case in the other. It was a long time, too, before I began to feel how much better his fiddling was than any I had ever heard. It didn't seem to have as much tune to it as the old-style fiddling, and he would hardly ever play for dances; but his fiddle just seemed to sing. He became a part of the history of Vandemark Township; and was the first fruits of the Scandinavian movement to our county so far as I know. 2 As we turned back over the way I had come for about half a mile, we met coming into town, the well-known spanking team of horses of Buckner Gowdy; but now it was hitched to a light buggy, but was still driven by Pinck Johnson, who had the horses on a keen gallop as if running after a doctor for snake-bite or apoplexy. It was the way Gowdy always went careering over the prairies, killing horses by the score, and laughingly answering criticisms by saying that there would be horses left in the world after he was gone. He said he hadn't time to waste on saving horses; but he always had one or two teams that he took good care of; and once in a while Pinck Johnson went back, to Kentucky, it was said, and brought on a fresh supply. As they came near to us the negro pulled up, and halted just after they had passed us. We stopped, and Gowdy came back to my wagon. "How do you do, Mr. Vandemark," he said. "I am glad to see that you survived all the dangers of the voyage." "How-de-do," I answered, looking as blank as I could; for Virginia was on my mind as soon as I saw him. "I come slow, but I'm here." All through this talk, Gowdy watched my face as if to catch me telling something crooked; and I made up my mind to give him just enough of the truth to cover what he was sure to find out whether I told him or not. "Did you pick up any passengers as you came along?" he asked, with a sharp look. "Yes," I said. "I had a lawyer with me for a day or two--Mr. Creede." "Heard of him," said Gowdy. "Locating over at our new town of Lithopolis, isn't he? See anybody you knew on the way?" "Yes," I said. "I saw your sister-in-law in Waterloo. She was with a minister and his wife--a Mr. and Mrs. Thorndyke--or something like that." "Yes," said Gowdy, trying to be calm. "Friends of ours--of hers." "They're here in the city," said Henderson L. "He's going to be the new preacher." "I know," said Gowdy. "I know. Able man, too. How did it happen that I didn't see your outfit, Mr. Vandemark? I went back over the road after I passed you there at the mud-hole, and returned, and wondered why I didn't see you. Thought you had turned off and given Monterey County up. Odd I didn't see you." And all the time he was looking at me like a lawyer cross-examining a witness. "Oh," said I, "I went off the road a few miles to break in some cattle I had traded for, and to let them get over their sore-footedness, and to leave some that I couldn't bring along. I had so many that I couldn't make time. I'm going back for them as soon as I can get around to it. You must have missed me that way." "Trust Mr. Vandemark," said he, "to follow off any cattle track that shows itself. He is destined to be the cattle king of the prairies, Mr. Burns. I'm needing all the men I can get, Mr. Vandemark, putting up my house and barns and breaking prairie. I wonder if you wouldn't like to turn an honest penny by coming over and working for me for a while?" He had been astonished and startled at the word that Virginia, after escaping from him, had found friends, and tried to pass the matter off as something of which he knew; but now he was quite his smiling, confidential self again, talking as if his offering me work was a favor he was begging in a warm and friendly sort of manner. I explained that I myself was getting my farm in condition to live upon, but might be glad to come to him later; and we drove on--I all the time sweating like a butcher under the strain of this getting so close to my great secret--and Virginia's. Would it not all have to come out finally? What would Gowdy do to get Virginia back? Would he try at all? Did he have any legal right to her control and custody? I trusted completely in Grandma Thorndyke's protection of her--an army with banners would not have given me more confidence; for I could not imagine any one making her do anything she thought wrong, and ten armies with all the banners in the world could not have forced her to allow anything improper--and she had said that she and the elder were going to take care of the poor friendless girl--yet, I looked back at the Gowdy buggy flying on toward the village, in two minds as to whether or not I ought to go back and do--something. If I could have seen what that something might have been, I should probably have gone back; but I could not think just where I came into the play here. So I went on toward the goal of all my ambitions, my square mile of Iowa land, steered by Henderson L. Burns, who, between shooting prairie chickens, upland plover and sickle-billed curlew, guided me toward my goal by pointing out lone boulders, and the mounds in front of the dens of prairie wolves and badgers. We went on for six miles, and finally came to a place where the land slopes down in what is a pretty steep hill for Iowa, to a level bottom more than a mile across, at the farther side of which the land again rises to the general level of the country in another slope, matching the one on the brow of which we halted. The general course of the two hills is easterly and westerly, and we stood on the southern side of the broad flat valley. 3 As I write, I can look out over it. The drainage of the flat now runs off through a great open ditch which I combined with my neighbors to have dredged through by a floating dredge in 1897. The barge set in two miles above me, and after it had dug itself down so as to get water in which to float, it worked its way down to the river eight miles away. The line of this ditch is now marked by a fringe of trees; but in 1855, nothing broke the surface of the sea of grass except a few clumps of plum trees and willows at the foot of the opposite slope, and here and there along the line of the present ditch, there were ponds of open water, patches of cattails, and the tent-like roofs of muskrat-houses. I had learned enough of the prairies to see that this would be a miry place to cross, if a crossing had to be made; so I waited for Henderson L. to come up and tell me how to steer my course. "This is Hell Slew," said he as he came up. "But I guess we won't have to cross. Le's see; le's see! Yes, here we are." He looked at his memorandum of the description of my land, looked about him, drove off a mile south and came back, finally put his horse down the hill to the base of it, and out a hundred yards in the waving grass that made early hay for the town for fifteen years, he found the corner stake driven by the government surveyors, and beckoned for me to come down. "This is the southeast corner of your land," said he. "Looks like a mighty good place for a man with as good a shotgun as that--ducks and geese the year round!" "Where are the other corners?" I asked. "That's to be determined," he answered. To determine it, he tied his handkerchief about the felly of his buggy wheel, held a pocket compass in his left hand to drive by, picked out a tall rosin-weed to mark the course for me, and counted the times the handkerchief went round as the buggy traveled on. He knew how many turns made a mile. The horse's hoofs sucked in the wet sod as we got farther out into the marsh, and then the ground rose a little and we went up over a headland that juts out into the marsh; then we went down into the slew again, and finally stopped in a miry place where there was a flowing spring with tall yellow lady's-slippers and catkined willows growing around it. After a few minutes of looking about, Burns found my southwest corner. We made back to the edge of the slope, and Henderson L. looked off to the north in despair. "My boy," said he, "I've actually located your two south corners, and you can run the south line yourself from these stakes. The north line is three hundred and twenty rods north of and parallel to it--and the east and west lines will run themselves when you locate the north corners--but I'll have to wait till the ground freezes, or get Darius Green to help me--and the great tide of immigration hain't brought him to this neck of the woods yet." "But where's my land?" I queried: for I did not understand all this hocus-pocus of locating any given spot in the Iowa prairies in 1855. "Where's my land?" "The heft of it," said he, "is right down there in Hell Slew. It's all pretty wet; but I think you've got the wettest part of it; the best duck ponds, and the biggest muskrat-houses. This slew is the only blot in the 'scutcheon of this pearl of counties, Mr. Vandemark--the only blot; and you've got the blackest of it." I leaned back against the buggy, completely unnerved. Magnus put out his hand as if to grasp mine, but I did not take it. There went through my head that rhyme of Jackway's that he hiccoughed out as he drank with his cronies--on my money--that day last winter back in Madison: "Sold again, and got the tin, and sucked another Dutchman in!" This huge marsh was what John Rucker, after killing my mother, had deeded me for my inheritance! In that last word I had from her, the poor stained letter she left in the apple-tree--perhaps it was her tears, and not the rain that had stained it so--she had said: "I am going very far away, and if you ever see this, keep it always, and whenever you see it remember that I would always have died willingly for you, and that I am going to build up for you a fortune which will give you a better life than I have lived." And this was the fortune which she had built up for me! I hated myself for having been gulled--it seemed as if I had allowed my mother to be cheated more than myself. Good land, I thought, was selling in Monterey County for two dollars an acre. The next summer when I bought an eighty across the road so as to have more plow-land, I paid three dollars and a half an acre, and sorrowed over it afterward: for in 1857 I could have got all I wanted of the best land--if I had had the money, which I had not--at a dollar and a quarter. At the going price then, in 1855, this section of land, if it had been good land, would have been worth only twelve or thirteen hundred dollars. At that rate, what was this swamp worth? Nothing! I can still feel sorry for that poor boy, myself, green as grass, and without a friend in the world to whom he could go for advice, halted in his one-sided battle with the world, out there on the bare prairie, looking out on what he thought was the scene of his ruin, and thinking that every man's hand had been against him, and would always be. Where were now all my dreams of fat cattle, sleek horses, waddling hogs, and the fine house in which I had had so many visions of spending my life, with a more or less clearly-seen wife--especially during those days after Rowena Fewkes had told me how well she could cook, and proved it by getting me my breakfast; and the later days of my stay in the Grove of Destiny with Virginia Royall. Any open prairie farm, with no house, nothing with which to make a house, and no home but a wagon, and no companions but my cows would have been rather forbidding at first glance; but this--I was certain I was ruined; I suppose I must have looked a little bad, for Henderson L. laid his hand on my shoulder. "Don't cave in, my boy," said he. "You're young--and there's oceans of good land to be had. Keep a stiff upper lip!" "I'll kill him!" I shouted. "I'll kill John Rucker!" "Don't, till you catch him," said Burns. "And what good would it do anyhow?" "Is there any plow-land on it?" I asked, after getting control of myself. "Some," said Henderson L. cheerfully. "Don't you remember that we drove up over a spur of the hill back there? Well, all the dry land north of our track is yours. Finest building-spot in the world, Jake. We'll make a farm of this yet. Come back and I'll show you." 4 So we went back and looked over all the dry ground I possessed, and agreed that there were about forty acres of it, and as Burns insisted, sixty in a dry season; and he stuck to it that a lot of that slew was as good pasture especially in a dry time as any one could ask for. This would be fine for a man as fond of cows as I was, though, of course, cows could range at will all over the country. It was fine hay land, he said, too, except in the wettest places; but it was true also, that any one could make hay anywhere. I paid Henderson L., bade good-by to Magnus Thorkelson, drove my outfit up on the "building-spot," and camped right where my biggest silo now stands. I sat there all the afternoon, not even unhitching my teams, listening as the afternoon drew on toward night, to the bitterns crying "plum pudd'n'" from the marsh, to the queer calls of the water-rail, and to the long-drawn "whe-e-ep--whe-e-e-ew!" of the curlews, as they alighted on the prairie and stretched their wings up over their backs. I could never be much of a man, I thought, on a forty-acre farm, nor build much of a house. I had come all the way from York State for this! The bubble had grown brighter and brighter as I had made my strange way across the new lands, putting on more and more of the colors of the rainbow, and now, all had ended in this spot of water on the floor of the earth. I compared myself with the Fewkeses, as I remembered how I had told Virginia just how the rooms of the house should be arranged, and allowed her to change the arrangement whenever she desired, and even to put great white columns in front as she said they did in Kentucky. We had agreed as to just what trees should be set out, and what flowers should be planted in the blue-grass lawn. All this was gone glimmering now--and yet as I sit here, there are the trees, and there are the flowers, very much as planned, in the soft blue-grass lawn; about the only thing lacking being the white columns. I was lying on the ground, looking out across the marsh, and as my misfortunes all rolled back over my mind I turned on my face and cried like a baby. Finally, I felt a large light hand laid softly on my head. I looked up and saw Magnus Thorkelson bending over me. "Forty acres," said he, "bane pretty big farm in Norvay. My fadder on twenty acres, raise ten shildren. Not so gude land like dis. Vun of dem shildern bane college professor, and vun a big man in leggislatur. Forty acre bane gude farm, for gude farmer." I turned over, wiped my sleeve across my eyes, and sat up. "I guess I dropped asleep," I said. "Yass," he said. "You bane sleep long time. I came back to ask if I stay vith you. I halp you. You halp me. Ve halp each udder. Ve be neighbors alvays. I get farm next you. I halp you build house, an' you halp me. Maybe ve lif togedder till you git vooman, or I git vooman--if American vooman marry Norwegian man. I stay?" I took his hand and pressed it. After a few days' studying over it, I made up my mind that in the kindness of his heart he had come back just to comfort me. And all that he had said we would do, we did. Before long we had a warm dugout barn built in the eastern slope of the hillside, partly sheltered from the northwestern winds, and Magnus and I slept in one end of it on the sweet hay we cut in the marsh while the cows ranged on the prairie. Together we broke prairie, first on his land, then on mine. Together we hauled lumber from the river for my first little house. If we first settlers in Iowa had possessed the sense the Lord gives to most, we could have built better and warmer, and prettier houses than the ones we put up, of the prairie sod which we ripped up in long black ribbons of earth; but we all were from lands of forests, and it took a generation to teach our prairie pioneers that a sod house is a good house. I never saw any until the last of Iowa was settling up, out in the northwestern part of the state, in Lyon, Sioux and Clay Counties. All that summer, every wagon and draught animal in Monterey County was engaged in hauling lumber--some of it such poor stuff as basswood sawed in little sawmills along the rivers; and it was not until in the 'eighties that the popular song, _The Little Old Sod Shanty on the Claim_ proved two things--that the American pioneer had learned to build with something besides timber, and that the Homestead Law had come into effect. What Magnus and I were doing, all the settlers on the Monterey County farms were doing--raising sod corn and potatoes and buckwheat and turnips, preparing shelter for the winter, and wondering what they would do for fuel. Magnus helped me and I helped him. A lot is said nowadays about the Americanization of the foreigner; but the only thing that will do the thing is to work with the foreigner, as I worked with Magnus--let him help me, and be active in helping him. The Americanization motto is, "Look upon the foreigner as an equal. Help him. Let him help you. Make each other's problems mutual problems--and then he is no longer a foreigner." When Magnus Thorkelson came back on foot across the prairie from Monterey Centre, to lay his hand on the head of that weeping boy alone on the prairie, and to offer to live with him and help him, his English was good enough for me, and to me he was as fully naturalized as if all the judges in the world had made him lift his hand while he swore to support the Constitution of the United States and of the State of Iowa. He was a good enough American for Jacobus Teunis Vandemark. CHAPTER XIII THE PLOW WEDS THE SOD The next day was a wedding-day--the marriage morning of the plow and the sod. It marked the beginning of the subdual of that wonderful wild prairie of Vandemark Township and the Vandemark farm. No more fruitful espousal ever took place than that--when the polished steel of my new breaking plow was embraced by the black soil with its lovely fell of greenery. Up to that fateful moment, the prairie of the farm and of the township had been virgin sod; but now it bowed its neck to the yoke of wedlock. Nothing like it takes place any more; for the sod of the meadows and pastures is quite a different thing from the untouched skin of the original earth. Breaking prairie was the most beautiful, the most epochal, and most hopeful, and as I look back at it, in one way the most pathetic thing man ever did, for in it, one of the loveliest things ever created began to come to its predestined end. The plow itself was long, low, and yacht-like in form; a curved blade of polished steel. The plowman walked behind it in a clean new path, sheared as smooth as a concrete pavement, with not a lump of crumbled earth under his feet--a cool, moist, black path of richness. The furrow-slice was a long, almost unbroken ribbon of turf, each one laid smoothly against the former strand, and under it lay crumpled and crushed the layer of grass and flowers. The plow-point was long and tapering, like the prow of a clipper, and ran far out under the beam, and above it was the rolling colter, a circular blade of steel, which cut the edge of the furrow as cleanly as cheese. The lay of the plow, filed sharp at every round, lay flat, and clove the slice neatly from the bosom of earth where it had lain from the beginning of time. As the team steadily pulled the machine along, I heard a curious thrilling sound as the knife went through the roots, a sort of murmuring as of protest at this violation--and once in a while, the whole engine, and the arms of the plowman also, felt a jar, like that of a ship striking a hidden rock, as the share cut through a red-root--a stout root of wood, like red cedar or mahogany, sometimes as large as one's arm, topped with a clump of tough twigs with clusters of pretty whitish blossoms. As I looked back at the results of my day's work, my spirits rose; for in the East, a man might have worked all summer long to clear as much land as I had prepared for a crop on that first day. This morning it had been wilderness; now it was a field--a field in which Magnus Thorkelson had planted corn, by the simple process of cutting through the sods with an ax, and dropping in each opening thus made three kernels of corn. Surely this was a new world! Surely, this was a world in which a man with the will to do might make something of himself. No waiting for the long processes by which the forests were reclaimed; but a new world with new processes, new neighbors, new ideas, new opportunities, new victories easily gained. Not so easy, Jacobus! In the first place, we Iowa pioneers so ignorant of our opportunities that we hauled timber a hundred miles with which to build our houses, when that black sod would have made us better ones, were also so foolish as to waste a whole year of the time of that land which panted to produce. To be sure, we grew some sod-corn, and some sod-potatoes, and sowed some turnips and buckwheat on the new breaking; but after my hair was gray, I found out, for the first time as we all did, that a fine crop of flax might have been grown that first year. Dakota taught us that. But the farmer of old was inured to waiting--and so we waited until another spring for the sod to rot, and in the meantime, it grew great crops of tumble-weeds, which in the fall raced over the plain like scurrying scared wolves, piling up in brown mountains against every obstacle, and in every hole. If we had only known these simple things, what would it have saved us! But skill grows slowly. We were the first prairie generation bred of a line of foresters, and were a little like the fools that came to Virginia and Plymouth Colony, who starved in a country filled with food. How many fool things are we doing now, I wonder, to cause posterity to laugh, as foolish as the dying of Sir John Franklin in a land where Stefansson grew fat; many, I guess, as foolish as we did when Magnus Thorkelson and I were Vandemark Township. The sod grew too mature for breaking after the first of June, and not enough time was left for it to rot during the summer; and my cows left with Mr. Westervelt were on my mind; so I stopped the plow and after Magnus and I had built my house and made a lot of hay in the marsh, I began to think of going back after my live stock. I planned to travel light with one span to Westervelt's, pick up another yoke of cows, go on to Dubuque for a load of freight for Monterey Centre, and come back, bringing the rest of my herd with me on the return. When I went to "the Centre," as we called it, I waited until I saw Grandma Thorndyke go down to the store, and then tapped at their door. I thought they might want me to bring them something. They were living in a little house by the public square, where the great sugar maples stand now. These trees were then little beanpoles with tufts of twigs at the tops. 2 Virginia Royall came to the door, as I sort of suspected she might. At first she started back as if she hardly knew me. Maybe she didn't; for Magnus Thorkelson had got me to shaving, and with all that gosling's down off my face, I suppose I looked older and more man-like than before. So she took a long look at me, and then ran to me and took both my hands in hers and pressed them--pressed them so that I remembered it always. "Why, Teunis," she cried, "is it you? I thought I was never going to see you again!" "Yes," I said, "it's me--it's me. I came--" and then I stopped, bogged down. "You came to see me," she said, "and I think you've waited long enough. Only three friends in the world, you, and Mrs. Thorndyke, and Mr. Thorndyke--and you off there on the prairie all these weeks and never came to see me--or us! Tell me about the farm, and the cows, and the new house--I've heard of it--and your foreigner friend, and all about it. Have you any little calves?" I was able to report that Spot, the heifer that we had such a time driving, had a little calf that was going to look just like its mother; and then I described to her the section of land--all but a little of it down in Hell Slew; and how I hoped to buy a piece across the line so as to have a real farm. Pretty soon we were talking just as we used to talk back there east of Waterloo. "I came to see you and Elder Thorndyke and his wife," I said, "because I'm going back to Dubuque to get a load of freight, and I thought I might bring something for you." "Oh," said she, "take me with you, Teunis, take me with you!" "Could you go?" I asked, my heart in my mouth. "No, oh, no!" she said. "There's nobody in Kentucky for me to go to; and I haven't any money to pay my way with anyhow. I am alone in the world, Teunis, except for you and my new father and mother--and I'm afraid they are pretty poor, Teunis, to feed and clothe a big girl like me!" "How much money would it take?" I asked. "I guess I could raise it for you, Virginia." "You're a nice boy, Teunis," she said, with tears in her eyes, "and I know how well you like money, too; but there's nobody left there. I'm very lonely--but I'm as well off here as anywhere. I'd just like to go with you, though, for when I'm with you I feel so--so safe." "Safe?" said I. "Why aren't you safe here? Is any one threatening you? Has Buckner Gowdy been around here? Just tell me if he bothers you, and I'll--I'll--" "Well," said she, "he came here and claimed me from Mr. Thorndyke. He said I was an infant--what do you think of that?--an infant--in law; and that he is my guardian. And a lawyer named Creede, came and talked about his right, not he said by consanguinity, but affinity, whatever that is--" "I know Mr. Creede," said I. "He rode with me for two or three days. I don't believe he'll wrong any one." "Mrs. Thorndyke told them to try their affinity plan if they dared, and she'd show them that they couldn't drag a poor orphan away from her friends against her will. And I hung to her, and I cried, and said I'd kill myself before I'd go with him; and that man"--meaning Gowdy--"tried to talk sweet and affectionate and brotherly to me, and I hid my face in Mrs. Thorndyke's bosom--and Mr. Creede looked as if he were sick of his case, and told that man that he would like further consultation with him before proceeding further--and they went away. But every time I see that man he acts as if he wanted to talk with me, and smiles at me--but I won't look at him. Oh, why can't they all be good like you, Teunis?" Then she told me that I looked a lot better when I shaved--at which I blushed like everything, and this seemed to tickle her very much. Then she asked if I wasn't surprised when she called me Teunis. She had thought a good deal over it, she said, and she couldn't, couldn't like the name of Jacob, or Jake; but Teunis was a quality name. Didn't I think I'd like it if I changed my way of writing my name to J. Teunis Vandemark? "I like to have you call me Teunis," I said; "but I wouldn't like to have any one else do it. I like to have you have a name to call me by that nobody else uses." "That's a very gallant speech," she said, blushing--and I vow, I didn't know what gallant meant, and was a little flustered for fear her blushes were called out by something shady. "Besides," I said, "I have always heard that nobody but a dandy ever parts his name or his hair in the middle!" "Rubbish!" said she. "My father's name was A. Fletcher Royall, and he was a big strong man, every inch of him. I reckon, though, that the customs are different in the North. Then you won't take me with you, and go back by way of our grove, and--" And just then Elder Thorndyke came in, and we wished that Mrs. Thorndyke would come to tell what I should bring from Dubuque. He told me in the meantime, about his plans for building a church, and how he was teaching Virginia, so that she could be a teacher herself when she was old enough. "We'll be filling this country with schools, soon," he said, "and they'll want nice teachers like Virginia." "Won't that be fine?" asked Virginia. "I just love children. I play with dolls now--a little. And then I can do something to repay my new father and mother for all they are doing for me. And you must come to church, Teunis." "Virginia says," said the elder, "that you have a good voice. I wish you'd come and help out with the singing." "Oh, I can't sing," I demurred; "but I'd like to come. I will come, when I get back." "Yes, you can sing," said Virginia. "Here's a song he taught me back on the prairie: "'Down the river, O down the river, O down the river we go-o-o; Down the river, O down the river, O down the Ohio-o-o! "'The river was up, the channel was deep, the wind was steady and strong, The waves they dashed from shore to shore as we went sailing along-- "'Down the river, O down the river, O down the river we go-o-o; Down the river, O down the river, O down the Ohio-o-o!'" "I think you learned a good deal--for one day," said Mrs. Thorndyke, coming in. "How do you do, Jacob? I'm glad to see you." Thus she again put forth her theory that Virginia and I had been together only one day. It is what N.V. Creede called, when I told him of it years afterward, "a legal fiction which for purposes of pleading was incontrovertible." The river of immigration was still flowing west over the Ridge Road, quite as strong as earlier in the season, and swollen by the stream of traffic setting to and from the settlements for freight. People I met told me that the railroad was building into Dubuque--or at least to the river at Dunlieth. I met loads of lumber which were going out for Buck Gowdy's big house away out in the middle of his great estate; and other loads for Lithopolis, where Judge Stone was making his struggle to build up a rival to Monterey Centre. I reached Dubuque on the seventeenth of July, and put up at a tavern down near the river, where they had room for my stock; and learned that the next day the first train would arrive at Dunlieth, and there was to be a great celebration. It was the greatest day Dubuque had ever seen, they told me, with cannon fired from the bluff at sunrise, a long parade, much speech-making, and a lot of wild drunkenness. The boatmen from the river boats started in to lick every railroad man they met, and as far as I could see, did so in ninety per cent. of the cases; but in the midst of a fight in which all my canal experiences were in a fair way to be outdone, a woman came into the crowd leading four little crying children. She asked our attention while she explained that their father had had his hand blown off when the salute was fired in the morning, and asked us if we felt like giving something to him to enable him to keep a roof over these little ones. The fight stopped, and we all threw money on the ground in the ring. There were bridges connecting the main island with the business part of the city, and lines of hacks and carts running from the main part of the town to deep water. There were from four to six boats a day on the river. Lead was the main item of freight, although the first tricklings of the great flood of Iowa and Illinois wheat were beginning to run the metal a close second. To show what an event it was, I need only say that there were delegates at the celebration from as far east as Cleveland; and folks said that a ferry was to be built to bring the railway trains into Dubuque. And the best of all these dreams was, that they came true; and we were before many years freed of the great burden of coming so far to market. During the next winter the word came to us that the railroad--another one--had crept as far out into the state as Iowa City, and when the freighting season of 1856 opened up, we swung off to the railhead there. Soon, however, the road was at Manchester, then at Waterloo, then at Cedar Falls, and before many years the Iowa Central came up from the south clear to Mason City, and the days of long-distance freighting were over for most of the state; which is now better provided with railways, I suppose, than any other agricultural region in the world. I couldn't then foresee any such thing, however. They talk of the far-sighted pioneers; but as far as I was concerned I didn't know B from a bull's foot in this business of the progress of the country. I whoa-hawed and gee-upped my way back to Monterey Centre, thinking how great a disadvantage it would be always to have to wagon it back and forth to the river--with the building of the railway into Dunlieth that year right before my face and eyes. 3 I found Magnus Thorkelson surrounded by a group of people arguing with him about something; and Magnus in a dreadful pucker to know what to do. In one group were Judge Horace Stone, N.V. Creede and Forrest Bushyager, then a middle-aged man, and an active young fellow of twenty-five or so named Dick McGill, afterward for many years the editor of the Monterey Centre _Journal_. These had a petition asking that the county-seat be located at Lithopolis, Judge Stone's new town, and they wanted Magnus to sign it. I suppose he would have done so, if it had not been for the other delegation, consisting of Henderson L. Burns and Doctor Bliven, who had another petition asking for the establishment of the county-seat permanently "at its present site," Monterey Centre. They took me into the confabulation as soon as I weighed anchor in front of the house; and just as they had begun to pour their arguments into me they were joined by another man, who drove up in a two-seated democrat wagon drawn by a fine team of black horses, and in the back seat I saw a man and woman sitting. I thought the man looked like Elder Thorndyke; but the woman's face was turned away from me, and I did not recognize her at first. She had on a new calico dress that I hadn't seen before. It was Virginia. The man who got out and joined the group was a red-faced, hard-visaged man of about fifty, dressed in black broadcloth, and wearing a beaver hat. He had a black silk cravat tied about a standing collar, with high points that rolled out in front, and he looked rich and domineering. He was ever afterward a big man in Monterey County, and always went by the name of Governor Wade, because he was a candidate for governor two or three times. He was the owner of a big tract of land over to the southwest, next to the Gowdy farm the largest in the county. He came striding over to us as if whatever he said was the end of the law. With him and Henderson L. and N.V. Creede pitching into a leatherhead like me, no wonder I did not recognize Virginia in her new dress; I was in such a stew that I hardly knew which end my head was on. Each side seemed to want to impress me with the fact that in signing one or the other of those petitions I had come to the parting of the ways. They did not say much about what was best for the county, but bore down on the fact that the way I lined up on that great question would make all the difference in the world with me. Each tried to make me think that I should always be an outsider and a maverick if I didn't stand with his crowd. "Why," said N.V., "I feel sure that it won't take you long to make up your mind. This little group of men we have here," pointing to Henderson L. and Governor Wade, "are the County Ring that's trying to get this new county in their clutches--the County Ring!" This made a little grain of an impression on me; and it was the first time I had ever heard the expression so common in local history "the County Ring." I looked at Governor Wade to see what he would say to it. His face grew redder, and he laughed as if Creede were not worth noticing; but he noticed him for all that. "Young man," said he, "or young men, I should say, both of you want to be somebody in this new community. Monterey Centre represents already, the brains--" "Like a dollar sign," said Dick McGill, "it represents it, but it hasn't any." "--the brains," went on Governor Wade, glaring at him, "the culture, the progress and the wealth--" "That they hope to steal," put in Dick McGill. "--the wealth," went on the Governor, who hated to be interrupted, "of this Gem of the Prairies, Monterey County. Don't make the mistake, which you can never correct, of taking sides with this little gang of town-site sharks led by my good friend Judge Stone." Here was another word which I was to hear pretty often in county politics--Gang. One crowd was called a Ring; the other a Gang, I looked at N.V. to see how wrathy he must be, but he only smiled sarcastically, as I have often seen him do in court; and shaking his head at me waved his hand as if putting Governor Wade quite off the map. Just then my team began acting up--they had not been unhitched and were thirsty and hungry; and I went over to straighten them out, leaving the Ring and the Gang laboring with Magnus, who was sweating freely--and then I went over to speak with the elder. "How do you do, Teunis?" said Virginia very sweetly. "You'll sign our petition, won't you?" "We don't want to influence your judgment," said the elder, "but I wanted to say to you that if the county-seat remains at Monterey Centre, it will be a great thing for the religious work which under God I hope to do. It will give me a parish. I should like to urge that upon you." "Do you want me to sign it?" I asked him, looking at Virginia. "Yes," said he, "if you have no objection." "Please do!" said Virginia. "I know you can't have any objection." I turned on my heel, went back to Governor Wade, and signed the petition for Monterey Centre; and then Magnus Thorkelson did the same. Then we both signed another petition carried by both parties, asking that an election be called by the judge of the county south which had jurisdiction over us, for the election of officers. And just as I had expected one side to begin crowing over the other, and I had decided that there would be a fight, both crowds jumped into their rigs and went off over the prairie, very good naturedly it seemed to me, after the next settler. "Jake," said N.V., as they turned their buggy around, "you'll make some woman a damned good husband, some day!" and he took off his hat very politely to Virginia, who blushed as red as the reddest rose then blooming on the prairie. That was the way counties were organized in Iowa. It is worth remembering because it was the birth of self-government. The people made their counties and their villages and their townships as they made their farms and houses and granaries. Everybody was invited to take part--and it was not until long afterward that I confessed to Magnus that I had never once thought when I signed those petitions that I was not yet a voter; and then he was frightened to realize that he was not either. He had not yet been naturalized. The only man in the county known to me who took no interest in the contest was Buck Gowdy. When Judge Stone asked him why, he said he didn't give a damn. There was too much government for him there already, he said. We did get the election called, and after we had elected our officers there was no county-seat for them to dwell in; so that county judge off to the south appointed a commission to locate the county-seat, which after driving over the country a good deal and drinking a lot of whisky, according to Dick McGill, made Monterey Centre the county town, which it still remains. The Lithopolis people gained one victory--they elected Judge Horace Stone County Treasurer. Within a month N.V. Creede had opened a law office in Monterey Centre, Dick McGill had begun the publication of the Monterey Centre _Journal_ of fragrant memory, Lithopolis began to advertise its stone quarries, and Grizzly Reed, an old California prospector, who had had his ear torn off by a bear out in the mountains, began prospecting for gold along the creek, and talking mysteriously. The sale of lots in Lithopolis went on faster than ever. CHAPTER XIV I BECOME A BANDIT AND A TERROR When General Weaver was running for governor, a Populist worker called on my friend Wilbur Wheelock, who was then as now a stock buyer at our little town of Ploverdale, and asked him if he were a Populist. "No," said Wilbur, "but I have all the qualifications, sir!" "What do you regard as the qualifications?" asked the organizer. "I've run for county office and got beat," said Wilbur: "and that takes you in, too, don't it, Jake?" he asked, turning to me. Wilbur, like most of our older people, has a good memory. Most of the folks hereabouts had already forgotten that I was a candidate on Judge Stone's Reform and Anti-Monopoly ticket, for County Supervisor, in 1874, and that I was defeated with the rest. This was the only time I ever had anything to do with politics, more than to be a delegate to the county convention two or three times. I mention it here, because of the chance it gave Dick McGill to rake me over the coals in his scurrilous paper, the Monterey Centre _Journal_, that most people have always said was never fit to enter a decent home, but which they always subscribed for and read as quick as it came. Within fifteen minutes after McGill got his paper to Monterey Centre he and what he had called the County Ring were as thick as thieves, and always stayed so as long as Dick had the county printing. So when I was put on the independent ticket to turn this ring out of office, Dick went after me as if I had been a horse-thief, and made a great to-do about what he called "Cow Vandemark's criminal record." Now that I have a chance to put the matter before the world in print, I shall take advantage of it; for that "criminal record" is a part of this history of Vandemark Township. The story grew out of my joining the Settlers' Club in 1856. The rage for land speculation was sweeping over Iowa like a prairie fire, getting things all ready for the great panic of 1857 that I have read of since, but of which I never heard until long after it was over. All I knew was that there was a great fever for buying and selling land and laying out and booming town-sites--the sites, not the towns--and that afterward times were very hard. The speculators had bought up a good part of Monterey County by the end of 1856, and had run the price up as high as three dollars and a half an acre. This made it hard for poor men who came in expecting to get it for a dollar and a quarter; and a number of settlers in the township, as they did all over the state, went on their land relying on the right to buy it when they could get the money--what was called the preemption right. I could see the houses of William Trickey, Ebenezer Junkins and Absalom Frost from my house; and I knew that Peter and Amos Bemisdarfer and Flavius Bohn, Dunkards from Pennsylvania, had located farther south. All these settlers were located south of Hell Slew, which was coming to be known now, and was afterward put down on the map, as "Vandemark's Folly Marsh." And now there came into the county and state a class of men called "claim-jumpers," who pushed in on the claims of the first comers, and stood ready to buy their new homes right out from under them. It was pretty hard on us who had pushed on ahead of the railways, and soaked in the rain and frozen in the blizzards, and lived on moldy bacon and hulled corn, to lose our chance to get title to the lands we had broken up and built on. It did not take long for a settler to see in his land a home for him and his dear ones, and the generations to follow; and we felt a great bitterness toward these claim-jumpers, who were no better off than we were. My land was paid for, such as it was; but when the people who, like me, had drailed out across the prairies with the last year's rush, came and asked me to join the Settlers' Club to run these intruders off, it appeared to me that it was only a man's part in me to stand to it and take hold and do. I felt the old urge of all landowners to stand together against the landless, I suppose. What is title to land anyhow, but the right of those who have it to hold on to it? No man ever made land--except my ancestors, the Dutch, perhaps. All men do is to get possession of it, and run everybody else off, either with clubs, guns, or the sheriff. I did not look forward to all the doings of the Settlers' Club, but I joined it, and I have never been ashamed of it, even when Dick McGill was slangwhanging me about what we did. I never knew, and I don't know now, just what the law was, but I thought then, and I think now, that the Settlers' Club had the right of it. I thought so the night we went over to run the claim-jumper off Absalom Frost's land, within a week of my joining. It was over on Section Twenty-seven, that the claim-jumper had built a hut about where the schoolhouse now is, with a stable in one end of it, and a den in which to live in the other. He was a young man, with no dependents, and we felt no compunctions of conscience, that dark night, when two wagon-loads of us, one of which came from the direction of Monterey Centre, drove quietly up and knocked at the door. "Who's there?" he said, with a quiver in his voice. "Open up, and find out!" said a man in the Monterey Centre crowd, who seemed to take command as a matter of course. "Kick the door open, Dutchy!" As he said this he stepped aside, and pushed me up to the door. I gave it a push with my knee, and the leader jerked me aside, just in time to let a charge of shot pass my head. "It's only a single-barrel gun," said he. "Grab him!" I was scared by the report of the gun, scared and mad, too, as I clinched with the fellow, and threw him; then I pitched him out of the door, when the rest of them threw him down and began stripping him. At the same time, some one kindled a fire under a kettle filled with tar, and in a few minutes, they were smearing him with it. This looked like going too far, to me, and I stepped back--I couldn't stand it to see the tar smeared over his face, even if it did look like a map of the devil's wild land, as he kicked and scratched and tried to bite, swearing all the time like a pirate. It seemed a degrading kind of thing to defile a human being in that way. The leader came up to me and said, "That was good work, Dutchy. Lucky I was right about its being a single-barrel, ain't it? Help get his team hitched up. We want to see him well started." "All right, Mr. McGill," I said; for that was his name, now first told in all the history of the county. "Shut up!" he said. "My name's Smith, you lunkhead!" Well, we let the claim-jumper put on his clothes over the tar and feathers, and loaded his things into his wagon, hitched up his team, and whipped them up to a run and let them go over the prairie. All the time he was swearing that he would have blood for this, but he never stopped going until he was out of sight and hearing. 2 ("What a disgraceful affair!" says my granddaughter Gertrude, as she finishes reading that page. "I'm ashamed of you, grandpa; but I'm glad he didn't shoot you. Where would I have been?" Well, it does seem like rather a shady transaction for me to have been mixed up in. The side of it that impresses me, however, is the lapse of time as measured in conditions and institutions. That was barbarism; and it was Iowa! And it was in my lifetime. It was in a region now as completely developed as England, and it goes back to things as raw and primitive as King Arthur's time. I wonder if his knights were not in the main, pretty shabby rascals, as bad as Dick McGill--or Cow Vandemark? But Gertrude has not yet heard all about that night's work.) "Now," said McGill, "for the others! Load up, and come on. This fellow will never look behind him!" But he did! The next and the last stop, was away down on Section Thirty-five--two miles farther. I was feeling rather wamble-cropped, because of the memory of that poor fellow with the tar in his eyes--but I went all the same. There was a little streak of light in the east when we got to the place, but we could not at first locate the claim-jumpers. They had gone down into a hollow, right in the very corner of the section, as if trying barely to trespass on the land, so as to be able almost to deny that they were on it at all, and were seemingly trying to hide. We could scarcely see their outfit after we found it, for they were camped in tall grass, and their little shanty was not much larger than a dry-goods box. Their one horse was staked out a little way off, their one-horse wagon was standing with its cover on beside a mound of earth which marked where a shallow well had been dug for water. I heard a rustling in the wagon as we passed it, like that of a bird stirring in the branches of a tree. McGill pounded on the door. "Come out," he shouted. "You've got company!" There was a scrabbling and hustling around in the shanty, and low talking, and some one asked who was there; to which McGill replied for them to come out and see. Pretty soon, a little doddering figure of a man came to the door, pulling on his breeches with trembling hands as he stepped, barefooted, on the bare ground which came right up to the door-sill. "What's wanted, gentlemen?" he quavered. "I cain't ask you to come in--jist yit. What's wanted?" He had not said two words when I knew him for Old Man Fewkes, whom I had last seen back on the road west of Dyersville, on his way to "Negosha." Where was Ma Fewkes, and where were Celebrate Fourth and Surajah Dowlah? And where, most emphatically, where was Rowena? I stepped forward at McGill's side. Surely, I thought, they were not going to tar and feather these harmless, good-for-nothing waifs of the frontier; and even as I thought it, I saw the glimmering of the fire they were kindling under the tar-kettle. "We want you, you infernal claim-jumper!" said McGill. "We'll show you that you can't steal the land from us hard-working settlers, you set of sneaks! Take off your clothes, and we'll give you a coat that will make you look more like buzzards than you do now." "There's some of 'em runnin' away!" yelled one of the crowd. "Catch 'em!" There was a flight through the grass from the back of the shanty, a rush of pursuit, some feeble yells jerked into bits by rough handling; and presently, Celebrate and Surajah were dragged into the circle of light, just as poor Ma Fewkes, with her shoulder-blades drawn almost together came forward and tried to tear from her poor old husband's arm the hand of an old neighbor of mine whose name I won't mention even at this late day. I will not turn state's evidence notwithstanding the Statute of Limitations has run, as N.V. Creede advises me, against any one but Dick McGill--and the reason for my exposing him is merely tit for tat. Ma Fewkes could not unclasp the hands; but she produced an effect just the same. "Say," said a man who had all the time sat in one of the wagons, holding the horses. "You'd better leave out the stripping, boys!" They began dragging the boys and the old man toward the tar-kettle, and McGill, with his hat drawn down over his eyes, went to the slimy mass and dipped into it a wooden paddle with which they had been stirring it. Taking as much on it as it would carry, he made as if to smear it over the old man's head and beard. I could not stand this--the poor harmless old coot!--and I ran up and struck McGill's arm. "What in hell," he yelled, for some of the tar went on him, "do you mean!" "Don't tar and feather 'em," I begged. "I know these folks. They are a poor wandering family, without money enough to buy land away from any one." "We jist thought we'd kind o' settle down," said Old Man Fewkes whimperingly; "and I've got the money promised me to buy this land. So it's all right and straight!" The silly old leatherhead didn't know he was doing anything against public sentiment; and told the very thing that made a case against him. I have found out since who the man was that promised him the money and was going to take the land; but that was just one circumstance in the land craze, and the man himself was wounded at Fort Donelson, and died in hospital--so I won't tell his name. The point is, that the old man had turned the jury against me just as I had finished my plea. "You have got the money promised you, have you?" repeated McGill. "Grab him, boys!" All this time I was wondering where Rowena could be. I recollected how she had always seemed to be mortified by her slack-twisted family, and I could see her as she meeched off across the prairie back along the Old Ridge Road, as if she belonged to another outfit; and yet, I knew how much of a Fewkes she was, as she joined in the conversation when they planned their great estates in the mythical state of Negosha, or in Texas, or even in California. I grew hot with anger as I began to realize what a humiliation this tarring and feathering would be to her--and I kept wondering, as I have said, where she could be, even as I felt the thrill a man experiences when he sees that he must fight: and just as I felt this thrill, one of our men closed with the old fellow from behind, and wrenching his bird's-claw hands behind his back, thrust the wizened old bearded face forward for its coat of tar. I clinched with our man, and getting a rolling hip-lock on him, I whirled him over my head, as I had done with so many wrestling opponents, and letting him go in mid-air, he went head over heels, and struck ten feet away on the ground. Then I turned on McGill, and with the flat of my hand, I slapped him over against the shanty, with his ears ringing. They were coming at me in an undecided way: for my onset had been both sudden and unexpected; when I saw Rowena running from the rear with a shotgun in her hand, which she had picked up as it leaned against a wagon wheel where one of our crowd had left it. "Stand back!" she screamed. "Stand back, or I'll blow somebody's head off!" I heard a chuckling laugh from a man sitting in one of the wagons, and a word or two from him that sounded like, "Good girl!" Our little mob fell back, the man I had thrown limping, and Dick McGill rubbing the side of his head. The dawn was now broadening in the east, and it was getting almost light enough so that faces might be recognized; and one or two of the crowd began to retreat toward the wagons. "I'll see to it," said I, "that these people will leave this land, and give up their settlement on it." "No we won't," said Rowena. "We'll stay here if we're killed." "Now, Rowena," said her father, "don't be so sot. We'll leave right off. Boys, hitch up the horse. We'll leave, gentlemen. I was gittin' tired of this country anyway. It's so tarnal cold in the winter. The trees is in constant varder in Texas, an' that's where we'll go." By this time the mob had retreated to their wagons, their courage giving way before the light of day, rather than our resistance; though I could see that the settlers had no desire to get into a row with one of their neighbors: so shouting warnings to the Fewkeses to get out of the country while they could, they drove off, leaving me with the claim-jumpers. I turned and saw poor Rowena throw herself on the ground and burst into a most frightful fit of hysterical weeping. She would not allow her father or her brothers to touch her, and when her mother tried to comfort her, she said "Go away, ma. Don't touch me!" Finally I went to her, and she caught my hand in hers and pressed it, and after I had got her to her feet--the poor ragged waif, as limpsey as a rag, and wearing the patched remnants of the calico dress I had bought for her on the way into Iowa the spring before--she broke down and cried on my shoulder. She sobbed out that I was the only man she had ever known. She wished to God she were a man like me. The only way I could stop her was to tell her that her face ought to be washed; when I said that to her, she stopped her sitheing and soon began making herself pretty: and she was quite gay on the road to my place, where I took them because I couldn't think of anything else to do with them, though I knew that the whole family, not counting Rowena, couldn't or wouldn't do enough work to pay the board of their horse. 3 They hadn't more than got there and eaten a solid meal, than Surajah asked me for tools so he could work on a patent mouse-trap he was inventing, and when I came in from work that evening, he was explaining it to Magnus Thorkelson, who had come over to borrow some sugar from me. Magnus was pretending to listen, but he was asking his questions of Rowena, who stood by more than half convinced that Surrager had finally hit upon his great idea--which was a mouse-trap that would always be baited, and with two compartments, one to catch the mice, and one to hold them after they were caught. When they went into the second compartment, they tripped a little lever which opened the door for a new captive, and at the same time baited the trap again. It seemed as if Magnus could not understand what Surajah said, but that Rowena's speech was quite plain to him. After that, he came over every evening and Rowena taught him to read in McGuffey's _Second Reader._ I knew that Magnus had read this through time and again; but he said he could learn to speak the words better when Rowena taught him. The fact was, though, that he was teaching her more than she him; but she never had a suspicion of this. That evening Magnus came over and brought his fiddle. Pa Fewkes was quite disappointed when Magnus said he could not play the _Money Musk_ nor _Turkey in the Straw_, nor the _Devil's Dream,_ but when he went into one of his musical trances and played things with no tune to them but with a great deal of harmony, and some songs that almost made you cry, Rowena sat looking so lost to the world and dreamy that Magnus was moist about the eyes himself. He shook hands with all of us when he went away, so as to get the chance to hold Rowena's hand I guess. Every day while they were there, Magnus came to see us; but did not act a bit like a boy who came sparking. He did not ask Rowena to sit up with him, though I think she expected him to do so; but he talked with her about Norway, and his folks there, and how lonely it was on his farm, and of his hopes that one day he would be a well-to-do farmer. After one got used to her poor clothes, and when she got tamed down a little on acquaintance and gave a person a chance to look at her, and especially into her eyes, she was a very pretty girl. She had grown since I had seen her the summer before, and was fuller of figure. Her hair was still of that rich dark brown, just the color of her eyes and eyebrows. She had been a wild girl last summer, but now she was a woman, with spells of dreaming and times when her feelings were easily hurt. She still was ready to flare up and fight at the drop of the hat--because, I suppose, she felt that everybody looked down on her and her family; but to Magnus and me she was always gentle and sometimes I thought she was going to talk confidentially to me. After she had had one of her lessons one evening she said to me, "I wish I wa'n't so darned infarnal ignorant. I wish I could learn enough to teach school!" "We're all ignorant here," I said. "Magnus ain't," said she. "He went to a big school in the old country. He showed me the picture of it, and of his father's house. It's got four stone chimneys." "I wonder," said I, "if what they learn over there is real learning." And that ended our confidential talk. About the time I began wondering how long they were to stay with me, Buck Gowdy came careering over the prairie, driving his own horse, just as I was taking my nooning and was looking at the gun which Rowena had used to drive back the Settlers' Club, and which we had brought along with us. I thought I remembered where I had seen that gun, and when Buck came up I handed it to him. "Here's your shotgun," I said. "It's the one you shot the geese with back toward the Mississippi." "Good goose gun," said he. "Thank you for keeping it for me. I see you have caught me out getting acquainted with Iowa customs. If you had needed any help that night, you'd have got it." "I came pretty near needing it," I said; "and I had help." "I see you brought your help home with you," he said. "I think I recognize that wagon, don't I?" I nodded. "I wonder if they could come and help me on the farm. I'd like to see them. I need help, inside the house and out." I left him talking with the whole Fewkes family, except Rowena, who kept herself out of sight somewhere, and went out to the stable to work. Gowdy was talking to them in that low-voiced, smiling way of his, with the little sympathetic tremor in his voice like that in the tone of an organ. He had already told Surajah that his idea for a mouse-trap looked like something the world had been waiting for, and that there might be a fortune in the scheme. Ma Fewkes was looking up at him, as if what he said must be the law and gospel. He had them all hypnotized, or as we called it then, mesmerized--so I thought as I went out of sight of them. After a while, Rowena came around the end of a haystack, and spoke to me. "Mr. Gowdy wants us all to go to work for him," she said. "He wants pa and the boys to work around the place, and he says he thinks some of Surrager's machines are worth money. He'll give me work in the house." "It looks like a good chance," said I. "You know I don't know much about housework," said she; "poor as we've always been." "You showed me how to make good bread," I replied. "I could do well for a poor man," said Rowena, looking at me rather sadly. Then she waited quite a while for me to say something. "Shall I go, Jake?" she asked, looking up into my face. "It looks like a good chance for all of you," I answered. "I don't want to," said she, "I couldn't stay here, could I? ... No, of course not!" So away went the Fewkeses with Buck Gowdy. That is, Rowena went away with him in his buggy, and the rest of the family followed in a day or so with the cross old horse--now refreshed by my hay and grain, and the rest we had given him,--in their rickety one-horse wagon. I remember how Rowena looked back at us, her hair blowing about her face which looked, just a thought, pale and big-eyed, as the Gowdy buggy went off like the wind, with Buck's arm behind the girl to keep her from bouncing out. This day's work was not to cease in its influence on Iowa affairs for half a century, if ever. State politics, the very government of the commonwealth, the history of Monterey County and of Vandemark Township, were all changed when Buck Gowdy went off over the prairie that day, holding Rowena Fewkes in the buggy seat with that big brawny arm of his. Ma Fewkes seemed delighted to see Mr. Gowdy holding her daughter in the buggy. "Nobody can tell what great things may come of this!" she cried, as they went out of sight over a knoll. She never said a truer thing. To be sure, it was only the hiring by a very rich man, as rich men went in those days, of three worthless hands and a hired girl; but it tore the state's affairs in pieces. Whenever I think of it I remember some verses in the _Fifth Reader_ that my children used in school: "Somewhere yet that atom's force Moves the light-poised universe[11]." [11] See _Gowdy vs. Buckner_, et al, Ia. Rep. Also accounts of relations of the so-called Gowdy Estate litigation to "The Inside of Iowa Politics" by the editor of these MSS.--in press.--G.v.d.M. It was a great deal more important then, though, that on that afternoon I was arrested for a great many things--assault with intent to commit great bodily injury, assault with intent to kill, just simple assault, unlawful assembly, rioting, and I don't know but treason. Dick McGill, I am sure it was, told the first claim-jumper we visited that I was at the head of the mob, and he had me arrested. I was taken to Monterey Centre by Jim Boyd, the blacksmith, who was deputy sheriff; but he did the fair thing and allowed me to get Magnus Thorkelson to attend to my stock while I was gone. I think that that passage in the Scriptures which tells us to visit those who are in prison as well as the sick, is a thing that shows the Bible to be an inspired work; but, this belief has come to me through my remembrance of my sufferings when I was arrested. Not that I went to prison. In fact, I do not believe there was anything like a jail nearer than Iowa City or Dubuque; but Jim told me that he understood that I was a terrible ruffian and would have to be looked after very closely. He made me help him about the blacksmith shop, and I learned so much about blacksmithing that I finally set up a nice little forge on the farm and did a good deal of my own work. At last Jim said I was stealing his trade, and when Virginia Royall came down to the post-office the day the mail came in, which was a Friday in those days, and came to the shop to see me, he told her what a fearful criminal I was. She laughed and told Jim to stop his fooling, not knowing what a very serious thing it was for me. When she asked me to come up to see the Elder and Grandma Thorndyke, and I told her I was a prisoner, Jim paroled me to her, and made her give him a receipt for me which he wrote out on the anvil on the leaf of his pass-book, and had her sign it. He said he was glad to get rid of me for two reasons: one was that I was stealing his trade, and the other that I was likely to bu'st forth at any time and kill some one, especially a claim-jumper if there were any left in the county, which he doubted. So I went with Virginia and spent the night at the elder's. Grandma Thorndyke took my part, though she made a great many inquiries about Rowena Fewkes; but the elder warned me solemnly against lawlessness, though when we were alone together he made me tell him all about the affair, and seemed to enjoy the more violent parts of it as if it had been a novel; but when he asked me who were in the "mob" I refused to tell him, and he said maybe I was right--that my honor might be involved. Grandma Thorndyke seemed to have entirely got over her fear of having me and Virginia together, and let us talk alone as much as we pleased. I told them about the quantity of wild strawberries I had out in Vandemark's Folly, and when Virginia asked the sheriff if the elder and his wife and herself might go out there with me for a strawberry-and-cream feast, he said his duty made it incumbent upon him to insist that he and his wife go along, and that they would furnish the sugar if I would pony up the cream--of which I had a plenty. So we had quite a banquet out on the farm. Once in a while I would forget about the assaults and the treason and be quite jolly--and then it would all come back upon me, and I would break out in a cold sweat. Out of this grew the first strawberry and cream festival ever held in any church in Monterey Centre, the fruit being furnished, according to the next issue of the _Journal_ "by the malefactors confined in the county Bastille"--in other words by me. 4 Virginia and I gathered the berries, and she was as happy as she could be, apparently; but once in a while she would say, "Poor Teunis! Can't a Dutchman see a joke?" After that, the elder and his wife used to come out to see me, bringing Virginia with them, almost every week, and I prided myself greatly on my fried chicken my nice salt-rising bread, my garden vegetables, my green corn, my butter, milk and cream. I had about forgotten about being arrested, when the grand jury indicted me, and Amos Bemisdarfer and Flavius Bohn went bail for me. When the trial came on I was fined twenty dollars, and before I could produce the money, it was paid by William Trickey, Ebenezer Junkins and Absalom Frost, who told me that they got me into it, and it wasn't fair for a boy to suffer through doing what was necessary for the protection of the settlers, and what a lot of older men had egged him on to do. So I came out of it all straight, and was not much the less thought of. In fact, I seemed to have ten friends after the affair to one before. But Dick McGill, whose connection with it I have felt justified in exposing, still hounded me through his paper. I have before me the copy of the _Journal_--little four-page sheet yellowed with time, with the account of it which follows: "A desperado named Vandemark, well known to the annals of local crime as 'Cow Vandemark,' was arrested last Wednesday for leading the riots which have cleaned out those industrious citizens who have been jumping claims in this county. A reporter of the _Journal_, which finds out everything before it happens, attended the ceremonies of giving some of these people a coat of tar and feathers, and can speak from personal observation as to the ferocity of this ruffian Vandemark--also from slight personal contact. "This hardened wretch is in every feature a villain--except that he has a rosy complexion, downy whiskers, and buttermilk eyes, instead of the black flashing orbs of fiction. Sheriff Boyd decoyed him into town, skilfully avoiding any rousing of his tigerish disposition, and is now making a blacksmith of him--or was until yesterday, when he paroled him to Miss Virginia Royall, the ward of the Reverend Thorndyke. "This is a very questionable policy. If followed up it will result in a saturnalia of crime in this community. Already several of our young men are reading dime novels and taking lessons in banditry; but the sheriff has stated that this parole will not be considered a precedent. The affair has resulted in some good, however. In addition to placing the young man under Christian influences, and others, it has unearthed a patch of the biggest, best, ripest and sweetest wild strawberries in Monterey County on the ancestral estate of the criminal, known as Vandemark's Folly, and by the use of prison labor, and through the generosity and public spirit of our rising young fellow-citizen, Jacob T. Vandemark--whom we hereby salute--we are promised another strawberry festival before the crop is gone. "In the meantime, it is worthy of mention that the industry of claim-jumping has suffered a sudden slump, and that the splendid pioneers who have opened up this Garden of Eden will not be robbed of the fruits of their enterprise." When I came to run for county supervisor, he rehashed the matter without giving any hint that after all what I did was approved of by the people of the county in 1856 when these things took place or that he himself was in it up to the neck! But enough of that: the historical fact is that Settlers' Clubs did work of this sort all over Iowa in those times, and right or wrong, the pioneers held to the lands they took up when the great tide of the Republic broke over the Mississippi and inundated Iowa. The history of Vandemark Township was the history of the state. CHAPTER XV. I SAVE A TREASURE, AND START A FEUD In the month of May, 1857, I went to a party. This was a new thing for me; for parties had been something of which I had heard as of many things outside of the experience of a common fellow like me, but always had thought about as a thing only to be read of, like _porte cochères_ and riding to hounds, and butlers and books of poems. Stuff for story-books, and not for Vandemark Township; though when I saw the thing, it was not so very different from the dances and "sings" we used to have on the boats of the Grand Canal, as the Erie Ditch was then called when you wanted to put on a little style. The party was at the "great Gothic house" of Governor Wade, just finished, over in Benton Township. The Governor was not even a citizen of Vandemark Township, but he had some land in it. Buck Gowdy's great estate lapped over on one corner of the township, Governor Wade's on the other, and Hell Slew, nicknamed Vandemark's Folly Marsh cut it through the middle, and made it hard for us to get out a full vote on anything after we got the township organized. The control shifted from the north side of the slew to the south side according to the weather; for you couldn't cross Vandemark's Folly in wet weather. Once what was called the Cow Vandemark crowd got control and kept it for years by calling the township meetings always on our own side of the slew; and then Foster Blake sneaked in a full attendance on us when we weren't looking by piling a couple of my haystacks in the trail to drive on, and it was five years before we got it back. But in the meantime we had voted taxes on them to build some schoolhouses and roads. That was local politics in Iowa when Ring was a pup. But Governor Wade's party was not local politics, or so N.V. Creede tells me. He says that this was one of the moves by which the governor made Monterey County Republican. It had always been Democratic. The governor had always been a Democrat, and had named his township after Thomas H. Benton; but now he was the big gun of the new Republican Party in our neck of the woods, and he invited all the people who he thought would be good wheel-horses. You will wonder how I came to be invited. Well, it was this way. I called on Judge Stone at the new court-house, the building of which created such a scandal. He was county treasurer. He had been elected the fall before. I wanted to see him about a cattle deal. He was talking with Henderson L. Burns when I went in. "I don't see how I can go," said he. "I've got to watch the county's money. If there was a safe in this county-seat any stronger than a cheese box, I'd lock it up and go; but I guess my bondsmen are sitting up nights worrying about their responsibility now. I'll have to decline, I reckon." "Oh, darn the money!" said Henderson L. "You can't be expected to set up with it like it had typhoid fever, can you? Take it with you, and put it in Wade's big safe." "I might do that," said Judge Stone, "if I had a body-guard." "I'd make a good guard," said Henderson L. "Let me take care of it." "I'd have to win it back in a euchre game if I ever saw it again," said the judge. "I hate to miss that party. There'll be some medicine made there. I might go with a body-guard, eh?" "So if the Bunker gang gets after you," suggested H. L., "there'd be somebody paid to take the load of buckshot. Well, here's Jake. He's our local desperado. Ask Dick McGill, eh, Jake? He dared the shotgun the night they run that claim-jumper off. I know a feller that was there, and seen it--when he wa'n't seared blind. Take Jake." 2 The Bunker gang was a group of bandits that had their headquarters in the timber along the Iowa River near Eldora. They were afterward caught--some of them--and treated very badly by the officers who started to Iowa City with them. The officers, making quite a little posse, stopped at a tavern down in Tama County, I think it was at Fifteen Mile Grove, and took a drink or two too much. They had Old Man Bunker and one of the boys in the wagon tied or handcuffed, I never knew which; and while the posse was in the tavern getting their drinks the boy worked himself loose, and lay there under the buffalo robe when the men came back to take them on their journey to jail. When they had got well started again, it was decided by the sheriff or deputy in charge that they would make Old Man Bunker tell who the other members were of their gang. So they took him out of the wagon and hung him to a tree to make him confess. When they let him down he stuck it out and refused. They strung him up again, and just as they got him hauled up they noticed that the boy--he wasn't over my age--was running away. They ran after the boy and, numbed as he was lying in the wagon in the winter's cold, he could not run fast, and they caught him. Then they remembered that they had left Old Man Bunker hanging when they chased off after the boy; and when they cut him down he was dead. They were scared, drunk as they were, and after holding a council of war, they decided that they would make a clean sweep and hang the boy too--I forgot this boy's name. This they did, and came back telling the story that the prisoners had escaped, or been shot while escaping. I do not recall which. It was kind of pitiful; but nothing was ever done about it, though the story leaked out--being too horrible to stay a secret. There was a great deal of sympathy with the Bunkers all over the country, I know where one of the men who did the deed lives now, out in Western Iowa, near Cherokee. He was always looked upon as a murderer here--and so, of course, he was, if he consented. At the time when this conversation took place in Judge Stone's office, the Bunkers were in the heyday of their bad eminence, and while they were operating a good way off, there was some terror at the mention of their name. The judge looked me over for a minute when Henderson L. suggested me for the second time as a good man for his body-guard. "Will you go, Jake?" he asked. "Or are you scared of the Bunkers?" Now, as a general rule, I should have had to take half an hour or so to decide a thing like that; but when he asked me if I was scared of the Bunkers, it nettled me; and after looking from him to Henderson L. for about five minutes, I said I'd go. I was not invited to the party, of course; for it was an affair of the big bugs; but I never thought that an invitation was called for. I felt just as good as any one, but I was a little wamble-cropped when I thought that I shouldn't know how to behave. "How you going, Judge?" asked Henderson L. "In my family carriage," said the judge. "The only family carriage I ever saw you have," said Henderson L., "is that old buckboard." "I traded that off," answered the judge, "to a fellow driving through to the Fort Dodge country. I got a two-seated covered carriage. When it was new it was about such a rig as Buck Gowdy's." "That's style," said Burns. "Who's going with you--of course there's you and your wife and now you have Jake; but you've got room for one more." "My wife," said the judge, "is going to take the preacher's adopted daughter. The preacher's wife thought there might be worldly doings that it might be better for her and the elder to steer clear of, but the girl is going with us." "Well, Jake," said Henderson L., "you're in luck. You'll ride to the party with your old flame, in a carriage. My wife and I are going on a load of hay. Jim Boyd is the only other man here that's got a rig with springs under it. The aristocracy of Monterey County, a lot of it, will ride plugs or shank's mares. You're getting up among 'em, Jakey, my boy. Never thought of this when you were in jail, did you?" Nobody can realize how this talk made me suffer; and yet I kind of liked it. I suffered more than ever, because I had not seen Virginia for a long time for several reasons. I quit singing in the choir in the fall, when it was hard getting back and forth with no horses, and the heavy snow of the winter of 1855-6 began coming down. It was a terrible winter. The deer were all killed in their stamping grounds in the timber, where they trod down the snow and struggled to get at the brush and twigs for forage. The settlers went in on snowshoes and killed them with clubs and axes. We never could have preserved the deer in a country like this, where almost every acre was destined to go under plow--but they ought to have been given a chance for their lives. I remember once when I was cussing[12] the men who butchered the pretty little things while Magnus Thorkelson was staying all night with me to help me get my stock through a bad storm--it was a blizzard, but we had never heard the word then--and as I got hot in my blasting and bedarning of them (though they needed the venison) he got up and grasped my hand, and made as if to kiss me. [12] "Cussing" and "cursing" are quite different things, insists the author. He would never have cursed any one, he protests; but a man is always justified in cussing when a proper case for it is presented.--G.v.d.M. "It is murder," said he, and backed off. I felt warmed toward him for wanting to kiss me, though I should have knocked him down if he had. He told me it was customary for men to kiss each other sometimes, in Norway. The Dunkards--like the Bohns and Bemisdarfers--were the only Americans I ever knew anything about (if they really were Americans, talking Pennsylvania Dutch as they did) who ever practised it. They greeted each other with a "holy kiss" and washed each other's feet at their great communion meeting every year. I never went but once. The men kissed the men and the women the women. So I never went but once; though they "fed the multitude" as a religious function--and if there are any women who can cook bread and meat so it will melt in your mouth, it is the Pennsylvania Dutch women. And the Bohn and Bemisdarfer women seem to me the best cooks among them, they and the Stricklers. They taught most of our wives the best cookery they know. I was disappointed when we started from Monterey Centre, with Judge Horace Stone and me in the front seat, and Virginia in the back. As I started to say a while back, I had not been singing in the choir during the winter. The storms kept me looking out for my stock until the snow went off in the February thaw that covered Vandemark's Folly with water from bluff to bluff; and by that time I had stayed out so long that I thought I ought to be coaxed back into the choir by Virginia or Grandma Thorndyke in order to preserve my self-respect. But neither of them said anything about it. In fact, I thought that Grandma Thorndyke was not so friendly in the spring as she had been in the fall--and, of course, I could not put myself forward. I had the pure lunkhead pride. So I had not seen Virginia for months. We early Iowa settlers, the men and women who opened up the country to its great career of development, shivered through that winter and many like it, in hovels that only broke the force of the tempest but could not keep it back. The storms swept across without a break in their fury as we cowered there, with no such shelters as now make our winters seemingly so much milder. Now it is hard to convince a man from the East that our state was once bare prairie. "It's funny," said the young doctor that married a granddaughter of mine last summer, "that all your groves of trees seem to be in rows. Left them that way, I suppose, when you cut down the forest." The country looks as well wooded as the farming regions of Ohio or Indiana. Trees grew like weeds when we set them out; and we set them out as the years passed, by the million. I never went to the timber when the sap was down, without bringing home one or more elms, lindens, maples, hickories or even oaks--though the latter usually died. Most of the lofty trees we see in every direction now, however, are cottonwoods, willows and Lombardy poplars that were planted by the mere sticking in the ground of a wand of the green tree. They hauled these "slips" into Monterey County by the wagon-load after the settlers began their great rush for the prairies; and how they grew! It was no bad symbol of the state itself--a forest on four wheels. What I began to write a few moments ago, though concerned the difference between our winter climate then and now. Then the snow drifted before our northwest winds in a moving ocean unbroken by corn-field, grove, or farmstead. It smothered and overwhelmed you when caught out in it; and after a drifting storm, the first groves we could see cast a shadow in the blizzard; and there lay to the southeast of every block of trees a long, pointed drift, diminishing to nothing at the point where ended the influence of the grove--this new foe to the tempest which civilization was planting. Our groves were yet too small of course to show themselves in this fight against the elements that first winter, and there I had hung like a leaf caught on a root in a freshet, an eighteen-year-old boy, lonely, without older people to whom I could go for advice or comfort, and filled with dreams, visions and doubts, and with no bright spot in my frosty days and frostier nights but my visions and dreams. And I suppose my loneliness, my hardships, my lack of the fireplaces of York State and the warm rooms that we were used to in a country where fuel was plentiful, made my visions and dreams more to me than they otherwise would have been. It is the hermit who loses the world in his thoughts. And I dreamed of two things--my mother, and Virginia. Of my mother I found myself thinking with less and less of that keenness of grief which I had felt at Madison the winter before, and on my road west; so I used to get out the old worn shoe and the rain-stained letter she had left for me in the old apple-tree and try to renew my grief so as to lose the guilty feeling of which I was conscious at the waning sense of my loss of her. This was a strife against the inevitable; at eighteen--or at almost any other age, to the healthy mind--it is the living which calls, not the dead. In spite of myself, it was Virginia Royall to whom my dreams turned all the time. Whether in the keen cold of the still nights when the howl of the wolves came to me like the cries of torment, or in the howling tempests which roared across my puny hovel like trampling hosts of wild things, sifting the snow in at my window, powdering the floor, and making my cattle in their sheds as white as sheep, I went to sleep every night thinking of her, and thinking I should dream of her--but never doing so; for I slept like the dead. I held her in my arms again as I had done the night Ann Gowdy had died back there near Dubuque, all senseless in her faint; or as I had when I scared the wolves away from her back along the Old Ridge Road; or as when I had carried her across the creek back in our Grove of Destiny--and she always, in my dreams, was willing, and conscious that I held her so tight because I loved her. I saw her again as she played with her doll under the trees. Again I rode by her side into Waterloo; and again she ran back to me to bid me her sweet good-by after I had given her up. Often I did not give her up, but brought her to my new home, built my house with her to cheer me; and often I imagined that she was beside me, sheltered from the storm and happy while she could be by my side and in my arms. Oh, I lived whole lives over and over again with Virginia that lonely winter. She had been such a dear little creature. I had been able to do so much for her in getting her away from what she thought a great danger. She had done so much for me, too. Had not she and I cried together over the memory of my mother? Had she not been my intimate companion for weeks, cooked for me, planned for me, advised me, dreamed with me? It was not nearly so lonely as you might think, in one sense of the word. And now I had not seen her for such a long time that I wondered if she were not forgetting me. No wonder that I was a little flighty, as I crowded myself into my poor best suit which I was so rapidly outgrowing, and walked into Monterey Centre in time to be Judge Horace Stone's body-guard the night of the party--I heard it called a reception--at Governor DeWitt Clinton Wade's new Gothic house, over in Benton Township that was to be. I was proportionately miserable when I called at Elder Thorndyke's, to find that Virginia was not ready to see me, and that Grandma Thorndyke seemed cool and somehow different toward me. When she left me, I slipped out and went to Stone's. "Thought you wasn't coming, Jake," said he. "Almost give you up. Just time for you to get a bite to eat before we start." 3 When we did start, his wife came out in a new black silk dress--for the Stones were quality--and was helped into the back seat, and the judge came out of the house carrying a satchel which when he handed it to me I found to be very heavy. I should say, as I have often stated, that it weighed about fifty to sixty pounds, and when he shoved it back under the seat before sitting down, it gave as I seemed to remember afterward a sort of muffled jingle. "The treasures of Golconda, or Goldarnit," said he, "or some of those foreign places. Hear 'em jingle? Protect them with your life, Jake." "All right," I said, as glum as you please; for he had left the only vacant place in the carriage back with Mrs. Stone. This was no way to treat me! But I was almost glad when Virginia came out to the carriage wearing a pink silk dress, and looking so fearful to the eyes of her obscure adorer that he could scarcely speak to her--she was so unutterably lovely and angelic-looking. "How do you do, Teunis!" said she, and paused for some one to help her in. Judge Stone waited a moment, and gave her a boost at the elbow as she skipped up the step. I could have bitten myself. I was the person who should have helped her in. I was a lummox, a lunkhead, a lubber, a fool, a saphead--I was everything that was awkward and clumsy and thumb-hand-sided! To let an old married man get ahead of me in that way was a crime. I slouched down into the seat, and the judge drove off, after handing me a revolver. I slipped it into my pocket. "Jake's my body-guard to-night, Miss Royall," said the judge. "We've got the county's money here. Did you hear it jingle?" "No, Judge, I didn't," said she, and she never could remember any jingle afterward. "Aren't you afraid, Teunis?" "What of?" I inquired, looking around at her, just as she was spreading a beautiful Paisley shawl about her shoulders. I dared now take a long look at her. A silk dress and a Paisley shawl, even to my eyes, and I knew nothing about their value or rarity at that time and place, struck me all of a heap with their gorgeousness. They reminded me of the fine ladies I had seen in Albany and Buffalo. "Of the Bunker boys," said she. "If they knew that we were out with all this money, don't you suppose they would be after it? And what could you and Mr. Stone do against such robbers?" "I've seen rougher customers than they are," said I; and then I wondered if the man I had seen with the Bushyagers back in our Grove of Destiny had not been one of the Bunker boys. They certainly had had a bunch of stolen horses. If he was a member of the Bunker gang, weren't the Bushyagers members of it also? And was it not likely that they, being neighbors of ours, and acquainted with everything that went on in Monterey Centre, would know that we were out with the money, and be ready to pounce upon us? I secretly drew my Colt from my pocket and looked to see that each of the five chambers was loaded, and that each tube had its percussion cap. I wished, too, that I had had a little more practise in pistol shooting. "What do you think of Virginia's dress and shawl?" asked Mrs. Stone, as we drove along the trail which wound over the prairie, in disregard of section lines, as all roads did then. The judge and I both looked at Virginia again. "They're old persimmons," commented the judge. "You'll be the belle of the ball, Virginia." "They're awful purty," said I, "especially the dress. Where did you get 'em, Virginia?" "They were found in Miss Royall's bedroom," said Mrs. Stone emphasizing the "Miss"--for my benefit, I suppose; but it never touched me. "But I guess she knows where they come from." "They were Ann's," said Virginia, a little sadly, and yet blushing and smiling a little at our open admiration, "my sister's, you know." I scarcely said another word during all that trip. I was furious at the thought of Buck Gowdy's smuggling those clothes into Virginia's room, so she could have a good costume for the party. How did he know she was invited, or going? To be sure, her sister Ann's things ought to have been given to the poor orphan girl--that was all right; but back there along the road she would never speak his name. Had it come to pass in all these weeks and months in which I had not seen her that they had come to be on speaking terms again? Had that scoundrel who had killed her sister, after a way of speaking, and driven Virginia herself to run away from him, and come to me, got back into her good graces so that she was allowing him to draw his wing around her again? It was gall and wormwood to think of it. But why were the dress and shawl smuggled into her room, instead of being brought openly? Maybe they were not really on terms of association after all. I wished I knew, or that I had the right to ask. I forgot all about the Bunkers, until the judge whipped up the horses as we turned into the Wade place, and brought us up standing at the door. "Well," said he, with a kind of nervous laugh, "the Bunkers didn't get us after all!" I was out before him this time, and helped Virginia and Mrs. Stone to get down. The judge was wrestling with the heavy bag. The governor came out to welcome us, and he and Judge Stone carried it in. Mrs. Wade, a scared-looking little woman, stood in the hall and gave me her hand as I went in. "Good evening, Mr.----," said she. "Mr. Vandemark," said the judge. "My body-guard, Mrs. Wade." The good lady looked at my worn, tight-fitting corduroys, at my clean boiled shirt which I had done up myself, at my heavy boots, newly greased for the occasion, and at my bright blue and red silk neckerchief, and turned to other guests. After all I was dressed as well as some of the rest of them. There are many who may read this account of the way the Boyds, the Burnses, the Flemings, the Creedes, the Stones and others of our county aristocracy, came to this party in alpacas, delaines, figured lawns, and even calicoes, riding on loads of hay and in lumber wagons with spring seats, who may be a little nettled when a plain old farmer tells it; but they should never mind this: the time will come when their descendants will be proud of it. For they were the John Aldens, the Priscillas, the Miles Standishes and the Dorothy Q's of as great a society as the Pilgrim Fathers and Pilgrim Mothers set a-going: the society of the great commonwealth of Iowa. The big supper--I guess they would call it a dinner now--served in the large room on a long table and some smaller ones, was the great event of the party. The Wades were very strict church-members. Such a thing as card playing was not to be thought of, and dancing was just as bad. Both were worldly amusements whose feet took hold on hell. We have lost this strictness now, and sometimes I wonder if we have not lost our religion too. The Wades were certainly religious--that is the Governor and Mrs. Wade. Jack Wade, the John P. Wade who was afterward one of the national bosses of the Republican party, and Bob, the Robert S. Wade who became so prominent in the financial circles of the state, were a little worldly. A hired hand I once had was with the Wades for a while, and said that when he and the Wade boys were out in the field at work (for they worked as hard as any of the hands, and Bob was the first man in our part of the country who ever husked a hundred bushels of corn in a day) the Wade boys and the hired men cussed and swore habitually. But this scamp, when they were having family worship, used to fill in with "Amen!" and "God grant it!" and the like pious exclamations when the governor was offering up his morning prayer. But one morning Bob Wade brought a breast-strap from off the harness, and took care to kneel within easy reach of the kneeling hired man's pants. When he began with his responses that morning, a loud slap, and a smothered yell disturbed the governor--but he only paused, and went on. "What in hell," asked the hired man when they got outside, "did you hit me for with that blasted strap?" "To show you how to behave," said Bob. "When the governor is talking to the Lord, you keep your mouth shut." I tell this, because it shows how even our richest and most aristocratic family lived, and how we were supposed to defend religion against trespass. I am told that in some countries the wickedest person is likely to be a praying one. It seems, however, that in this country the church-members are expected to protect their monopoly of the ear of God. Anyhow, Bob Wade felt that he was doing a fitting if not a very seemly thing in giving this physical rebuke to a man who was pretending to be more religious than he was. The question is a little complex; but the circumstance shows that there could be no cards or dancing at the Wade's party. Neither could there be any drinking. The Wades had a vineyard and made wine. The Flemings lived in the next farm-house down the road, and when our party took place, the families were on fairly good terms; though the governor and his wife regarded the Flemings as beneath them, and this idea influenced the situation between the families when Bob Wade began showing attentions to Kittie Fleming, a nice girl a year or so older than I. Charlie Fleming, the oldest of the boys, was very sick one fall, and they thought he was going to die. Doctor Bliven prescribed wine, and the only wine in the neighborhood was in the cellar of Governor Wade; so, even though the families were very much at the outs, owing to the fuss about Bob and Kittie going together, Mrs. Fleming went over to the Wades' to get some wine for her sick boy. "We can't allow you to have it," said the governor, with his jaws set a little closer than usual. "We keep wine for sacramental purposes only." This proves how straight they were about violating their temperance vows, and how pious. Though there are some lines of poetry in the _Fifth Reader_ which seem to show that the governor missed a real sacrament. They read: "Who gives himself with his alms feeds three-- Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me;" but Governor Wade was a practical man who made his religion fit what he wanted to do, and what he felt was the proper thing. Bob and Jack were worldly, like the rest of us. The governor got the reputation of being a hard man, and the wine incident did a good deal to add to it. The point is that there had to be some other way of entertaining the company at the party, besides drinking, card-playing, or dancing. Of course the older people could discuss the price of land, the county organization and the like; but even the important things of the country were mostly in the hands of young people--and young folks will be young folks. 4 Kittie Fleming was a pretty black-eyed girl, who afterward made the trouble between Bob Wade and his father. At this party the thing which made it a sad affair to me was the attentions paid to Virginia by Bob. I might have been comforted by the nice way Kittie Fleming treated me, if I had had eyes for any one but Virginia; but when Kittie smiled on me, I always thought how much sweeter was Virginia's smile. But _her_ smiles that evening were all for Bob Wade. In fact, he gave nobody else a chance. It really seemed as if the governor and his wife were pleased to see him deserting Kittie Fleming, but whether or not this was because they thought the poor orphan Virginia a better match, or for the reason that any new flame would wean him from Kittie I could not say. And I suppose they thought Kittie's encouraging behavior to me was not only a proof of her low tastes, or rather her lack of ambition, but a sure sign to Bob that she was not in his class. So far as I was concerned I was wretched, especially when the younger people began turning the gathering into a "play party." Now there was a difference between a play party and a kissing party or kissing bee, as we used to call it. The play party was quite respectable, and could be indulged in by church-members. In it the people taking part sang airs each with its own words, and moved about in step to the music. The absence of the fiddle and the "calling off" and the name of dancing took the curse off. They went through figures a lot like dances; swung partners by one hand or both; advanced and retreated, "balanced to partners" bowing and saluting; clasping hands, right and left alternately with those they met; and balanced to places, and the like. Sometimes they had a couple to lead them, as in the dance called the German, of which my granddaughter tells me; but usually they were all supposed to know the way the play went, and the words were always such as to help. Here is the one they started off with that night: "We come here to bounce around, We come here to bounce around, We come here to bounce around, Tra, la, la! Ladies, do si do, Gents, you know, Swing to the right, And then to the left, And all promenade!" Oh, yes! I have seen Wades and Flemings and Holbrooks and all the rest singing and hopping about to the tune of _We Come Here to Bounce Around_; and also _We'll All Go Down to Rowser_; and _Hey, Jim Along, Jim Along Josie_; and _Angelina Do Go Home_; and _Good-by Susan Jane_; and _Shoot the Buffalo_; and _Weevilly Wheat_; and _Sandy He Belonged to the Mill_; and _I've Been to the East, I've Been to the West, I've Been to the Jay-Bird's Altar_; and _Skip-to-My-Lou_; and _The Juniper Tree_; and _Go In and Out the Window_; and _The Jolly Old Miller_; and _Captain Jinks_; and lots more of them. Boyds and Burnses and Smythes tripping the light fantastic with them, and not half a dozen dresses better than alpacas in the crowd, and the men many of them in drilling trousers--and half of them with hayseed in their hair from the load on which they rode to the party! So, ye Iowa aristocracy, put that in your pipes and smoke it, as ye bowl over the country in your automobiles--or your airships, as I suppose it may be before you read this! I went round with the rest of them, for I had seen all these plays on the canal boats, and had once or twice taken part in them. Kittie Fleming, very graceful and gracious as she bowed to me, and as I swung her around, was my partner. Bob Wade still devoted himself to Virginia, who was like a fairy in her fine pink silk dress. "This is enough of these plays," shouted Bob at last, after looking about to see that his father and mother were not in the room. "Let's have the 'Needle's Eye'!" "The 'Needle's Eye'!" was the cry, then. "I won't play kissing games!" said one or two of the girls. "Le's have 'The Gay Balonza Man'!" shouted Doctor Bliven, who was in the midst of the gaieties, while his wife too, plunged in as if to outdo him. "Oh, yes!" she said, smiling up into the face of Frank Finster, with whom she had been playing. "Let's have 'The Gay Balonza Man!' It's such fun[13]!" [13] One here discovers a curious link between our recent past and olden times in our Old Home, England. This game has like most of the kissing or play-party games of our fathers (and mothers) more than one version. By some it was called "The Gay Galoney Man," by others "The Gay Balonza Man." It is a last vestige of the customs of the sixteenth century and earlier in England. It was brought over by our ancestors, and survived in Iowa at the time of its settlement, and probably persists still in remote localities settled by British immigrants. The "Gay Balonza Man" must be the character--the traveling beggar, pedler or tinker,--who was the hero of country-side people, and of the poem attributed to James V. called _The Gaberlunzie-Man_ (1512-1542) in which the event is summed up in two lines relating to a peasant girl, "She's aff wi the gaberlunzie-man." The words of the play run in part as follows: "See the gay balonza-man, the charming gay balonza-man; We'll do all that ever we can, To cheat the gay balonza-man!" The things he was to be cheated of seemed to be osculations.--G.v.d.M. "The Needle's Eye" won, and we formed in a long line of couples--Wades, Finsters, Flemings, Boyds and the rest of the roll of present-day aristocrats, and marched, singing, between a boy and a girl standing on chairs with their hands joined. Here is the song--I can sing the tune to-day: "The needle's eye, Which doth supply The thread which runs so true; {And many a lass {Have I let pass or {And many a beau {Have I let go Because I wanted you!" At the word "you," the two on the chairs--they were Lizzie Finster and Charley McKim at first--brought their arms down and caught a couple--they caught Kittie and me--who were at that moment passing through between the chairs--which were the needle's eye; and then they sang, giving us room to execute: "And they bow so neat! And they kiss so sweet! We do intend before we end, to have this couple meet!" Crimson of face, awkward as a calf, I bowed to Kittie and she to me; and then she threw her arms about me and kissed me on the lips. And then I saw her wink slyly at Bob Wade. Then Kittie and I became the needle's eye and she worked it so we caught Bob Wade and Virginia, even though it was necessary to wait a moment after the word "you"--she meant to do it! As Bob's lips met Virginia's I groaned, and turning my back on Kittie Fleming, I rushed out of the room. Judge Stone tried to stop me. 5 "Jake, Jake!" Judge Stone whispered in my ear, looking anxiously around, "have you seen the governor in the last half or three-quarters of an hour?" "He hain't been in here," I said, jerking away from him. "Sure?" he persisted. "I've looked everywhere except in his office where he put the money--and that's locked." I broke away from him and went out. I had no desire to see Governor Wade or any one else. I wanted to be alone. I had seen Virginia kissed by Bob Wade--and they were still singing that sickish play in there. They would be kissing and kissing all the rest of the night. She to be kissed in this way, and I had been so careful of her, when I was all alone with her for days, and would have given my right hand for a kiss! It was terrible. I walked back and forth in the yard, and then came up on the porch and sat down on a bench, so as to hear the play-singing. They were singing _The Gay Balonza-Man_, now. I started up once to walk home, but I thought that Judge Stone was paying me wages for guarding the county's money, and turned to go back where I could watch the games, lured by a sort of fascination to see how many times Virginia would allow herself to be kissed. A woman came out of the house, and in passing saw and recognized me. It was Mrs. Bliven. She dropped down on the bench. "My God!" she sobbed. "I'll go crazy! I'll kill myself!" I sat down again on the bench. She had been so happy a few minutes ago, to all appearances, that I was astonished; but after waiting quite a while I could think of nothing to say to her. So I turned my face away for fear that she might see what I felt must show in it. "You're in trouble, too," she said. "You babies! My God, how I'd like to change places with you! Did you see him kissing them?" "Who?" I asked. "My man," she cried. "Bliven. You know how it is, with us. You're the only one that knows about me--about us--Jake. I've been scared to death for fear you'd tell ever since I found you were coming here to live; and I dasn't tell him--he don't know you know. And now I almost wish you would tell--put it in Dick McGill's paper. He wants somebody else already. A woman that's done as I have--he can throw me away like an old shoe! But I want you to promise me that if he ever shelves me you'll let the world know. Did you see him hugging them girls? He's getting ready to shelve me, I tell you!" I sat for some time thinking this matter over. Finally I spoke, and she seemed surprised, as if she had forgotten I was there. "I'll tell you what I'll do," said I. "I won't tell on you just because you think you want me to. What would happen if everything in the lives of us folks out here was to be told, especially as it would be told in Dick McGill's paper? But if you ever find out for sure that he is going to--going to--to shelve you, why, come to me, and I'll go to him. I think he would be a skunk to--to shelve you. And I don't see that--that--that he--was any more fairce to hug and kiss than--than some others. Than you!" "Or you," said she, sort of snickering through her tears. "I hated it!" I said. "So did I," said she. "Maybe Doc did, too," I suggested. "No," she replied, after a while. "I'll tell you, Jake, I'll hold you to your promise. Sometime I may come to you or send for you. May I?" "Any time," I answered, and she went in, seeming quite cheered up. I suppose she needed that blow-off, like an engine too full of steam. I wonder if it was wrong to feel for her? But it must be remembered that I had very little religious bringing up. Well, the party came to an end presently, and Judge Stone came out and holloed for me to bring the team. When I drove up to the door he asked me in a low tone to come and help carry the money out. The governor unlocked his office, and then the safe, and took out the bag, which he handed to Judge Stone. "Heavy as ever," said the judge. "Catch hold here, Jake, and help me carry it." "A heavy responsibility at least," said the governor. The governor's hired people of whom he had always a large force had not taken part in the proceedings of the party, but most of them were gathered about as we took our departure. They were to a great extent the younger men among the settlers, and the governor in later times never got tired of saying how much he had done for the early settlers in giving them employment. N.V. Creede in answering him in campaigns always said that if he gave the boys work, they gave the governor labor in return, and at a dollar a day it seemed to him that the governor was the one who was under obligations to them. It is a curious thing that people who receive money are supposed to be under obligations to those who pay it, no matter what the deal may be. We say "thank you" to the man who pays us for a day's wages; but why, if the work is worth the money? Well, as I looked about among the governor's working people, as I have said, I saw a head taller than the rest, the big form of Pitt Bushyager. He was looking at me with that daredevil smile of his, the handsomest man there, with his curling brown mustache and goatee; and nodded at me as the judge got into the carriage in the back seat with Mrs. Stone, and Virginia came up in her pretty pink silk, with the Paisley shawl around her shoulders, to be helped up into the front seat with me. The satchel of money was placed under the seat where the judge could feel it with his feet. We drove off in that silence which comes with the drowsiness that follows excitement, especially along toward morning. The night was dark and still. Virginia's presence reminded me of those days of happiness wher we drove into Iowa alone together; but I was not happy I had lived with this girl in my dreams ever since, and now I faced the wrench of giving her up; for I repeated in my own mind over and over again that she would never think of me with such big bugs as Bob Wade shining around her. The Judge and Mrs. Stone were talking together now, and I heard references to the money. Then I began to turn over in my slow mind the fact, known to me alone, that there was a man at the Wade farm who was one of a band of thieves, and who knew about our having the money. If he really was connected with the Bunker boys, what was more likely than that he had ways of passing the word along to some of them who might be waiting to rob us on our way home? But the crime that I was sure had been committed back along the road the spring before had been horse-stealing. I wondered whether or not the business of outlawry was not specialized, so that some stole horses, others robbed banks, others were highwaymen, and the like. All this time Virginia seemed to be snuggling up a little closer. Maybe Pitt Bushyager and his brothers were just plain horse-thieves, and nothing else. Perhaps they were just hired to help drive in the horses; but why, then, did Pitt have two animals in Monterey Centre when I saw him there the morning I arrived? 6 Jim Boyd's light buggy had got far ahead of us, out of hearing, and the lumber wagons, with the bulk of the crowd, were far in the rear. We were alone. As we came to a road which wound off to the south toward where there was a settlement of Hoosiers who had made a trail to the Wade place, I turned off and followed it, knowing that when I got to the Hoosier settlement, I should find a road into the Centre. It was a mistake made a-purpose, done on that instinct which protects the man who feels that he may be trailed. I was on an unexpected path to any one waiting for us. Finally Virginia spoke to me. "How is our farm?" she asked. Now I had not forgotten how she had been kissed by Bob Wade, and probably, while I was outside sulking, by a dozen others. By instinct again--the instinct of a jealous boy--I started in to punish her. "All right," I said surlily. "What crops have you planted?" she went on. "About ten acres of wheat," I said, "and the rest of my breaking in corn and oats. You see, I have to put in all the time I can in breaking." "How is the white heifer?" she asked, inquiring as to one of my cattle that she had petted a lot. "She has a calf," said I. "Oh, has she? How I wish I could see it! What color is it?" "Spotted." There followed a long silence, during which we went farther and farther off the road. "Jake," said the judge, "whose house is that we just passed?" "It's that new Irishman's," said I. "Mike Cosgrove, ain't that his name?" "Well, then," said the judge, "we're off the road. Stop!" "Yes," I said, "I made the wrong turn back there. It's only a little farther." The judge was plainly put out about this. He even wanted to go back to the regular road again, and when I explained that we would soon reach a trail which would lead right into the Centre, he still persisted. "If we were to be robbed on this out-of-the-way road," said he, "it would look funny." "It would look funnier," I said, "if we were to go back and then get robbed. Any one waiting to rob us would be on the regular road, wouldn't they?" So I stubbornly drove on, the judge grumbling all the while for a mile or so. Then he and Mrs. Stone began talking in a low tone, under the cover of which Virginia resumed her conversation with me. "You are a stubborn Dutchman," said she. To which I saw no need of making any reply. "You seemed to have a good time," she said, presently. "I didn't," said I. "I'm nobody by the side of such people as Bob Wade. I wasn't even invited. I'm just paid to come along with the judge to protect the county's money. You'll never see me again at any of your grand kissing parties." "It was the first I ever went to," said she; "but you seemed to know what to do pretty well--you and Kittie Fleming." This stumped me for a while, and we drove on in silence. "I didn't kiss her," I said. "It looked like it," said Virginia. "She kissed me," I protested. "You seemed to like it," she insisted. "I didn't!" I said, mad all over. "And I quit just as soon as the kissing began." "You ought to have stayed," she said stiffly. "The fun was just beginning when you flounced out." And then came one of the interesting events of this eventful night. We turned into the main road to Monterey Centre, just where Duncan McAlpine's barn now stands, and I thought I saw down in the hollow where it was still dark, though the light was beginning to dawn in the east, a clump of dark objects like cattle or horses--or horsemen. As I looked, they moved into the road as if to stop us. I drew my pistol, fired it over their heads, and they scattered. Then, I was scared still more, by a sound as of a cavalry or a battery of artillery coming behind us. It was three loads of people on the hayracks, who had overtaken us on account of our having gone by the roundabout way; coming at a keen gallop down the hill to have the credit of passing a fancy carriage. They passed us like a tornado; shouting as they went by, asking what I had shot at, and telling us to hurry up so as to get home by breakfast time. The horsemen ahead, whatever might have been their plans, did not seem to care to argue matters with so large a force, and rode off in several directions, while I pressed close to the rear of the last hayrack. Thus we drove into Monterey Centre. "What did you shoot for?" asked the judge as we stopped at his house. "I wanted to warn a lot of men on horseback that were heading us off, that there'd be trouble if they tried to stop us," I answered. "Damned foolishness," said the judge. "Well, come in and let's have a bite to eat." 7 Virginia was staying with them the rest of the night; but as I helped her out, feeling in her stiffness that she was offended with me, I insisted that I would go on home. The judge, who had been ready to abuse me a moment before, now took hold of me and forced me into the house. As we went in carrying the satchel, he lifted it up on the table. "We may as well take a look at it," said he. Mrs. Stone and Virginia and I all stood by the table as he unsnapped the catch and opened the bag. It was full almost to the top. "That ain't the way I packed that money!" said the judge. His hands trembled as he pulled the contents out. It was full of the bags and wrappers in which the money had been packed, according to the judge's tell; but there was no money in the wrappers, and the bags were full, not of coins, but of common salt. That was what made it so heavy; and that was what always made it such a mystery: for all the salt used in Monterey County then was common barrel salt. It was the same kind, whether it was got from the barrel from which the farmer salted his cattle, or from the supply in the kitchen of the dweller in the town. There was no clue in it. It was just salt! We all cried out in surprise, not understanding that we were looking at the thing which was to be fought over until either Judge Stone or Governor Wade was destroyed. "I am ruined!" Judge Stone fell back into a chair groaning. Then he jumped to his feet. "They've taken it out while we were at the party!" he shouted. "The damned, canting, sniveling old thief! No wonder he's got money! He probably stole it where he came from! Jake, we've got to go back and make him give this money back--come on!" "Make who give it back?" I asked. "Who?" said he. "Why old DeWitt Clinton Wade, the old thief! Who else had the key to the office or knew how to open that safe? Come on, Jake, and bring your pistol!" I handed him the pistol. "I agreed to guard you and the county's money," I said, "and that's all. You hain't got the county's money, it seems, and my job's over. I've got to break prairie to-day, and I guess I'd better be going!" I passed out of the door, and as I went I heard them--the judge and his wife, and I thought Virginia joined in--condemning me for deserting them. But I needed to think this thing over before I could see into it. It looked pretty dark for some one then, and I saw it was a matter to see N.V. about before taking any further part. I never have seen through it. There it was: The money in the treasury, and supposed to be in the bag, and placed in Governor Wade's safe. There were the two men, both supposed to be rich. There was the time, when the kissing games were going on, when the governor was not seen by any of his guests. The governor was rich always afterward, while the judge struggled along with adversity and finally went away from the county poor as a church mouse. Then there was the jingle I seemed to remember at starting, and Judge Stone's twice speaking of it--the jingle Virginia did not hear. Salt does not jingle. For a long time it appeared to me that these things seemed to prove that the governor got the money; but lately, since both the men have passed away, I have had my doubts. Judge Stone was a much nicer man than the governor to meet up with, but--well, what's the use? It is long past. It was past for me, too, as I walked out to my farm that morning as the dawn broadened into day, with the prairie-chickens singing their wonderful morning song, and the blue-joint grass soaking me with dew to my knees. At that moment, or soon after, in a stormy encounter at the Wade farm, with witnesses that the judge took with him, began the great Wade-Stone feud of Monterey County, Iowa. It lasted until the flood of new settlers floated it away in a freshet of new issues during and after the great Civil War. I took the story to N.V. as soon as I went to town. He sat looking at me with a mysterious grin on his face, as I told him of the loss of the county funds. "Well," said he, "this will make history. I venture the assertion that the case will be compromised. I can't see this close corporation of a county government making Stone's bondsmen pay the loss. Or Stone either. And I can't see any one getting that amount of money out of old Wade, whether it was in the bag when it went into his safe or not. Your testimony on the jingle feature ain't worth a cuss. The Bunker boys had that bag marked for their own; for we know now that they were out on a raid that night and cleaned up several good horses. I must say, Jake, that you are a hell of a hired man. If you had kept the main road, this trouble which will raise blazes with things in this county till you and I are gray-headed, never would have happened. The Bunkers would have had that salt, and everybody else would have had an alibi. Maybe it was Judge Stone's instinct for party harmony that made him cross at you for dodging the Bunkers by driving down by the Hoosier settlement. He was cross, wasn't he? Instinct is a great matter, says Falstaff. He was mad on instinct, I reckon! And you drove off the road on instinct. Beware instinct,' say I on the authority aforesaid. It would have smoothed matters all out if the Bunker boys had got that salt!" CHAPTER XVI THE FEWKESES IN CLOVER AT BLUE-GRASS MANOR Iowa lived in the future in those days. It was a land of poverty and privations and small things, but a land of dreams. We shivered in the winter storms, and dreamed; we plowed and sowed and garnered in; but the great things, the happy things, were our dreams and visions. We felt that we were plowing the field of destiny and sowing for the harvest of history; but we scarcely thought it. The power that went out of us as we scored that wonderful prairie sod and built those puny towns was the same power that nerved the heart of those who planted Massachusetts and Rhode Island and Virginia, the power that has thrilled the world whenever the white man has gone forth to put a realm under his feet. Our harvest of that day seems pitifully small as I sit on my veranda and look at my barns and silos, and see the straight rows of corn leaning like the characters of God's handwriting across the broad intervale of Vandemark's Folly flat, sloping to the loving pressure of the steady warm west wind of Iowa, and clapping a million dark green hands in acclamation of the full tide of life sucked up from the richest breast that Mother Earth in all her bountiful curves turns to the lips of her offspring. But all our children for all future generations shall help to put the harvests of those days into the barns and silos of the future state. God save it from the mildews of monopoly and tyranny, and the Red rot of insurrection and from repression's explosions! We were children, most of those of whom I have been writing. It was a baby county, a baby state, and Vandemark Township was still struggling up toward birth. "The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts": but after all they are only the stirrings of the event in the womb of life. I would not have married Virginia on the day after the party at Governor Wade's if she had in some way conveyed to me that she wanted me. I should not have dared; for I was a child. I suppose that Magnus would have taken Rowena Fewkes in a minute, for he was older; but I don't know. It takes a Norwegian or a Swede a long time to get ripe. The destinies of the county and state were in the hands of youth, dreaming of the future: and when the untamed prairie turned and bit us, as it did in frosts and blizzards and floods and locusts and tornadoes, we said to each other, like the boy in the story when the dog bit his father, "Grin and bear it, Dad! It'll be the makin' o' the pup!" Even the older men like Judge Stone and Governor Wade and Elder Thorndyke and heads of families like the Bemisdarfers, were dreamers: and as for such ne'er-do-weels as the Fewkeses, they, with Celebrate's schemes for making money, and Surrager's inventions, and their plans for palaces and estates, were only a little more absurd in their visions than the rest of us. The actual life of to-day is to the dreams of that day as the wheat plant to the lily. It starts to be a lily, but the finger and thumb of destiny--mainly in the form of heredity--turn it into the wheat, and then into the prosaic flour and bran in the bins. As I came driving into Monterey County, every day had its event, different from that of the day before; but now comes a period when I must count by years, not days, and a lot of time passes without much to record. As for the awful to-do about the county's lost money, I heard nothing of it, except when, once in a while, somebody, nosing into the matter for one reason or another, would come prying around to ask me about it. I began by telling them the whole story whenever they asked, and Henderson L. Burns once took down what I said and made me swear to it. Whenever I came to the jingle of the money in the bag as we put it in the carriage on starting for the Wades', they cross-examined me till I said I sort of seemed to kind of remember that it jingled, and anyhow I recollected that Judge Stone had said "Hear it jingle, Jake!" This proved either that the money was there and jingled, or that it wasn't there and that the judge was, as N.V. said, "As guilty as hell." Dick McGill didn't know which way the cat would jump, and kept pretty still about it in his paper; but he printed a story on me that made everybody laugh. "There was once a Swede," said the paper, "that was running away from the minions of the law, and took refuge in a cabin where they covered him with a gunny sack. When the Hawkshaws came they asked for the Swede. No information forthcoming. 'What's in that bag?' asked the minions. 'Sleighbells,' replied the accomplices. The minion kicked the bag, and there came forth from under it the cry, 'Yingle! Yingle!' We know a Dutchman who is addicted to the same sort of ventriloquism." (Monterey _Journal_, September 3, 1857.) In 1856 we cut our grain with cradles. In 1857 Magnus and I bought a Seymour & Morgan hand-rake reaper. I drove two yoke of cows to this machine, and Magnus raked off. I don't think we gained much over cradling, except that we could work nights with the cows, and bind day-times, or the other way around when the straw in the gavels got dry and harsh so that heads would pull off as we cinched up the sheaves. At that very moment, the Marsh brothers back in De Kalb County, Illinois, were working on the greatest invention ever given to agriculture since the making of the first steel plow, the Marsh Harvester. Every year we broke some prairie, and our cultivated land increased. By the fall of 1857, my little cottonwood trees showed up in a pretty grove of green for a distance of two or three miles, and were ten to fifteen feet high: so I could lie in the shade of the trees I had planted. But if the trees flourished, the community did not. The panic of 1857 came on in the summer and fall; but we knew nothing, out in our little cabins, of the excitement in the cities, the throngs on Wall Street and in Philadelphia, the closing banks, the almost universal bankruptcy of the country. It all came from land speculation. According to what they said, there was more land then laid out in town-sites in Kansas than in all the cities and towns of the settled parts of the country. In Iowa there were town-sites along all the streams and scattered all over the prairies. Everybody was in debt, in the business world, and when land stopped growing in value, sales stopped, and then the day of reckoning came. All financial panics come from land speculation. Show me a way to keep land from advancing in value, and I will tell you how to prevent financial panics[14]. [14] The author, when his attention is called to the Mississippi Bubble, insists that it was nothing more nor less than betting on the land development of a great new region. As to the "Tulipomania" which once created a small panic in Holland, he insists that such a fool notion can not often occur, and never can have wide-spread results like a genuine financial panic. In which the editor is inclined to believe the best economists will agree with him.--G.v.d.M. But, though we knew nothing about this general wreck and ruin back east, we knew that we were miserably poor. In the winter of 1857-8 Magnus and I were beggarly ragged and so short of fuel and bedding that he came over and stayed with me, so that we could get along with one bed and one fire. My buffalo robes were the things that kept us warm, those howling nights, or when it was so still that we could hear the ice crack in the creek eighty rods off. My wife has always said that Magnus and I holed up in our den like wild animals, and sometimes like a certain domestic one. But what with Magnus and the fiddle and his stories of Norway and mine of the canal we amused ourselves pretty well and got along without baths. My cows, and the chickens, and our vegetables and potatoes, and our white and buckwheat flour and the corn-meal mush and johnny-cake kept us fat, and I entirely outgrew my best suit, so that I put it on for every day, and burst it at most of the seams in a week. 2 I was sorry for the people in the towns, and sold most of my eggs, fowls, butter, cream and milk on credit: and though Virginia and I were not on good terms and I never went to see her any more; and though Grandma Thorndyke was, I felt sure, trying to get Virginia's mind fixed on a better match, like Bob Wade or Paul Holbrook, I used to take eggs, butter, milk or flour to the elder's family almost every time I went to town: and when the weather was warm enough so that they would not freeze, I took potatoes, turnips, and sometimes some cabbage for a boiled dinner, with a piece of pork to go with it. When the elder found out who was sending it he tried to thank me, but I made him promise not to tell his family where these things came from, on pain of not getting any more. I said I had as good right to contribute to the church as any one, and just because I had no money it was tough to have the little I could give made public. By this time I had worked up quite a case, and was looking like a man injured in his finest feelings and twitted of his poverty. The elder looked bewildered, and promised that he wouldn't tell. "But I'm sure, Jake, that the Lord won't let your goodness go unrewarded, in the next world, anyhow, and I don't think in this." I don't think he actually told, but I have reason to believe he hinted. In fact, Kittie Fleming told me when I went down to their place after some seed oats, that Grandma Thorndyke had said at the Flemings' dinner table that I was an exemplary boy, in my way, and when I grew up I would make some girl a husband who would be kind and a good provider. "I was awful interested," she said. "Why?" I asked; for I couldn't see for the life of me how it interested her. "I'm a girl," said she, "and I feel interested in--in--in such things--husbands, and good providers." Here I grew hot all over, and twisted around like a worm on a hot griddle. "I didn't think, when you were playing the needle's eye with me, that you acted as if you would be a very good husband!" I peeked up at her through my eyebrows, and saw she was grinning at me, and sort of blushing, herself. But I had only one word for her. "Why?" "You didn't seem to--to--kiss back very much," she giggled; and as I was struggling to think of something to say (for it seemed a dreadful indictment as I looked at her, so winning to a boy who hadn't seen a girl for weeks) she ran off; and it was not till I was sitting by the stove at home after washing up the dishes that evening that I thought what a fine retort it would have been if I had offered to pay back then, with interest, all I owed her in the way of response. I spent much of the evening making up nice little speeches which I wished I had had the sprawl to get off on the spur of the moment. I grew fiery hot at the thought of how badly I had come off in this little exchange of compliments with Kittie. Poor Kittie! She supped sorrow with a big spoon before many years; and then had a long and happy life. I forgave her, even at the time, for making fun of the Hell Slew Dutch boy. All the girls made fun of me but Virginia, and she did sometimes--Virginia and Rowena Fewkes. Thinking of Rowena reminded me of the fact that I had not seen any of the Fewkeses for nearly two years. This brought up the thought of Buck Gowdy, who had carried them off to his great farmstead which he called Blue-grass Manor. Whenever I was in conversation with him I was under a kind of strain, for all the fact that he was as friendly with me as he was with any one else. I remembered how I had smuggled Virginia away from him; and wondered whether or not he had got intimate enough by this time at Elder Thorndyke's so that she had given him any inkling as to my share in that matter. This brought me back to Virginia--and then the whole series of Virginia dreams recurred. She sat in the chair which I had bought for her, in the warm corner next the window. She was sewing. She was reading to me. She was coming over to my chair to sit in my lap while we talked over our adventures. She looked at my chapped and cracked hands and told me I must wear my mittens every minute. She--but every boy can go on with the series: every boy who has been in the hopeless but blissful state in which I then was: a state which out of hopelessness generates hope as a dynamo generates current. This was followed by days of dark despondency. Magnus Thorkelson and I were working together plowing for oats, for we did not work our oats on the corn ground of last year then as we do now, and he tried to cheer me up. I had been wishing that I had never left the canal; for there I always had good clothes and money in my pocket. We couldn't stay in this country, I said. Nobody had any money except a few money sharks, and they robbed every one that borrowed of them with their two per cent. a month. I was getting raggeder and raggeder every day. I wished I had not bought this other eighty. I wished I had done anything rather than what I had done. I wished I knew where I could get work at fair wages, and I would let the farm go--I would that! I would be gosh-blasted if I wouldn't, by Golding's bow-key[15]! [15] "By Golding's bow-key" was a very solemn objurgation. It could be used by professors of religion, but under great provocation only. It harks back to the time when every man who had oxen named them Buck and Golding, and the bow-key held the yoke on. Ah, those far-off, Arcadian days, and the blessing of blowing those who lived in them!--G.v.d.M. "Oh!" exclaimed Magnus, "you shouldn't talk so! Ve got plenty to eat. Dere bane lots people in Norvay would yump at de shance to yange places wit' us. What nice land here in Iovay! Some day you bane rich man. All dis slew bane some day dry for plow. I see it in Norvay and Sveden. And now dat ve got ralroad, dere bane t'ousan's an' t'ousan's people in Norvay, and Denmark, and Sveden and Yermany come here to Iovay, an' you an' your vife an' shildern bane big bugs. Yust vait, Yake. Maybe you see your sons in county offices an' your girls married vit bankers, an' your vife vare new calico dress every day. Yust vait, Yake. And to-night I pop some corn if you furnish butter, hey?" To hear the pop-corn going off in the skillet, like the volleys of musketry we were so soon to hear at Shiloh; to see Magnus with his coat off, stirring it round and round in the sizzling butter until one or two big white kernels popped out as a warning that the whole regiment was about to fire; to see him, with his red hair all over his freckled face, lift the hissing skillet and shake it until the volleys died down to sharpshooting across the lines; and then to hear him laugh when he turned the vegetable snowdrift out into the wooden butter-bowl a little too soon, and a last shot or two blew the fluffy kernels all over the room--all this was the very acme of success in making a pleasant evening. All the time I was thinking of Magnus's prediction. "County officer!" I snorted. "Banker! Me!" "Ay dank so," said Magnus. "Or maybe lawyers and yudges." "Any girl I would have," I said, "wouldn't have me; and any girl that would have me, the devil wouldn't have!" "Anybody else say dat to me, I lick him," he stated. "There ain't any farm girls out in this prairie," I said; "and no town girl would come in here," and I spread my hands out to show that I thought my house the worst place in the world, though I was really a little proud of it--for wasn't it mine? made with my own hands, mainly? "Girls come where dey want to come," said he, "in spite of--" "Of hell and high water," I supplied, as he hesitated. "So!" he answered, adopting my words, and afterward using them at a church social with some effect. "In spite of Hell Slew and high water. An' if dey bane too soft in de hand to come, I bring you out a fine farm girl from Norvay." 3 This idea furnished us meat for much joking, and then it grew almost earnest, as jokes will. We finally settled down to a cousin of his, Christina Quale. And whenever I bought anything for the house, which I did from time to time as I got money, we discussed the matter as to whether or not Christina would like it. The first thing I bought was a fine silver-plated castor, with six bottles in it, to put in the middle of the table so that it could be turned around as the company helped themselves to salt, mustard, vinegar, red or black pepper; and the sixth thing I never could figure out until Grandma Thorndyke told me it was oil. A castor was a sort of title of nobility, and this one always lifted me in the opinions of every one that sat down at my table. Magnus said he was sure Christina would be tickled yust plumb to death with it. Ah! Christina was a wonderful legal fiction, as N.V. calls it. How many times Virginia's ears must have burned as we tenderly discussed the poor yellow-haired peasant girl far off there by the foaming fjords. One trouble with all of us Vandemark Township settlers was that we had no money. I had long since stopped going to church or to see anybody, because I was so beggarly-looking. Going away from our farms to earn wages put back the development of the farms, and made the job of getting started so much slower. It is so to-day in the new parts of the country, and something ought to be done about it. With us it was hard to get work, even when we were forced to look for it. I hated to work for Buck Gowdy, because there was that thing between us, whether he knew it or not; but when Magnus came to me one day after we had got our oats sowed, and said that Mr. Gowdy wanted hands, I decided that I would go over with Magnus and work out a while. 4 I was astonished, after we had walked the nine miles between the edge of the Gowdy tract and the headquarters, to see how much he had done. There were square miles of land under plow, and the yards, barns, granaries and houses looked almost as much like a town as Monterey Centre. We went straight to Gowdy's office. His overseer was talking with us, when Gowdy came in. "Hello, Thorkelson," said he; "you're quite a stranger. Haven't seen you for a week." Magnus stole a look at me and blushed so that his face was as red as his hair. I was taken aback by this for he had never said a word to me about the frequent visits to the Gowdy ranch which Buck's talk seemed to show had taken place. What had he been coming over for? I wondered, as I heard Gowdy greeting me. "Glad to see you, Mr. Vandemark," said he. "What can I do for you-all?" "We heard you wanted a couple of hands," said I, "and we thought--" "I need a couple of hundred," said he. "Put 'em to work, Mobley," turning to the overseer; and then he went off into a lot of questions and orders about the work, after which he jumped into the buckboard buggy, in which Pinck Johnson sat with the whip in his hands, and they went off at a keen run, with Pinck urging the team to a faster pace, and Gowdy holding to the seat as they went careering along like the wind. We lived in a great barracks with his other men, and ate our meals in a long room like a company of soldiers. It was a most interesting business experiment which he was trying; and he was going behind every day. Where land is free nobody will work for any one else for less than he can make working for himself; and land was pretty nearly free in Monterey County then. All a man needed was a team, and he could get tools on credit; and I know plenty of cases of people breaking speculator's land and working it for years without paying rent or being molested. The rent wasn't worth quarreling about. But Gowdy couldn't get, on the average, as much out of his hired men in the way of work as they would do for themselves. Most of the aristocrats who came early to Iowa to build up estates, lost everything they had, and became poor; for they did not work with their own hands, and the work of others' hands was inefficient and cost, anyhow, as much as it produced or more. Gowdy would have gone broke long before the cheap land was gone, if it had not been for the money he got from Kentucky. The poor men like me, the peasants from Europe like Magnus--we were the ones who made good, while the gentility went bankrupt. After a few years the land began to take on what the economists call "unearned increment," or community value, and the Gowdy lands began the work which finally made him a millionaire; but it was not his work. It was mine, and Magnus Thorkelson's, and the work of the neighbors generally, on the farms and in the towns. It was the railroads and school and churches. He would have made property faster to let his land lie bare until in the 'seventies. I could see that his labor was bringing him a loss, every day's work of it; and at breakfast I was studying out ways to organize it better,--when a small hand pushed a cup of coffee past my cheek, and gave my nose a little pinch as it was drawn back. I looked up, and there was Rowena, waiting on our table! "Hello, Jake!" said she. "I heared you was dead." "Hello, Rowena," I answered. "I'm just breathin' my last!" All the hands began yelling at us. "No sparkin' here!" "None o' them love pinches, Rowena!" "I swan to man if that Dutchman ain't cuttin' us all out!" "Quit courtin' an' pass them molasses, sweetness!" "Mo' po'k an' less honey, thar!"--this from a Missourian. "Magnus, your pardner's cuttin' you out!" I do not need to say that all this hectoring from a lot of men who were most of them strangers, almost put me under the table; but Rowena, tossing her head, sent them back their change, with smiles for everybody. She was as pretty a twenty-year-old lass as you would see in a day's travel. No longer was she the ragged waif to whom I had given the dress pattern back toward Dubuque. She was rosy, she was plump, her new calico dress was as pretty as it could be, and her brown skin and browner hair made with her dark eyes a study in brown and pink, as the artists say. It was two or three days before I had a chance to talk with her. She had changed a good deal, I sensed, as she told me all about her folks. Old Man Fewkes was working in the vegetable garden. Celebrate was running a team. Surajah was working on the machinery. Ma Fewkes was keeping house for the family in a little cottage in the corner of the garden. I went over and had a talk with them. Ma Fewkes, with her shoulder-blades almost touching, assured me that they were in clover. "I feel sure," said she, "that Celebrate Fourth will soon git something better to do than make a hand in the field. He has idees of makin' all kinds of money, if he could git Mr. Gowdy to lis'en to him. But Surrager Dowler is right where he orto be. He has got a patent corn-planter all worked out, and I guess Mr. Gowdy'll help him make and sell it. Mr. Gowdy is awful good to us--ain't he, Rowena." Rowena busied herself with her work; and when Mrs. Fewkes repeated her appeal, the girl looked out of the window and paused a long time before she answered. "Good enough," she finally said. "But I guess he ain't strainin' himself any to make something of us." There was something strange and covered up in what she said, and in the way she said it. She shot a quick glance at me, and then looked down at her work again. "Well, Rowena Fewkes!" exclaimed her mother, with her hands thrown up as if in astonishment or protest. "In all my born days, I never expected to hear a child of mine--" Old Man Fewkes came in just then, and cut into the talk by his surprised exclamation at seeing me there. He had supposed that I had gone out of his ken forever. He had thought that one winter in this climate would be all that a young man like me, free as I was to go and come as I pleased, would stand. As he spoke about my being free, he looked at his wife and sighed, combing his whiskers with his skinny bird's claws, and showing the biggest freckles on the backs of his hands that I think I ever saw. He was still more stooped and frail-looking than when I saw him last; and when I told him I had settled down for life on my farm, I could see that I had lost caste with him. He was pining for the open road. "Negosha," he said, "is the place for a young man. You can be a baron out there with ten thousan' head of rattle. But the place for me is Texas. Trees is in constant varder!" "But," said Ma Fewkes, repeating her speech of three years ago, "it's so fur, Fewkes!" "Fur!" he scornfully shouted, just as he had before. "Fur!" this time letting his voice fall in contempt for the distance, for any one that spoke of the distance, and for things in general in Iowa. "Why, Lord-heavens, womern, it hain't more'n fifteen hundred mile!" "Fewkes," she retorted, drawing her shoulders back almost as far as she had had them forward a moment before, "I've been drailed around the country, fifteen hundred miles here, and fifteen hundred miles there, with old Tom takin' mad fits every little whip-stitch, about as much as I'm a-going to!" "I don't," said Rowena, "see why you've got so sot on goin' into your hole here, an' pullin' the hole in after you. You hook up ol' Tom, pa, an' me an' you'll go to Texas. I'll start to-morrow morning, pa!" "I never seen sich a girl," said her mother; "to talk of movin' when prospects is as good f'r you as they be now!" "Wal, le's stop jourin' at each other," said Rowena, hastily, as if to change the subject. "It ain't the way to treat company." I discovered that Rowena was about to change her situation in the Blue-grass Manor establishment. She was going into "the Big House" to work under Mrs. Mobley, the wife of the superintendent, or as we called him, the overseer. "Well, that'll be nice," said I. "I don't want to," she said. "I like to wait on table better." "Then why do you change?" said I. "Mr. Gowdy--," began Ma Fewkes, but was interrupted by her daughter, who talked on until her mother was switched off from her explanation. "I wun't work with niggers!" said Rowena. "That Pinck has brought a yellow girl here from Dubuque, and she's goin' to wait on the table as she did in Dubuque. They claim they was married the last time he was back there, an' he brought her here. I wun't work with her. I wun't demean myself into a black slave--. But tell me, Jake," coming over and sitting by me, "how you're gittin' along. Off here we don't hear no news from folks over to the Centre at all. We go to the new railroad, an' never see any one from over there--." "Exceptin' Magnus," said Ma Fewkes. "You ain't married, yet, be you?" Rowena asked. "I should say not! Me married!" We sat then for quite a while without saying anything. Rowena sat smoothing out a calico apron she had on. Finally she said: "Am I wearin' anything you ever seen before, Jake?" Looking her over carefully I saw nothing I could remember. I told her so at last, and said she was dressed awful nice now and looked lots better than I had ever seen her looking. My own rags were sorely on my mind just then. "This apern," said she, spreading it out for me to see, "is the back breadth of that dress you give me back along the road. I'm goin' to keep it always. I hain't goin' to wear it ever only when you come to see me!" This was getting embarrassing; but her next remarks made it even more so. "How old be you, Jake?" she asked. "I'll be twenty," said I, "the twenty-seventh day of next July." "We're jest of an age," she ventured--and after a long pause, "I should think it would be awful hard work to keep the house and do your work ou'-doors." I told her that it was, and spread the grief on very thick, thinking all the time of the very precious way in which I hoped sometime to end my loneliness, and give myself a house companion: in the very back of my head even going over the plans I had made for an "upright" to the house, with a bedroom, a spare room, a dining-room and a sitting-room in it. "Well," said she, "for a smart, nice-lookin' young man, like you, it's your own fault--" 5 And then there was a tap on the door. Rowena started, turned toward the door, made as if to get up to open it, and then sat down again, her face first flushed and then pale. Her mother opened the door, and there stood Buckner Gowdy. He came in, with his easy politeness and sat down among us like an old friend. "I didn't know you had company," said he; "but I now remember that Mr. Vandemark is an old friend." He always called me Mr. Vandemark, because, I guess, I owned seven hundred and twenty acres of land, and was not all mortgaged up. Virginia told me afterward, that where they came from people who owned so much land were the quality, and were treated more respectfully than the poor whites. "Yes, sir," said Old Man Fewkes, "Jake is the onliest real old friend we got hereabouts." Gowdy took me into the conversation, but he sat where he could look at Rowena. He seemed to be carrying on a silent conversation with her with his eyes, while he talked to me, looking into my eyes a good deal too, and stooping toward me in that intimate, confidential way of his. When I told him that I thought he was not getting as much done as he ought to with all the hands he had, he said nobody knew it better than he; but could I suggest any remedy? Now on the canal, we had to organize our work, and I had seen a lot of public labor done between Albany and Buffalo; so I had my ideas as to people's getting in one another's way. I told him that his men were working in too large gangs, as I looked at it. Where he had twenty breaking-teams following one another, if one broke his plow, or ran on a boulder and had to file it, the whole gang had to stop for him, or run around him and make a balk in the work. I thought it would be better to have not more than two or three breaking on the same "land," and then they would not be so much in one another's way, and wouldn't have so good an excuse for stopping and having jumping matches and boxing bouts and story-tellings. Then their work could be compared, they could be made to work against one another in a kind of competition, and the bad ones could be weeded out. It would be the same with corn-plowing, and some other work. "There's sense in that, sir," he said, after thinking it over. "You see, Mr. Vandemark, my days of honest industry are of very recent date. Thank you for the suggestion, sir." I got up to leave. Rowena's father was pulling off his boots, which with us then, was the signal that he was going to bed. If I stayed after that alone with Rowena, it was a sign that we were to "sit up"--and that was courtship. I was slowly getting it through my wool that it looked as if Buckner Gowdy and Rowena were going to sit up, when I heard her giving me back my good evening, and at the same time, behind his back, motioning me to my chair, and shaking her head. And while I was backing and filling, the door' opened and a woman appeared on the step. "Ah, Mrs. Mobley," said Buck, "anything for me?" She was very nicely dressed for a woman busy about her own home, but the thing that I remembered was her pallor. Her hair was light brown and curled about her forehead, and her eyes were very blue, like china. And there was a quiver in her like that which you see in the little quaking-asps in the slews--something pitiful, and sort of forsaken. Her face was not so fresh as it had been a few years before, and on her cheeks were little red spots, like those you see in the cheeks of people with consumption--or a pot of face-paint. She was tall and strong-looking, and somewhat portly, and quite masterful in her ways as a general rule; but that night she seemed to be in a sort of pleading mood, not a bit like herself when dealing with ordinary people. She was not ordinary, as could be sensed by even an ignorant bumpkin like me. She had more education than most, and had been taught better manners and brought up with more style. "Mr. Mobley requested me to say," she said, her voice low and quivery, bowing to all of us in a very polite and elegant way, "that he has something of importance to say to you, Mr. Buckner." "I'm greatly obliged to you, Miss Flora," said he. "Let me go to him with you. Good evening, Rowena. Good evening, Mr. Vandemark. I shall certainly think over what you have been so kind as to suggest." He bowed to Rowena, nodded to me, and we all three left together. As we separated I heard him talking to her in what in any other man I should have called a loving tone; but there was a sort of warm note in the way he spoke to me, too; and still more of that vital vibration I have mentioned before, when he spoke to Rowena. But he did not take my arm, as he did that of the imposing "Miss Flora" as he called Mrs. Mobley, to whom he was "Mr. Buckner." I could see them walking very, very close together, even in the darkness. 6 When I found that Mr. Mobley was over at the barracks, and had been there playing euchre with the boys since supper, I wondered. I wondered why Mrs. Mobley had come with an excuse to get Mr. Gowdy away from me--or after a couple of weeks' thinking, was it from Rowena? Yet Mr. Gowdy did see Mr. Mobley that evening; for the next morning Mobley put me over a gang of eight breaking-teams, "To handle the way you told Mr. Gowdy last night," he said. He was a tall, limber-jointed, whipped-looking man with a red nose and a long stringy mustache, and always wore his vest open clear down to the lower button which was fastened, and thus his whole waistcoat was thrown open so as to show a tobacco-stained shirt bosom. The Missourian whom I had noticed at table said that this was done so that the wearer of the vest could reach his dirk handily. But Mobley was the last man I should have suspected of carrying a dirk, or if he did packing the gumption to use it. I made good with my gang, and did a third more than any other eight teams on the place. Before I went away, Gowdy talked around as if he wanted me for overseer; but I couldn't decide without studying a long time, to take a step so far from what I had been thinking of, and he dropped the subject. I did not like the way things were going there. The men were out of control. They despised Mobley, and said sly things about his using his wife to keep him in a job. One day I told Magnus Thorkelson about Mrs. Mobley's coming and taking Gowdy away from the little cabin of the Fewkes family. "She do dat," said he, "a dozen times ven Ay bane dar. She alvays bane chasing Buck Gowdy." "Well," I said, "who be you chasing, coming over here a dozen times when I didn't know it? That's why you bought that mustang pony, eh?" "I yust go over," said he, squirming, "to help Surajah fix up his machines--his inwentions. Sometimes I take over de wyolin to play for Rowena. Dat bane all, Yake." When we went home, I with money enough for some new clothes, with what I had by me, we caught a ride with one of Judge Stone's teams to a point two-thirds of the way to Monterey Centre, and came into our own places from the south. We were both glad to see long black streaks of new breaking in the section of which my eighty was a part, and two new shanties belonging to new neighbors. This would bring cultivated land up to my south line, and I afterward found out, take the whole half of the section into the new farms. The Zenas Smith family had moved on to the southwest quarter, and the J.P. Roebuck family on the southeast. The Smiths and Roebucks still live in the township--as good neighbors as a man need ask for; except that I never could agree with Zenas Smith about line fences, when the time came for them. Once we almost came to the spite-fence stage; but our children were such friends that they kept us from that disgrace. But Mrs. Smith was as good a woman in sickness as I ever saw. George Story was working for the Smiths, and was almost one of the family. He finally took the northeast quarter of the section, and lives there yet. David Roebuck, J.P.'s son, when he came of age acquired the eighty next to me, and thus completed the settlement of the section. Most of the Roebuck girls and boys became school-teachers, and they had the biggest mail of anybody in the neighborhood. I never saw Dave Roebuck spelled down but once, and that was by his sister Theodosia, called "Dose" for short. We went to both houses and called as we went home so as to begin neighboring with them. Magnus stopped at his own place, and I went on, wondering if the Frost boy I had engaged to look out for my stock while I was gone had been true to his trust. I saw that there had been a lot of redding up done; and as I came around the corner of the house I heard sounds within as of some one at the housework. The door was open, and as I peeped in, there, of all people, was Grandma Thorndyke, putting the last touches to a general house-cleaning. The floor was newly scrubbed, the dishes set away in order, and all clean. The churn was always clean inwardly, but she had scoured it on the outside. There was a geranium in bloom in the window, which was as clear as glass could be made. The bed was made up on a different plan from mine, and the place where I hung my clothes had a flowered cotton curtain in front of it, run on cords. It looked very beautiful to me; and my pride in it rose as I gazed upon it. Grandma Thorndyke had not heard me coming, and gave way to her feelings as she looked at her handiwork in her manner of talking to herself. "That's more like a human habitation!" she ejaculated, standing with her hands on her hips. "I snum! It looked like a hooraw's nest!" "It looks a lot better," I agreed. She was startled at seeing me, for she expected to get away, with Henderson L. Burns as he came back from his shooting of golden plover, all unknown to me. But we had quite a visit all by ourselves. She said quite pointedly, that somebody had been keeping her family in milk and butter and vegetables and chickens and eggs all winter, and she was doing a mighty little in repayment. Her eyes were full of tears as she said this. "He who gives to the poor," said she, "lends to the Lord; and I don't know any place where the Lord's credit has been lower than in Monterey Centre for the past winter. Now le'me show you where things are, Jacob." I got all the news of the town from her. Several people had moved in; but others had gone back east to live with their own or their wives' folks. Elder Thorndyke, encouraged by the favor of "their two rich men," had laid plans for building a church, and she believed their fellowship would be blessed with greater growth if they had a consecrated building instead of the hall where the secret societies met. On asking who their two richest men were she mentioned Governor Wade, of course, and Mr. Gowdy. "Mr. Gowdy," she ventured, "is in a very hopeful frame of mind. He is, I fervently hope and believe, under conviction of sin. We pray for him without ceasing. He would be a tower of strength, with his ability and his wealth, if he should, under God, turn to the right and seek salvation. If you and he could both come into the fold, Jacob, it would be a wonderful thing for the elder and me." "I guess I'd ruther come in alone!" I said. "You mustn't be uncharitable," said she. "Mr. Gowdy is still hopeful of getting that property for Virginia Royall. He is working on that all the time. He came to get her signature to a paper this week. He is a changed man, Jacob--a changed man." I can't tell how thunderstruck I was by this bit of news. Somehow, I could not see Buck Gowdy as a member of the congregation of the saints--I had seen too much of him lately: and yet, I could not now remember any of the old hardness he had shown in every action back along the Ridge Road in 1855. But Virginia must have changed toward him, or she would not have allowed him to approach her with any kind of paper, not even a patent of nobility. But I rallied from my daze and took Grandma Thorndyke to see my live stock--birds and beasts. I discovered that she had been a farmer's daughter in New England, and I began to suspect that it relieved her to drop into New England farm talk, like "I snum!" and "Hooraw's nest." I never saw a hooraw's nest, but she seemed to think it a very disorderly place. "This ain't the last time, Jacob," said she, as she climbed into Jim Boyd's buggy that Henderson L. had borrowed. "You may expect to find your house red up any time when I can get a ride out." I was in a daze for some time trying to study out developments. Buck Gowdy and Mrs. Mobley; Rowena and Magnus Thorkelson; Gowdy's calls on Rowena, or at least at her home; Rowena's going to live in his house as a hired girl; her warmth to me; her nervousness, or fright, at Gowdy; Gowdy's religious tendency in the midst of his entanglements with the fair sex; his seeming reconciliation with Virginia; his pulling of the wool over the eyes of Mrs. Thorndyke, and probably the elder's--. Out of this maze I came to a sudden resolution. I would go to Waterloo and get me a new outfit of clothes, even to gloves and a pair of "fine boots." CHAPTER XVII I RECEIVE A PROPOSAL--AND ACCEPT Dogs and cats get more credit, I feel sure, for being animals of fine feeling and intelligence, than in justice they are entitled to; because they have so many ways of showing forth what they feel. A dog can growl or bark in several ways, and show his teeth in at least two, to tell how he feels. He can wag his tail, or let it droop, or curl it over his back, or stick it straight out like a flag, or hold it in a bowed shape with the curve upward, and frisk about, and run in circles, or sit up silently or with howls; or stand with one foot lifted; or cock his head on one side: and as for his eyes and his ears, he can almost talk with them. As for a cat, she has no such rich language as a dog; but see what she can do: purring, rubbing against things, arching her back, glaring out of her eyes, setting her hair on end, swelling out her tail, sticking out her claws and scratching at posts, sneaking along as if ready to pounce, pouncing either in earnest or in fun, mewing in many voices, catching at things with nails drawn back or just a little protruded, or drawing the blood with them, laying back her ears, looking up pleadingly and asking for milk--why a cat can say almost anything she wants to say. Now contrast these domestic animals with a much more necessary and useful one, the cow. Any stockman knows that a cow is a beast of very high nervous organization, but she has no very large number of ways of telling us how she feels: just a few tones to her lowing, a few changes of expression to her eye, a small number of shades of uneasiness, a little manner with her eyes, showing the whites when troubled or letting the lids droop in satisfaction--these things exhausted, and poor bossy's tale is told. You can get nothing more out of her, except in some spasm of madness. She is driven to extremes by her dumbness. I am brought to this sermon by two things: what happened to me when Rowena Fewkes came over to see me in the early summer of 1859, a year almost to a day from the time when Magnus and I left Blue-grass Manor after our spell of work there: and what our best cow, Spot, did yesterday. We were trying to lead Spot behind a wagon, and she did not like it. She had no way of telling us how much she hated it, and how panicky she was, as a dog or a cat could have done; and so she just hung back and acted dumb and stubborn for a minute or two, and then she gave an awful bellow, ran against the wagon as if she wanted to upset it, and when she found she could not affect it, in as pathetic a despair and mental agony as any man ever felt who has killed himself, she thrust one horn into the ground, broke it off flush with her head, and threw herself down with her neck doubled under her shoulder, as if trying to commit suicide, as I verily believe she was. And yet dogs and cats get credit for being creatures of finer feelings than cows, merely because cows have no tricks of barking, purring, and the like. It is the same as between other people and a Dutchman. He has the same poverty of expression that cows are cursed with. To wear his feelings like an overcoat where everybody can see them is for him impossible. He is the bovine of the human species. This is the reason why I used to have such fearful crises once in a while in my dumb life, as when I was treated so kindly by Captain Sproule just after my stepfather whipped me; or when I nearly killed Ace, my fellow-driver, on the canal in my first and successful rebellion; or when I used to grow white, and cry like a baby in my fights with rival drivers. I am thought by my children, I guess, an unfeeling person, because the surface of my nature is ice, and does not ripple in every breeze; but when ice breaks up, it rips and tears--and the thicker the ice, the worse the ravage. The only reason for saying anything about this is that I am an old man, and I have always wanted to say it: and there are some things I have said, and some I shall now have to say, that will seem inconsistent unless the truths just stated are taken into account. But there are some things to be told about before this crisis can be understood. Life dragged along for all of us from one year to another in the slow movement of a new country in hard times: only I was at bottom better off than most of my neighbors because I had cattle, though I could not see how they then did me much good. They grew in numbers, and keeping them was just a matter of labor. My stock was the only thing I had except land which was almost worthless; for I could use the land of others for pasture and hay without paying rent. Town life went backward in most ways. My interest in it centered in Virginia and through her in Elder Thorndyke's family; but of this family I saw little except for my visits from Grandma Thorndyke. She came out and red up the house as often as she could catch a ride, and I kept up my now well-known secret policy of supplying the Thorndyke family with my farm, dairy and poultry surplus. Why not? I lay in bed of nights thinking that Virginia had been that day fed on what I grew, and in the morning would eat buckwheat cakes from grain that I worked to grow, flour from my wheat that I had taken to mill, spread with butter which I had made with my own hands, from the cows she used to pet and that had hauled her in my wagon back along the Ridge Road, and with nice sorghum molasses from cane that I had grown and hauled to the sorghum mill. That she would have meat that I had prepared for her, with eggs from the descendants of the very hens to which she had fed our table scraps when we were together. That maybe she would think of me when she made bread for Grandma Thorndyke from my flour. It was sometimes almost like being married to Virginia, this feeling of standing between her and hunger. The very roses in her cheeks, and the curves in her developing form, seemed of my making. But she never came with grandma to help red up. 2 Grandma often told me that now I was getting pretty nearly old enough to be married, or would be when I was twenty-one, which would be in July--"Though," she always said, "I don't believe in folks's being married under the spell of puppy love. Thirty is soon enough; but yet, you might do well to marry when you are a little younger, because you need a wife to keep you clean and tidy, and you can support a wife." She began bringing girls with her to help fix my house up; and she would always show them the castor and my other things. "Dat bane for Christina," said Magnus one time, when she was showing my castor and a nice white china dinner set, to Kittie Fleming or Dose Roebuck, both of whom were among her samples of girls shown me. "An' dat patent churn--dat bane for Christina, too, eh, Yake?" "Christina who?" asked Grandma Thorndyke sharply. "Christina Quale," said Magnus, "my cousin in Norvay." This was nuts and apples for Grandma Thorndyke and the girls who came. Magnus showed them Christina's picture, and told them that I had a copy of it, and all about what a nice girl Christina was. Now grandma made a serious thing of this and soon I had the reputation of being engaged to Magnus's cousin, who was the daughter of a rich farmer, and could write English; and even that I had received a letter from her. This seemed unjust to me, though I was a little mite proud of it; for the letter was only one page written in English in one of Magnus's. All the time grandma was bringing girls with her to help, and making me work with them when I helped. They were nice girls, too--Kittie, and Dose, Lizzie Finster, and Zeruiah Strickler, and Amy Smith--all farmer girls. Grandma was always talking about the wisdom of my marrying a farmer girl. "The best thing about Christina," said she, "is that she is the daughter of a farmer." I struggled with this Christina idea, and tried to make it clear that she was nothing to me, that it was just a joke. Grandma Thorndyke smiled. "Of course you'd say that," said she. But the Christina myth grew wonderfully, and it made me more interesting to the other girls. "You look too high For things close by, And slight the things around you!" So sang Zeruiah Strickler as she scrubbed my kitchen, and in pauses of her cheerful and encouraging song told of the helplessness of men without their women. I really believed her, in spite of my success in getting along by myself. "Why don't you bring Virginia out some day?" I asked on one of these occasions, when it seemed to me that Grandma Thorndyke was making herself just a little too frequent a visitor at my place. "Miss Royall," said she, as if she had been speaking of the Queen of Sheba, "is busy with her own circle of friends. She is now visiting at Governor Wade's. She is almost a member of the family there. And her law matters take up a good deal of her time, too. Mr. Gowdy says he thinks he may be able to get her property for her soon. She can hardly be expected to come out for this." And grandma swept her hands about to cast down into nothingness my house, my affairs, and me. This plunged me into the depths of misery. So, when I furnished the cream for the donation picnic at Crabapple Grove in strawberry time, I went prepared to see myself discarded by my love. She was there, and I had not overestimated her coldness toward me. Buck Gowdy came for only a few minutes, and these he spent eating ice-cream with Elder Thorndyke, with Virginia across the table from him, looking at her in that old way of his. Before he left, she went over and sat with Bob Wade and Kittie Fleming; but he joined them pretty soon, and I saw him bending down in that intimate way of his, first speaking to Kittie, and then for a longer time, to Virginia--and I thought of the time when she would not even speak his name! Once she walked off by herself in the trees, and looked back at me as she went; but I was done with her, I said to myself, and hung back. She soon returned to the company, and began flirting with Matthias Trickey, who was no older than I, and just as much of a country bumpkin. I found out afterward that right off after that, Matthias began going to see her, with his pockets full of candy with mottoes on it. I called this sparking, and the sun of my hopes set in a black bank of clouds. I do not remember that I was ever so unhappy, not even when John Rucker was in power over me and my mother, not even when I was seeking my mother up and down the canal and the Lakes, not even when I found that she had gone away on her last long journey that bleak winter day in Madison. I now devoted myself to the memory of my old dreams for my mother, and blamed myself for treason to her memory, getting out that old letter and the poor work-worn shoe, and weeping over them in my lonely nights in the cabin on the prairie. I can not now think of this without pity for myself; and though Grandma Thorndyke was one of the best women that ever lived on this footstool, and was much to me in my after life, I can not think of her happiness at my despair without blaming her memory a little. But she meant well. She had better plans, as she thought, for Virginia, than any which she thought I could have. 3 It was not more than a week after this donation picnic, when I came home for my nooning one day, and found a covered wagon in the yard, and two strange horses in the stable. When I went to the house, there were Old Man Fewkes and Mrs. Fewkes, and Surajah Dowlah and Celebrate Fourth. I welcomed them heartily. I was so lonesome that I would have welcomed a stray dog, and that is pretty nearly what I was doing. "I guess," ventured the old man, after we had finished our dinner, "that you are wondering where we're goin', Jake." "A long ways," I said, "by the looks of your rig." "You see us now," he went on, "takin' steps that I've wanted to take ever sen' I found out what a den of inikerty we throwed ourselves into when we went out yon'," pointing in the general direction of the Blue-grass Manor. "What steps are you takin'?" I asked. "We are makin'," said he, "our big move for riches. Gold! Gold! Jake, you must go with us! We are goin' out to the Speak." I had never heard of any place called the Speak, but I finally got it through my head that he meant Pike's Peak. We were in the midst of the Pike's Peak excitement for two or three years; and this was the earliest sign of it that I had seen, though I had heard Pike's Peak mentioned. "Jake," said Old Man Fewkes, "it's a richer spot than the Arabian Knights ever discovered. The streams are rollin' gold sand. Come along of us to the Speak, an' we'll make you rich. Eh, ma?" "I have been drailed around," said ma, as she saw me looking at her, "about as much as I expect to be; but this is like goin' home. It's the last move; and as pa has said ag'in an' ag'in, it ain't but six or eight hundred mile from Omaha, an' with the team an' wagin we've got, that's nothin' if we find the gold, an' I calculate there ain't no doubt of that. The Speak looks like the best place we ever started fur, and we all hope you'll leave this Land o' Desolation, an' come with us. We like you, an' we want you to be rich with us." "Where's Rowena?" I asked. Silence for quite a while. Then Ma Fewkes spoke. "Rowena," she said, her voice trembling, "Rowena ain't goin' with us." "Why," I said, "last summer, she seemed to want to start for Texas. She ain't goin' with you? I want to know!" "She ain't no longer," said Old Man Fewkes, "a member o' my family. I shall will my proputty away from her. I've made up my mind, Jake: an' now le's talk about the Speak. Our plans was never better laid. Celebrate, tell Jake how we make our money a-goin', and you, Surrager, denote to him your machine f'r gittin' out the gold." I was too absorbed in thinking about Rowena to take in what Surajah and Celebrate said. I have a dim recollection that Celebrate's plan for making money was to fill the wagon box with white beans which were scarce in Denver City, as we then called Denver, and could be sold for big money when they got there. I have no remembrance of Surajah Dowlah's plan for mining. I declined to go with them, and they went away toward Monterey Centre, saying that they would stay there a few days, "to kind of recuperate up," and they hoped I would join them. What about Rowena? They had been so mysterious about her, that I had a new subject of thought now, and, for I was very fond of the poor girl, of anxiety. Not that she would be the worse for losing her family. In fact, she would be the better for it, one might think. Her older brothers and sisters, I remembered, had been bound out back east, and this seemed to show a lack of family affection; but the tremor in Ma Fewkes's voice, and the agitation in which Old Man Fewkes had delivered what in books would be his parental curse, led me to think that they were in deep trouble on account of their breach with Rowena. Poor girl! After all, they were her parents and brothers, and as long as she was with them, she had not been quite alone in the world. My idea of what had taken place may be judged by the fact that when I next saw Magnus I asked him if he knew that Rowena and her people had had a fuss. I looked upon the case as that of a family fuss, and that only. Magnus looked very solemn, and said that he had seen none of the family since we had finished our work for Gowdy--a year ago. "What said the old man, Yake?" he asked anxiously. "He said he was going to will his property away from her!" I replied, laughing heartily at the idea: but Magnus did not laugh. "He said that she ain't no longer a member of his family, Magnus. Don't that beat you!" "Yes," said Magnus gravely, "dat beat me, Yake." He bowed his head in thought for a while, and then looked up. "Ay can't go to her, Yake. Ay can't go to her. But you go, Yake; you go. An' you tal her--dat Magnus Thorkelson--Norsky Thorkelson--bane ready to do what he can for her. All he can do. Tal her Magnus ready to live or die for her. You tal her dat, Yake!" I had to think over this a few days before I could begin to guess what it meant; and three days after, she came to see me. It was a Sunday right after harvest. I had put on my new clothes thinking to go to hear Elder Thorndyke preach, but when I thought that I had no longer any pleasure in the thought of Virginia, no chance ever to have her for my wife, no dreams of her for the future even, I sat in a sort of stupor until it was too late to go, and then I walked out to look at things. The upland phlox, we called them pinks, were gone; the roses had fallen and were represented by green haws, turning to red; the upland scarlet lilies were vanished; but the tall lilies of the moist places were flaming like yellow stars over the tall grass, each with its six dusty anthers whirling like little windmills about its red stigma; and beside these lilies, with their spotted petals turned back to their roots, stood the clumps of purple marsh phlox; while towering over them all were the tall rosin-weeds with their yellow blossoms like sunflowers, and the Indian medicine plant waving purple plumes. There was a sense of autumn in the air. Far off across the marsh I saw that the settlers had their wheat in symmetrical beehive-shaped stacks while mine stood in the shock, my sloping hillside slanting down to the marsh freckled with the shocks until it looked dark--the almost sure sign of a bountiful crop. And as I looked at this scene of plenty, I sickened at it. What use to me were wheat in the shock, hay in the stack, cattle on the prairie, corn already hiding the ground? Nothing! Less than nothing: for I had lost the thing for which I had worked--lost it before I had claimed it. I sat down and saw the opposite side of the marsh swim in my tears. 4 And then Rowena came into my view as she passed the house. I hastily dried my eyes, and went to meet her, astonished, for she was alone. She was riding one of Gowdy's horses, and had that badge of distinction in those days, a side-saddle and a riding habit. She looked very distinguished, as she rode slowly toward me, her long skirt hanging below her feet, one knee crooked about the saddle horn, the other in the stirrup. I had not seen a woman riding thus since the time I had watched them sweeping along in all their style in Albany or Buffalo. She came up to me and stopped, looking at me without a word. "Why of all things!" I said. "Rowena, is this you!" "What's left of me," said she. I stood looking at her for a minute, thinking of what her father and mother had said, and finally trying to figure out what seemed to be a great change in her. There was something new in her voice, and her manner of looking at me as she spoke; and something strange in the way she looked out of her eyes. Her face was a little paler than it used to be, as if she had been indoors more; but there was a pink flush in her cheeks that made her look prettier than I had ever seen her. Her eyes were bright as if with tears just trembling to fall, rather than with the old glint of defiance or high spirits; but she smiled and laughed more than ever I had seen her do. She acted as if she was in high spirits, as I have seen even very quiet girls in the height of the fun and frolic of a dance or sleigh-ride. When she was silent for a moment, though, her mouth drooped as if in some sort of misery; and it was not until our eyes met that the laughing expression came over her face, as if she was gay only when she knew she was watched. She seemed older--much older. Somehow, all at once there came into my mind the memory of the woman away back there in Buffalo, who had taken me, a sleepy, lonely, neglected little boy, to her room, put me to bed, and been driven from the fearful place in which she lived, because of it. I have finally thought of the word to describe what I felt in both these cases--desperation; desperation, and the feeling of pursuit and flight. I did not even feel all this as I stood looking at Rowena, sitting on her horse so prettily that summer day at my farm; I only felt puzzled and a little pitiful for her--all the more, I guess, because of her nice clothes and her side-saddle. "Well, Mr. Vandemark," said she, finally, "I don't hear the perprietor of the estate say anything about lighting and stayin' a while.' Help me down, Jake!" I swung her from the saddle and tied her horse. I stopped to put a halter on him, unsaddle him, and give him hay. I wanted time to think; but I do not remember that I had done much if any thinking when I got back to the house, and found that she had taken off her long skirt and was sitting on the little stoop in front of my door. She wore the old apron, and as I came up to her, she spread it out with her hands to call my attention to it. "You see, Jake, I've come to work. Show me the morning's dishes, an' I'll wash 'em. Or maybe you want bread baked? It wouldn't be breakin' the Sabbath to mix up a bakin' for a poor ol' bach like you, would it? I'm huntin' work. Show it to me." I showed her how clean everything was, taking pride in my housekeeping; and when she seemed not over-pleased with this, I had in all honesty to tell her how much I was indebted to Mrs. Thorndyke for it. "The preacher's wife?" she asked sharply. "An' that adopted daughter o' theirn, Buck Gowdy's sister-in-law, eh?" I wished I could have admitted this; but I had to explain that Virginia had not been there. For some reason she seemed in better spirits when she learned this. When it came time for dinner, which on Sunday was at one o'clock, she insisted on getting the meal; and seemed to be terribly anxious for fear everything might not be good. It was a delicious meal, and to see her preparing it, and then clearing up the table and washing the dishes gave me quite a thrill. It was so much like what I had seen in my visions--and so different. "Now," said she, coming and sitting down by me, and laying her hand on mine, "ain't this more like it? Don't that beat doing everything yourself? If you'd only try havin' me here a week, nobody could hire you to go back to bachin' it ag'in. Think how nice it would be jest to go out an' do your chores in the morning, an' when you come in with the milk, find a nice breakfast all ready to set down to. Wouldn't that be more like livin'?" "Yes," I said, "it--it would." "That come hard," said she, squeezing my hand, "like makin' a little boy own up he likes a girl. I guess I won't ask you the next thing." "What was the next thing, Rowena?" "W'y, if it wouldn't be kind o' nice to have some one around, even if she wa'n't very pretty, and was ignorant, if she was willin' to learn, an' would always be good to you, to have things kind o' cheerful at night--your supper ready; a light lit; dry boots warmed by the stove; your bed made up nice, and maybe warmed when it was cold: even if she happened to be wearin' an old apern like this--if you knowed she was thinkin' in her thankful heart of the bashful boy that give it to her back along the road when she was ragged and ashamed of herself every time a stranger looked at her!" Dumbhead as I was I sat mute, and looked as blank as an idiot. In all this description of hers I was struck by the resemblance between her vision and mine; but I was dreaming of some one else. She looked at me a moment, and took her hand away. She seemed hurt, and I thought I saw her wiping her eyes. I could not believe that she was almost asking me to marry her, it seemed so beyond belief--and I was joked so much about the girls, and about getting me a wife that it seemed this must be just banter, too. And yet, there was something a little pitiful in it, especially when she spoke again about my little gift to her so long ago. "I never looked your place over," said she at last. "That's what I come over fur. Show it to me, Jacob?" This delighted me. We looked first at the wheat, and the corn, and some of my cattle were near enough so that we went and looked at them, too. I told her where I had got every one of them. We looked at the chickens and the ducks; and the first brood of young turkeys I ever had. I showed her all my elms, maples, basswoods, and other forest trees which I had brought from the timber, and even the two pines I had made live, then not over a foot high. I just now came in from looking at them, and find them forty feet high as I write this, with their branches resting on the ground in a great brown ring carpeted with needles as they are in the pineries. We sat down on the blue-grass under what is now the big cottonwood in front of the house. I had stuck this in the sod a little twig not two feet long, and now it was ten or twelve feet high, and made a very little shade, to be sure, but wasn't I proud of my own shade trees! Oh, you can't understand it; for you can not realize the beauty of shade on that great sun-bathed prairie, or the promise in the changing shadows under that little tree! Rowena leaned back against the gray-green trunk, and patted the turf beside her for me to be seated. Every circumstance of this strange day comes back to me as I think of it, and of what followed. I remember just how the poor girl looked as she sat leaning against the tree, her cheeks flushed by the heat of the summer afternoon, that look of distress in her eyes as she looked around so brightly and with so gay an air over my little kingdom. As she sat there she loosened her belt and took a long breath as if relieved in her weariness at the long ramble we had taken. "I never have had a home," she said. "I never had no idee how folk that have got things lived--till I went over--over to that--that hell-hole there!" And she waved her hand over toward Blue-grass Manor. I was startled at her fierce manner and words. "Your folks come along here the other day," I said, to turn the subject, I guess. "Did they?" she asked, with a little gasp. "What did they say?" "They said they were headed for Pike's Peak." "The old story," she said. "Huntin' f'r the place where the hawgs run around ready baked, with knives an' forks stuck in 'em. I wish to God I was with 'em!" Here she stopped for a while and sat with her hands twisted together in her lap. Finally, "Did they say anything about me, Jacob?" "I thought," said I, "that they talked as if you'd had a fuss." "Yes," she said. "They're all I've got. They hain't much, I reckon, but they're as good as I be, I s'pose. Yes, a lot better. They're my father an' my mother, an' my brothers. In their way--in our way--they was always as good to me as they knowed how. I remember when ma used to kiss me, and pa held me on his lap. Do you remember he's got one finger off? I used to play with his fingers, an' try to build 'em up into a house, while he set an' told about new places he was goin' to to git rich. I wonder if the time'll ever come ag'in when I can set on any one's lap an' be kissed without any harm in it!" There was no false gaiety in her face now, as she sat and looked off over the marsh from the brow of the hill-slope. A feeling of coming evil swept over me as I looked at her, like that which goes through the nerves of the cattle when a tornado is coming. I remembered now the silence of her brothers when her father and mother had said that she was no longer a member of their family, and was not going with them to "the Speak." The comical threat of the old man that he would will his property away from her did not sound so funny now; for there must have been something more than an ordinary family disagreement to have made them feel thus. I recalled the pained look in Ma Fewkes's face, as she sat with her shoulder-blades drawn together and cast Rowena out from the strange family circle. What could it be? I turned my back to her as I sat on the ground; and she took me by the shoulders, pulled me down so that my head was lying in her lap, and began smoothing my hair back from my forehead with a very caressing touch. "Well," said she, "we wun't spoil our day by talkin' of my troubles. This place here is heaven, to me, so quiet, so clean, so good! Le's not spoil it." And before I knew what she meant to do, she stooped down and kissed me on the lips--kissed me several times. I can not claim that I was offended, she was so pretty, so rosy, so young and attractive; but at the same time, I was a little scared. I wanted to end this situation; so, pretty soon, I proposed that we go down to see where I kept my milk. I felt like calling her attention to the fact that it was getting well along in the afternoon, and that she would be late home if she did not start soon; but that would not be very friendly, and I did not want to hurt her feelings. So we went down to the spring at the foot of the hill, where the secret lay of my nice, firm, sweet butter. She did not seem very much interested, even when I showed her the tank in which the pans of milk stood in the cool water. She soon went over to a big granite boulder left there by the glaciers ages ago when the hill was made by the melting ice dropping its earth and gravel, and sat down as if to rest. So I went and sat beside her. "Jacob," said she, with a sort of gasp, "you wonder why I kissed you up there, don't you?" I should not have confessed this when I was young, for it is not the man's part I played; but I blushed, and turned my face away. "I love you, Jacob!" she took my hand as she said this, and with her other hand turned my face toward her. "I want you to marry me. Will you, Jacob? I--I--I need you. I'll be good to you, Jake. Don't say no! Don't say no, for God's sake!" Then the tragic truth seemed to dawn on me, or rather it came like a flash; and I turned and looked at her as I had not done before. I am slow, or I should have known when her father and mother had spoken as they did; but now I could see. I could see why she needed me. As an unsophisticated boy, I had been blind in my failure to see something new and unexpected to me in human relations; but once it came to me, it was plain. I was a stockman, as well as a boy; and my life was closely related to the mysterious processes by which the world is filled with successive generations of living beings. I was like a family physician to my animals; and wise in their days and generations. Rowena was explained to me in a flash of lightning by my every-day experiences; she was swept within the current of my knowledge. "Rowena," said I, "you are in trouble." She knew what I meant. I hope never again to see any one in such agony. Her face flamed, and then turned as white as a sheet. She looked at me with that distressful expression in her eyes, rose as if to go away, and then came back and sitting down again on the stone, she buried her head on my breast and wept so terribly that I was afraid. I tried to dry her tears, but they burst out afresh whenever I looked in her face. The poor thing was ashamed to look in my eyes; but she clung to me, sobbing, and crying out, and then drawing long quivering breaths which seemed to be worse than sobs. When she spoke, it was in short, broken sentences, sometimes unfinished, as her agony returned upon her and would not let her go on. I could not feel any scorn or contempt for her; I could as soon have looked down on a martyr burning at the stake for an act in which I did not believe. She was like a dumb beast tied in a burning stall, only able to moan and cry out and endure. I have often thought that to any one who had not seen and heard it, the first thing she said might seem comic. "Jacob," she said, with her face buried in my breast, "they've got it worked around so--I'm goin' to have a baby!" But when you think of the circumstances; the poor, pretty, inexperienced girl; of that poor slack-twisted family; of her defenselessness in that great house; of the experienced and practised and conscienceless seducer into whose hands she had fallen--when you think of all this, I do not see how you can fail to see how the words were wrung from her as a statement of the truth. "They" meant all the forces which had been too strong for her, not the least, her own weakness--for weakness is one of the most powerful forces in our affairs. "They had got it worked around"--as if the very stars in their courses had conspired to destroy her. I had no impulse to laugh at her strange way of stating it, as if she had had nothing to do with it herself: instead, I felt the tears of sympathy roll down my face upon her hair of rich brown. "That's why my folks have throwed me off," she went on. "But I ain't bad, Jacob. I ain't bad. Take me, and save me! I'll always be good to you, Jake; I'll wash your feet with my hair! I'll kiss them! I'll eat the crusts from the table an' be glad, for I love you, Jacob. I've loved you ever since I saw you. If I have been untrue to you, it was because I was overcome, and you never looked twice at me, and I thought I was to be a great lady. Now I'll be mud, trod on by every beast that walks, an' rooted over by the hawgs, unless you save me. I'll work my fingers to the bone f'r you, Jacob, to the bone. You're my only hope. For Christ's sake let me hope a little longer!" The thought that she was coming to me to save her from the results of her own sin never came into my mind. I only saw her as a lost woman, cast off even by her miserable family, whose only claim to respectability was their having kept themselves from the one depth into which she had fallen. I thought again of that wretch who had been kind to me in Buffalo, and of poor Rowena, in poverty and want, stripped of every defense against wrongs piled on wrongs, rooted over, as she said, by the very swine, until she should come to some end so dreadful that I could not imagine it; and not of her alone. There would be another life to be thought of. I knew that Buckner Gowdy, for she had told me of his blame in the matter, of her appeal to him, of his light-hearted cruelty to her, of how now at last, after months of losing rivalry between her and that other of his victims, the wife of Mobley the overseer, she had come to me in desperation--I knew there was nothing in that cold heart to which Rowena could make any appeal that had not been made unsuccessfully by others in the same desperate case. I had no feeling that she should have told me all in the first place, instead of trying to win me in my ignorance: for I felt that she was driven by a thousand whips to things which might not be honest, but were as free from blame as the doublings of a hunted deer. I felt no blame for her then, and I have never felt any. I passed that by, and tried to look in the face what I should have to give up if I took this girl for my wife. That sacrifice rolled over me like a black cloud, as clear as if I had had a month in which to realize it. I pushed her hands from my shoulders, and rose to my feet; and she knelt down and clasped her arms around my knees. "I must think!" I said. "Let me be! Let me think!" I took a step backward, and as I turned I saw her kneeling there, her hair all about her face, with her hands stretched out to me: and then I walked blindly away into the long grass of the marsh. I finally found myself running as if to get away from the whole thing, with the tall grass tangling about my feet. All my plans for my life with Virginia came back to me: I lived over again every one of those beautiful days I had spent with her. I remembered how she had come back to bid me good-by when I left her at Waterloo, and turned her over again to Grandma Thorndyke; but especially, I lived over again our days in the grove. I remembered that for months, now, she had seemed lost to me, and that all the hope I had had appeared to be that of living alone and dreaming of her. I was not asked by poor Rowena to give up much; and yet how much it was to me! But how little for me to lose to save her from the fate in store for her! I can not hope to make clear to any one the tearing and rending in my breast as these things passed through my mind while I went on and on, through water and mud, blindly stumbling, dazed by the sufferings I endured. I caught my feet in the long grass, fell--and it did not seem worth while to rise again. The sun went down, and the dusk came on as I lay there with my hands twisted in the grass which drooped over me. Then I thought of Rowena, and I got upon my feet and started in search of her, but soon forgot her in my thoughts of the life I should live if I did what she wanted of me. I was in such a daze that I went within a rod of her as she sat on the stone, without seeing her, though the summer twilight was still a filtered radiance, when suddenly all went dark before my eyes, and I fell again. Rowena saw me fall, and came to me. "Jacob," she cried, as she helped me to my feet, "Jacob, what's the matter!" "Rowena," said I, trying to stand alone, "I've made up my mind. I had other plans--but I'll do what you want me to!" CHAPTER XVIII ROWENA'S WAY OUT--THE PRAIRIE FIRE The collapse of mind and body which I underwent in deciding the question of marrying Rowena Fewkes or of keeping unstained and pure the great love of my life, refusing her pitiful plea and passing by on the other side, leaving her desolate and fordone, is a thing to which I hate to confess; for it was a weakness. Yet, it was the directing fact of that turning-point not only in my own life, but in the lives of many others--of the life of Vandemark Township, of Monterey County, and of the State of Iowa, to some extent. The excuse for it lies, as I have said, in the way I am organized; in the bovine dumbness of my life, bursting forth in a few crises in storms of the deepest bodily and spiritual tempest. I could not and can not help it. I was weak as a child, as she clasped me in her arms in gratitude when I told her I would do as she wanted me to; and would have fallen again if she had not held me up. "What's the matter, Jacob?" she said, in sudden fright at my strange behavior. "I don't know," I gasped. "I wish I could lay down." She was mystified. She helped me up the hill, telling me all the time how she meant to live so as to repay me for all I had promised to do for her. She was stronger than I, then, and helped me into the house, which was dark, now, and lighted the lamp; but when she came to me, lying on the bed, she gave a great scream. "Jake, Jake!" she cried. "What's the matter! Are you dying, my darling?" "Who, me dying?" I said, not quite understanding her. "No--I'm all right--I'll be all right, Rowena!" She was holding her hands up in the light. They were stained crimson where she had pressed them to my bosom. "What's the matter of your hands?" I asked, though I was getting drowsy, as if I had been long broken of my sleep. "It's blood, Jacob! You've hurt yourself!" I drew my hand across my mouth, and it came away stained red. She gave a cry of horror; but did not lose her presence of mind. She sponged the blood from my clothes, wiping my mouth every little while, until there was no more blood coming from it. Presently I dropped off to sleep with my hand in hers. She awoke me after a while and gave me some warm milk. As I was drowsing off again, she spoke very gently to me. "Can you understand what I'm saying?" she asked; and I nodded a yes. "Do you love her like that?" she asked. "Yes," I said, "I love her like that." Presently she lifted my hand to her lips and kissed it. She was quite calm, now, as if new light had come to her in her darkness; and I thought that it was my consent which had quieted her spirits: but I did not understand her. "I can't let you do it, Jacob," said she, finally. "It's too much to ask.... I've thought of another way, my dear.... Don't think of me or my troubles any more.... I'll be all right.... You go on loving her, an' bein' true to her ... and if God is good as they say, He'll make you happy with her sometime. Do you understand, Jacob?" "Yes," I said, "but what will you...." "Never mind about me," said she soothingly. "I've thought of another way out. You go to sleep, now, and don't think of me or my troubles any more." I lay looking at her for a while, and wondering how she could suddenly be so quiet after her agitation of the day; and after a while, the scene swam before my eyes, and I went off into the refreshing sleep of a tired boy. The sun was up when I awoke. Rowena was gone. I went out and found that she had saddled her horse and left sometime in the night; afterward I found out that it was in the gray of the morning. She had watched by my bedside all night, and left only after it was plain that I was breathing naturally and that my spasm had passed. She had come into my life that day like a tornado, but had left it much as it had been before, except that I wondered what was to become of her. I was comforted by the thought that she had "thought of another way." And it was a long time before the nobility of her action was plain to me; but when I realized it, I never forgot it. I had offered her all I had when she begged for it, she had taken it, and then restored it, as the dying soldier gave the draught of water to his comrade, saying, "Thy necessity is greater than mine." Once or twice I made an effort to tell Magnus Thorkelson about this, as we worked at our after-harvest haying together that week; but it was a hard thing to do. Perhaps it would not be a secret much longer; but as yet it was Rowena's secret, not mine. I knew, too, that Magnus had been haunting Rowena for two years; that he had been making visits to Blue-grass Manor often when she was there, without taking me into his confidence; that his excuse that he went to help Surajah Fewkes with his inventions was not the real reason for his going. I remembered, too, that Rowena had always spoken well of Magnus, and seemed to see what most of us did not, that Magnus was better educated in the way foreigners are taught than the rest of us; and she did not look down on him the way we did then on folks from other countries. I had no way of knowing how they stood toward each other, though Magnus had looked sad and stopped talking lately whenever I had mentioned her. I knew it would be a shock to him to learn of her present and coming trouble; and, strange as it may seem, I began to put it back into the dark places in my brain as if it had not happened; and when it came to mind clearly as it kept doing, I tried to comfort myself with the thought that Rowena had said that she had thought of another way out. We had frost early that year--a hard white frost sometime about the tenth of September. Neither Magnus nor I had any sound corn, though our wheat, oats and barley were heavy and fine; and we had oceans of hay. The frost killed the grass early, and early in October we had a heavy rain followed by another freeze, and then a long, calm, warm Indian summer. The prairie was covered with a dense mat of dry grass which rustled in the wind but furnished no feed for our stock. It was a splendid fall for plowing, and I began to feel hope return to me as I followed my plow around and around the lands I laid off, and watched the black ribbon of new plowing widen and widen as the day advanced toward night. Nothing is so good a soil for hope as new plowing. The act of making it is inspired by hope. The emblem of hope should be the plow; not the plow of the Great Seal, but a plow buried to the top of the mold-board in the soil, with the black furrow-slice falling away from it--and for heaven's sake, let it fall to the right, as it does where they do real farming, and not to the left as most artists depict it! I know some plows are so made that the nigh horse walks in the furrow, but I have mighty little respect for such plows or the farms on which they are used. My cattle strayed off in the latter part of October; being tolled off in this time between hay and grass by the green spears that grew up in the wet places in the marsh and along the creek. I got uneasy about them on the twentieth, and went hunting them on one of Magnus Thorkelson's horses. Magnus was away from home working, and had left his team with me. I made up my mind that I would scout along on my own side of the marsh until I could cross below it, and then work west, looking from every high place until I found the cattle, coming in away off toward the Gowdy tract, and crossing the creek above the marsh on my way home. This would take me east and west nearly twice across Vandemark Township as it was finally established. I expected to get back before night, but when I struck the trail of the stock it took me away back into the region in the north part of the township back of Vandemark's Folly, as we used to say, where it was not settled, on account of the slew and the distance from town, until in the 'seventies. Foster Blake had it to himself all this time, and ran a herd of the neighbors' stock there until about 1877, when the Germans came in and hemmed him in with their improvements, making the second great impulse in the settlement of the township. 2 There was a stiff, dry, west wind blowing, and a blue haze in the air. As the afternoon advanced, the sun grew red as if looked at through smoked glass, burning like a great coal of fire or a broad disk of red-hot iron. There was a scent of burning grass in the air when I found my herd over on Section Eight, about where the cooperative creamery and store now stand. The cattle seemed to be uneasy, and when I started them toward home, they walked fast, snuffing the air, and giving once in a while an uneasy, anxious falsetto bellow; and now and then they would break into a trot as they drew nearer to the places they knew. The smell of smoke grew stronger, and I knew there was a prairie fire burning to the westward. The sun was a deeper red, now, and once in a while almost disappeared in clouds of vaporous smoke which rolled higher and higher into the sky. Prairie chickens, plover and curlew, with once in a while a bittern, went hurriedly along to the eastward, and several wolves crossed our path, trotting along and paying no attention to me or the cows; but stopping from time to time and looking back as if pursued from the west. They were pursued. They were fleeing from the great prairie fire of 1859, which swept Monterey County from side to side, and never stopped until it struck the river over in the next county. I felt a little uneasy as I hiked my cattle down into the marsh on my own land, and saw them picking their way across it toward my grove, which showed proudly a mile away across the flat. I had plowed firebreaks about my buildings and stacks, and burned off between the strips of plowing, but I felt that I ought to be at home. So I rode on at a good trot to make my circuit of the marsh to the west. The cattle could get through, but a horse with a man on his back might easily get mired in Vandemark's Folly anywhere along there; and my motto was, "The more hurry, the less speed." As I topped the hill to get back to the high ground, I saw great clouds of smoke pouring into the valley at the west passage into the big flat, and the country to the south was hidden by the smoke, except where, away off in the southwest in the changing of the wind, I could see the line of fire as it came over the high ground west of the old Bill Trickey farm. It was a broad belt of red flames, from which there crept along the ground a great blanket of smoke, black at first, and then turning to blue as it rose and thinned. I began making haste; for it now looked as if the fire might reach the head of the slew before I could, and thus cut me off. I felt in my pocket for matches; for in case of need, the only way to fight fire is with fire. I was not scared, for I knew what to do; but not a mile from where I saw the fire on the hilltop, a family of Indiana movers were at that moment smothering and burning to death in the storm of flames--six people, old and young, of the score or more lost in that fire; and the first deaths of white people in Vandemark Township. Their name was Davis, and they came from near Vincennes, we found out. And within five minutes, as I looked off to the northwest, I saw a woman walking calmly toward the marsh. She was a long way off, and much nearer the fire than I was. I looked for the wagon to which she might belong, but saw none, and it took only one more glance at her to show me that she was in mortal danger. For she was walking slowly and laboriously along like a person carrying a heavy burden. The smoke was getting so thick that it hid her from time to time, and I felt, even at my distance from the fire, an occasional hot blast on my cheek--a startling proof of the rapid march of the great oncoming army of flames. I kicked my heels into the horse's flanks and pushed him to a gallop. I must reach her soon, or she would be lost, for it was plain that she was paying no attention to her danger. I went down into a hollow, pounded up the opposite hill, and over on the next rise of ground I saw her. She was standing still, now, with her face turned to the fire: then she walked deliberately toward it. I urged my horse to a faster gait, swung my hat, and yelled at her, but she seemed not to hear. The smoke swept down upon her, and when I next could see, she was stooped with her shawl drawn around her head; or was she on her knees? Then she rose, and turning from the fire, ran as fast as she could, until I wheeled my horse across her path, jumped to the ground and stopped her with my arm about her waist. I looked at her. It was Rowena Fewkes. "Rowena," I shouted, "what you doin' here? Don't you know you'll get burnt up?" "I couldn't go any closer," she said, as if excusing herself. "Would it hurt much? I got scared, Jake. Oh, don't let me burn!" There was no chance to make the circuit of the slew now, even if I had not been hampered with her. I told her to do as she was told, and not bother me. Then I gave her the horse to hold, and sternly ordered her not to let loose of him no matter what he did. I gathered a little armful of dry grass, and lighted it with a match to the leeward of us. It spread fast, though I lighted it where the grass was thin so as to avoid a hot fire; but on the side toward the wind, where the blaze was feeble, I carefully whipped it out with my slouch hat. In a minute, or so, I had a line two or three rods long, of little blazes, each a circle of fire burning more and more fiercely on the leeward side, and more feebly on the side where the blaze was fanned away from its fuel. This side of each circle I whipped out with my hat, some of them with difficulty. Soon, we had a fierce fire raging, leaving in front of us a growing area of black ashes. We were now between two fires; the great conflagration from which we were trying to protect ourselves came on from the west like a roaring tornado, its ashes falling all about us, its hot breath beginning to scorch us, its snapping and crackling now reaching the ear along with its roar; while on the east was the fire of my own kindling, growing in speed, racing off away from us, leaving behind it our haven of refuge, a tract swept clean of food for the flames, but hot and smoking, and as yet all too small to be safe, for the heat and smoke might kill where the flames could not reach. Between the two fires was the fast narrowing strip of dry grass from which we must soon move. Our safety lay in the following of one fire to escape the other. The main army of the flames coming on from the west, with its power of suction, fanned itself to a faster pace than our new line could attain, and the heat increased, both from the racing crimson line to the west, and the slower-moving back-fire on the other side. We sweltered and almost suffocated. Rowena buried her face in her shawl, and swayed as if falling. I took her by the arm, and leading the excited horse, we moved over into our zone of safety. She was trembling like a leaf. I was a little anxious for a few minutes for fear I had not started my back-fire soon enough; but the fear soon passed. The fire came on with a swelling roar. We followed our back-fire so close as to be almost blistered by it, coughing, gasping, covering our mouths and nostrils in such a heat and smother that I could scarcely support Rowena and keep my own footing. Suddenly the heat and smoke grew less; I looked around, and saw that the fire had reached our burnt area, and the line was cut for lack of fuel. It divided as a wave is split by a rock, and went in two great moving spouting fountains of red down the line of our back-fire, and swept on, leaving us scorched, blackened, bloodshot of eye and sore of lips, but safe. We turned, with great relief to me at least, and made for the open country behind the lines. Then for the first time, I looked at Rowena. If I had been surprised at the way in which, considering her trouble, she had kept her prettiness and gay actions when I had last seen her, I was shocked at the change in her now. The poor girl seemed to have given up all attempt to conceal her condition or to care for her looks. All her rosy bloom was gone. Her cheeks were pale and puffy, even though emaciated. Her limbs looked thin through her disordered and torn clothes. She wore a dark-colored hood over her snarled hair, in which there was chaff mixed with the tangles as if she had been sleeping in straw. She was black with smoke and ashes. Her skirts were draggled as if with repeated soaking with dew and rain. Her shoes were worn through at the toes, and through the holes the bare toes stuck out of openings in her stockings. While her clothes were really better than when I had first seen her, she had a beggarly appearance that, coupled with her look of dejection and misery, went to my heart--she was naturally so bright and saucy. She looked like a girl who had gone out into the weather and lived exposed to it until she had tanned and bleached and weathered and worn like a storm-beaten and discouraged bird with its plumage soiled and soaked and its spirit broken. And over it all hung the cloud of impending maternity--a cloud which should display the rainbow of hope. But with her there was only a lurid light which is more awful than darkness. I could not talk with her. I could only give her directions and lend her aid. I tried putting her on the horse behind me, but he would not carry double; so I put her in the saddle and walked by or ahead of the horse, over the blackened and ashy prairie, lit up by the red glare of the fire, and dotted here and there with little smokes which marked where there were coals, the remains of vegetable matter which burned more slowly than the dry grass. She said nothing; but two or three times she gave a distressed little moan as if she were in pain; but this she checked as if by an effort. When we reached the end of the slew, we turned south and crossed the creek just above the pond which we called Plum Pudd'n' Pond, from the number of bitterns that lived there. It disappeared when I drained the marsh in the 'eighties. Then, though, it spread over several acres of ground, the largest body of water in Monterey County. We splashed through the west end of it, and Rowena looked out over it as it lay shining in the glare of the great prairie fire, which had now swept half-way down the marsh, roaring like a tornado and sending its flames fifty feet into the air. I could not help thinking what my condition would have been if I had tried to cross it and been mired in the bog, and like any good stockman, I was hoping that my cattle had got safe across in their rush for home and safety. "What water is that?" asked Rowena as we crossed. "Plum Pudd'n' Pond," I told her. "Is it deep?" she said. "Pretty deep in the middle." "Over your head?" "Oh, yes!" "I reckoned it was," said she. "I was huntin' fur it when you found me." "That was after you saw the fire," I said. "No," said she. "It was before." In my slow way I pondered on why she had been hunting water over her head, and sooner than is apt to be the case with me I understood. The despair in her face as she turned and looked at the shining water told me. She had refused to accept my offer to be her protector, because she saw how it hurt me; but she was now ready to balance the books--if it ever does that--by taking shelter in the depths of the pool! And this all for the pleasure of that smiling scoundrel! "I hope God will damn him," I said; and am ashamed of it now. "What good would that do?" said she wearily. "This world's hard enough, Jake!" 3 We got to my house, and I helped her in. I told her to wait while I went to look at the fire to see whether my stacks were in danger, and to put out and feed the horse. Then I went back, and found her sitting where I had left her, and as I went in I heard again that little moan of pain. The house was as light as day, without a lamp. The light from the fire shone against the western wall of the room almost as strong as sunlight, and as we sat there we could hear the roar of the fire rising in the gusts of the wind, dying down, but with a steady undertone, like the wind in the rigging of a ship. I got some supper, and after saying that she couldn't eat, Rowena ate ravenously. She had gone away from Blue-grass Manor, whipped forth by Mrs. Mobley's abuse, days and days before, living on what she had carried with her until it was gone, drinking from the brooks and runs of the prairie, and then starving on rose-haws, and sleeping in stacks until I had found her looking for the pool. If people could only have known! Presently she moaned again, and I made her lie down on the bed. "What will you do with me, Jacob?" she asked. "We'll think about that in the morning," said I. "Maybe you can bury me in the morning," she said after a while. "Oh, Jake, I'm scared, I'm scared. My trouble is comin' on! My time is up, Jake. Oh, what shall I do! What shall I do?" I went out and sat on the stoop and thought about this. Finally I made up my mind what she really meant by "her trouble," and I went back to her side. I found her moaning louder and more agonizingly, now: and in my turn I had my moment of panic. "Rowena," I said, "I'm goin' out to do something that has to be done. Will you stay here, and not move out of this room till I come back?" "I'll have to," she said. "I guess I've walked my last." So I went out and saddled the fresh horse, and started through that fiery night for Monterey Centre. The fire had burned clear past the town, and when I got there I saw what was left of one or two barns or houses which had caught fire from the burning prairie, still blazing in heaps of embers. The village had had a narrower escape from the rain of ashes and sparks which had swept to the very edges of the little cluster of dwellings. I rode to Doctor Bliven's drug store, climbed the outside stairway which led to his living-room above, and knocked. Mrs. Bliven came to the door. I explained that I wanted the doctor at once to come out to my farm. "He's not here," said she. "He is dressing some burns from the fire; but he must be nearly through. I'll go after him." I refused to go in and sit until she came back, but stood at the foot of the stair on the sidewalk. The time of waiting seemed long, but I suppose he came at once. "Who's sick, Jake?" he asked. "A girl," I said. "A woman." "At your house?" asked he. "What is it?" "It's Rowena Fewkes," said I. "I thought they had gone to Colorado," said the doctor. "They said they were leaving her behind," said Mrs. Bliven. "They said.... Do you say she's at your house? Who's with her?" "No one," said I. "She's alone. Hurry, Doctor: she needs you bad." "Just a minute," said he. "What seems to be the matter? Is she very bad?" "It's a confinement case," said I. I had been thinking of the proper word all the way. "And she alone!" exclaimed Mrs. Bliven. "Hurry, Doctor! I'll get your instruments and medicine-case, and you can hitch up. You stay here, Jake. I want to speak to you." She ran up-stairs, and down again in a few seconds, with the cases, and wearing her bonnet and cloak. I could hear the doctor running his buggy out of the shed, and speaking to his horses. She set the cases down on the sidewalk, came up to me, put her hand on my arm and spoke. "Jake," said she, "are you and Rowena married?" "Us married!" I exclaimed. "Why, no!" "This is bad business," said she. "I am surprised, and there's no woman out there with the poor little thing?" "No," I said; "as soon as I could I started for the doctor because I thought he was needed first. But she needs a woman--a woman that won't look down on her, I wish--I wish I knew where there was one!" "Jake," said she, "you've done the fair thing by me, and I'll stand by you, and by her. I'll go to her in her trouble. I'll go now with the doctor. And when I do the fair thing, see that you do the same. I'm not the one to throw the first stone, and I won't. I'm going with you, Doctor." "What for?" said he. "Just for the ride," she said. "I'll tell you more as we go." They outstripped me on the return trip, for my horse was winded, and I felt that there was no place for me in what was going on at the farm, though what that must be was very dim in my mind. I let my horse walk. The fire was farther off, now; but the sky, now flecked with drifting clouds, was red with its light, and the sight was one which I shall never see again: which I suppose nobody will ever see again; for I do not believe there will ever be seen such an expanse of grass as that of Iowa at that time. I have seen prairie fires in Montana and Western Canada; but they do not compare to the prairie fires of old Iowa. None of these countries bears such a coating of grass as came up from the black soil of Iowa; for their climate is drier. I can see that sight as if it were before my eyes now. The roaring came no longer to my ears as I rode on through the night, except faintly when the breeze, which had died down, sprang up as the fire reached some swale covered with its ten-foot high saw-grass. Then, I could see from the top of some rising ground the flames leap up, reach over, catch in front of the line, kindle a new fire, and again be overleaped by a new tongue of fire, so that the whole line became a belt of flames, and appeared to be rolling along in a huge billow of fire, three or four rods across, and miles in length. The advance was not in a straight line. In some places for one reason or another, the thickness or thinness of the grass, the slope of the land, or the varying strength of the wind, the fire gained or lost ground. In some places great patches of land were cut off as islands by the joining of advanced columns ahead of them, and lay burning in triangles and circles and hollow squares of fire, like bodies of soldiers falling behind and formed to defend themselves against pursuers. All this unevenness of line, with the varying surface of the lovely Iowa prairie, threw the fire into separate lines and columns and detachments more and more like burning armies as they receded from view. Sometimes a whole mile or so of the line disappeared as the fire burned down into lower ground; and then with a swirl of flame and smoke, the smoke luminous in the glare, it moved magnificently up into sight, rolling like a breaker of fire bursting on a reef of land, buried the hillside in flame, and then whirled on over the top, its streamers flapping against the horizon, snapping off shreds of flame into the air, as triumphantly as a human army taking an enemy fort. Never again, never again! We went through some hardships, we suffered some ills to be pioneers in Iowa; but I would rather have my grandsons see what I saw and feel what I felt in the conquest of these prairies, than to get up by their radiators, step into their baths, whirl themselves away in their cars, and go to universities. I am glad I had my share in those old, sweet, grand, beautiful things--the things which never can be again. An old man looks back on things passed through as sufferings, and feels a thrill when he identifies them as among the splendors of life. Can anything more clearly prove the vanity of human experiences? But look at the wonders which have come out of those days. My youth has already passed into a period as legendary as the days when King Alfred hid in the swamp and was reproved by the peasant's wife for burning the cakes. I have lived on my Iowa farm from times of bleak wastes, robber bands, and savage primitiveness, to this day, when my state is almost as completely developed as Holland. If I have a pride in it, if I look back to those days as worthy of record, remember that I have some excuse. There will be no other generation of human beings with a life so rich in change and growth. And there never was such a thing in all the history of the world before. I knew then, dimly, that what I saw was magnificent; but I was more pleased with the safety of my farmstead and my stacks than with the grim glory of the scene; and even as to my own good fortune in coming through undamaged, I was less concerned than with the tragedy being enacted in my house. I could not see into the future for Rowena, but I felt that it would be terrible. The words "lost," "ruined," "outcast," which were always applied to such as she had become, ran through my mind all the time; and yet, she seemed a better girl when I talked with her than when she was running over the prairie like a plover following old Tom and the little clittering wagon. Now she seemed to have grown, to have taken on a sort of greatness, something which commanded my respect, and almost my awe. It was the sacredness of martyrdom. I know this now: but then I seemed to feel that I was disgracing myself for not loathing her as something unclean. "It's a boy!" said Doctor Bliven, as I came to the house. "The mother ain't in very good shape. Seems exhausted--exhausted. She'll pull through, though--she'll pull through; but the baby is fat and lusty. Strange, how the mother will give everything to the offspring, and bring it forth fat when she's as thin as a rail--thin as a rail. Mystery of nature, you know--perpetuation of the race. Instinct, you know, instinct. This girl, now--had an outfit of baby clothes in that bundle of hers--instinct--instinct. My wife's going to stay a day or so. I'll take her back next time I come out." "You must 'tend to her, Doc," said I. "I'll guarantee you your pay." "Very well, Jake. Of course you would--of course, of course," said he. "But between you and me there wouldn't be any trouble about pay. Old friends, you know; old friends. Favors in the past. You've done things for me--my wife, too. Fellow travelers, you know. Never call on us for anything and be refused. Be out to-morrow. Ought to have a woman here when I go. Probably be milk for the child when it needs it; but needs woman. Can get you a mover's wife's sister--widow--experienced with her own. Want her? Bring her out for you--bring her out to-morrow. Eh?" I told him to bring the widow out, and was greatly relieved. I went to Magnus's cabin that night to sleep, leaving Mrs. Bliven with Rowena. I hoped I might not have to see Rowena before she went away; for the very thought of seeing the girl with the child embarrassed me; but on the third day the widow--they afterward moved on to the Fort Dodge country--came to me, and standing afar off as if I was infected with something malignant, told me that Mrs. Vandemark wanted to see me. "She ain't Mrs. Vandemark," I corrected. "Her name is Rowena Fewkes." "I make it a habit," said the widow, whose name was Mrs. Williams, "to speak in the present tense." Whatever she may have meant was a problem to me; but I went in. Rowena lay in my bed, and beside her was a little bundle wrapped in a blanket made of one of my flannel sheets. The women were making free of my property as a matter of course. "What are you goin' to do with me, Jake?" she asked again, looking up at me pleadingly. "I'm goin' to keep you here till you're able to do for yourself," I said. "Time enough to think of that after a while." She took my hand and pressed it, and turned her face to the pillow. Pretty soon she turned the blanket back, and there lay the baby, red and ugly and wrinkled. "Ain't he purty?" said she, her face glowing with love. "Oh, Jake, I thank God I didn't find the pond before you found me. I didn't know very well what I was doin'. I'll have something to love an' work fur, now. I wonder if they'll let me be a good womern. I will be, in spite of hell an' high water--f'r his sake, Jake." 4 As I lay in Magnus's bed that night, I could see no way out for her. She could get work, I knew, for there was always work for a woman in our pioneer houses. The hired girl who went from place to place could find employment most of the time; but the baby would be an incumbrance. It would be a thing that the eye of censure could not ignore, like the scarlet "A" on the breast of the girl in Nathaniel Hawthorne's story. I could not foresee how the thing would work out, and lay awake pondering on it until after midnight, and I had hardly fallen asleep, it seemed to me, when the door was opened, and in came Magnus. He had finished his job and come back. "You hare, Yake?" he said, in his quiet and unmoved way. "I'm glad. Your house bane burn up in fire?" I told him the startling news, and as the story of poor Rowena slowly made its way into his mind, I was startled and astonished at its effect on him; for he has always been to me a man who would be calm in a tornado, and who would meet shipwreck or earthquake without a tremor. I have seen him standing in his place in the ranks with his comrades falling all about loading and firing his musket, with no more change in his expression than a cold light of battle in his mild buttermilk eyes. I have seen him wipe from his face the blood of a fellow-soldier spattered on him by a fragment of shell, as if it had been a splash of water from a puddle. But now, he trembled. He turned pale. He raged up and down the little room with his hands doubled into fists and beating the air. He bit down upon his Norwegian words with clenched teeth. I was afraid to talk to him at last. Finally, he turned to me and said: "Ay know de man! So it vas in de ol' country! Rich fallar bane t'inking poor girl notting but like fresh fruit for him to eat; a cup of vine for him to drink; an' he drink it! He eat de fruit. But dis bane different country. Ay keel dis damned Gowdy! You hare, Yake? Ay keel him!" Of course I told him that this would never do, and talked the way we all do when it is our duty to keep a friend from ruining himself. He sat down while I was talking, and as far as I could see heard never a word of what I said. Finally I talked myself out, and still he sat there as silent as a statue. "Ay--tank--Ay--take--a--valk," he said at last, in the jerky way of the Norwegian; and he went out into the night. I lay back expecting that he would come in pretty soon, when I had more of which I had thought to talk to him about; but I went to sleep, and having been a good deal broken of my rest, I slept late. He was still absent when I woke up. When I got to my place, the widow told me that he had been there and had a long talk with Rowena, and had hitched up his team and driven away. Rowena was asleep when I looked in, and I went out to plow. If Magnus had gone to kill Buck Gowdy, there was nothing I could do to prevent it. As a matter of fact, I approved of his impulse. I had felt it myself, though not with any such wrathful bitterness. I had known for a long time that Magnus had a tenderness toward Rowena; but he was such a gentle fellow, and seemed to be so slow in approaching her, with his fooling with Surajah's inventions and the like, that I set down his feeling as a sort of sheepish drawing toward her which never would amount to anything. But now I saw that his rage against Gowdy was of the kind that overpowered him, stolid as he had always seemed. It rose above mine in proportion to the passion he must have felt for her, when she was a girl that a man could take for a wife. I pitied him; and I did not envy Buck Gowdy, if it chanced that they should come together while Magnus's white-hot anger was burning; but I rather hoped they would meet. I did not believe that in any just court Magnus would be punished if he supplied the lack in the law. When I turned out at noon, I saw Magnus's team, and a horse hitched to a buggy tied to my corn-crib; and when I went into the house, I half expected to find Jim Boyd, the sheriff, there to arrest Magnus Thorkelson for murder, at the bedside of Magnus's lady-love. I could imagine how N. V. Creede, whom I had already resolved I would retain to defend Magnus, would thrill the jury in his closing speech for the prisoner as the bar. What I found was Elder Thorndyke and grandma and the widow, all standing by Rowena's bed. The widow was holding the baby in her arms, but as I came in she laid it in a chair and covered it up, as much as to indicate that on this occasion the less seen of the infant the better. Magnus was holding Rowena's hand, and the elder was standing on the other side of the bed holding a book. Grandma Thorndyke stood at the bed's foot looking severely at a _Hostetter's Almanac_ I had hanging on the head-board. The widow was twittering around from place to place. When I came in, Magnus motioned me to stand beside him, and as I took my place handed me a gold ring. Rowena looked up at me piteously, as if to ask forgiveness. Sometime during the ceremony we had the usual hitch over the ring, for I had put it in my trousers pocket and had to find it so that Magnus could put it on Rowena's finger. I had never seen a marriage ceremony, and was at my wit's end to know what we were doing, thinking sometimes that it was a wedding, and sometimes that it might be something like extreme unction; when at last the elder said, "I pronounce you man and wife!" CHAPTER XIX GOWDY ACKNOWLEDGES HIS SON Now I leave it to the reader--if I ever have one besides my granddaughter Gertrude--whether in this case of the trouble of Rowena Fewkes and her marriage to Magnus Thorkelson, I did anything by which I ought to have forfeited the esteem of my neighbors, of the Reverend and Mrs. Thorndyke, or of Virginia Royall. I never in all my life acted in a manner which was more in accordance to the dictates of my conscience. You have seen how badly I behaved, or tended to behave in the past, and lost no friends by it. In a long life of dealing in various kinds of property, including horse-trading, very few people have ever got the best of me, and everybody knows that this is less a boast than a confession; and yet, this one good act of standing by this poor girl in her dreadful plight degraded me more in the minds of the community than all the spavins, thorough-pins, poll-evils and the like I ever concealed or glossed over. We are all schoolboys who usually suffer our whippings for things that should be overlooked; and the fact that we get off scot free when we should have our jackets tanned does not seem to make the injustice any easier to bear. Dick McGill, the editor of the scurrilous Monterey _Journal_ was, as usual, the chief imp of this as of any other deviltry his sensational paper could take a part in. Of course, he would be on Buck Gowdy's side; for what rights had such people as Magnus and Rowena and I? "A wedding took place out on the wild shores of Hell Slew last week," said this paper. "It was not a case, exactly, of the funeral baked meats coldly furnishing forth the marriage supper; but the economy was quite as striking. The celebration of the arrival of the heir of the Manor (though let us hope not of the manner) was merged in the wedding festivities. We make our usual announcements: Married at the residence of J.T. Vandemark, Miss Rowena Fewkes to Mr. Magnus Thorkelson. It's a boy, standard weight. The ceremonies were presided over by Doctor Bliven, our genial disciple of Esculapias, and by Elder Thorndyke, each in his respective sphere of action. Great harmony marked the carrying out of these usually separate functions. The amalgamation of peoples goes on apace. Here we have Yankee, Scandinavian and Dutch so intertwined that it will take no common 'glance of eye, thought of man, wing of angel' to separate the sheep from the goats in the sequel. _Nuff ced_." He little knew the sequel! I did not read this paper. In fact, I did not read anything in those days; and I do not believe that Magnus and Rowena knew for some time anything more about this vile and slanderous item than I did. It was only by the way we were treated that we felt that the cold shoulder of the little world of Vandemark Township and Monterey County was turned toward us. Of course Magnus and Rowena expected this; but I was hurt more deeply by this injustice than by anything in my whole life. Grandma Thorndyke came out no more to red up my house, and exhibit her samples of prospective wives to me. The neighbors called no more. I began driving over to the new railroad to do my marketing, though it was twice as close to go to Monterey Centre. When Elder Thorndyke, largely through the contributions of Governor Wade and Buckner Gowdy, succeeded in getting his church built, I was not asked to go to the doings of laying the corner-stone or shingling the steeple. I was an outsider. I quit trying to neighbor with the Roebucks, Smiths, and George Story, my new neighbors on the south; and took up with some French who moved in on the east, the families of Pierre Lacroix and Napoleon B. Bouchard. We called the one "Pete Lackwire" and the other "Poly Busher." They were the only French people who came into the township. They were good neighbors, and fair farmers, and their daughters made some of the best wives the sons of the rest of us got. One of my grandsons married the prettiest girl among their grandchildren--a Lacroix on one side and a Bouchard on the other. It may well be understood that I now took no part in the township history, which gets more complex with the coming in of more settlers; but it was about this time that what is now Vandemark Township began agitating for a separate township organization. We were attached to Centre Township, in which was situated the town of Monterey Centre. This town, dominated by the County Ring, clung to all the territory it could control, so as to spend the taxes in building up the town. A great four-room schoolhouse was finished in the summer of 1860; most of it built by taxes paid by the speculators who still owned the bulk of the land. The Vandemark Township people made a great outcry about the shape of Centre Township, and called it "The Great Crane," with our township as the neck, and a lot of other territory back of us for the body, and Monterey Centre for the head. I took no part in this agitation, for I was burning with a sense of indignation at the way people treated me; but the County Ring compromised by building us a schoolhouse on my southwest corner, now known as the Vandemark School. But I cared nothing about this. I had no children to go to school, and while I never ceased to dream of a future with Virginia as my wife, I kept saying to myself that I never should have a family. Consistency is the least of the necessaries of our visions and dreams. I never tried to see Virginia. I avoided the elder and Grandma Thorndyke. I knew that she was disgusted with me for even an innocent connection with the Thorkelson matter, and I supposed that Virginia felt the same way. So I went on trying to be as near to a hermit as I could. 2 I know now that things began to change for me in the minds of the people when Rowena's baby was christened. This took place early in the winter. Magnus asked me to go to the church; so I was present when Magnus and Rowena stood before the altar in a ceremony which Rowena would have given anything to escape, and Magnus, too, but he believed that the child's soul could not be saved if it died unchristened, and she yielded to his urgings in the matter. He held his head high as he stood by her, as he always stood in every relation in life, witnessing before God and man that he believed her a victim, and that whatever guilt she may have incurred, she had paid for it in full. After the responses had been made, Elder Thorndyke unfolded a paper which had been handed him with the name of the child on it; then he went on with his part of the ceremony: "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I baptize thee--" And then he carried on a whispered conversation with the mother, gave the loudest honk I ever heard him utter, and went on: "I baptize thee, Owen Lovejoy Gowdy." They said that Gowdy swore when he heard of this, and exclaimed, "I don't care about her picking me out; but I hate to be joined with that damned Black Abolitionist." The elder seemed dazed after he had done the deed, and looked around at the new church building as if wondering whether he had not committed some sort of crime in thus offending a man who had put so much money in it. He had not, however; for in advertising in this way Gowdy's wrong to one girl, he ended forever his sly approaches, under the excuses of getting her some fictitious property, saving his soul, and the like, to another. I think it was the word of what Gowdy said about the christening that finally wrought Magnus up to the act he had all along resolved upon, the attempt on Gowdy's life. He armed himself and went over to the Blue-grass Manor looking for Buck; but found that his man had gone to Kentucky. Magnus left word for Gowdy to go armed and be prepared to protect himself, and went home. He said nothing to me about this; but the next spring when Gowdy came back, Magnus started after him again with a gun loaded with buckshot, and Gowdy, who, I suppose, looked upon Magnus as beneath him, had him arrested. I went to Monterey Centre and put my name on Magnus's bond when he was bound over to keep the peace. I hinted to Magnus that he needn't mind about the bond if he still believed in his heart that Gowdy needed killing; but Rowena pleaded with him not to ruin himself, me and her by pursuing his plan of executing what both he and I believed to be justice on a man who had forfeited his life by every rule of right. This lapse into lawlessness on his part and mine can not be justified, of course. It is set forth here as a part of the history of the place and the time. I am not equipped to write the history of the celebrated Gowdy Case, which grew out of these obscure circumstances in the lives of a group of pioneers in an Iowa township. Probably the writers of history will never set it down. Yet, it swayed the destiny of the county and the state in after years, when Gowdy had died and left his millions to be fought over in courts, in caucuses, in conventions, state and county. If it does not go into the histories, the histories will not tell the truth. If great law firms, governors, judges, congressmen and senators, lobbyists and manipulators, are not judged in the light of the secret as well as the surface influence of the Gowdy Case, they will not be rightly judged. The same thing is true of the influence of the loss of the county funds by Judge Stone. Who was guilty? Was the plan to have the bag of "treasure" stolen from us by the Bunker gang a part of the scheme of whoever took the money? Did the Bushyagers know about the satchel? Did they know it was full of salt instead of money? Of course not, if they were in the thing. Did some one mean to fix it so the Bunkers would rob us of the satchel and thus let everybody off? And if so, what about me? I should have had to fight for the money, for that was what I was hired for. Was I to be killed to save Judge Stone, or Governor Wade, and if so, which? My part in the affair was never much spoken of in the hot newspaper and stump-speech quarrels over the matter; but after a while, when I had had time to figure it all out, I began to think I had not been treated quite right; but what was I anyhow? This was another thing that made me sore at all the Monterey Centre crowd, including the elder and grandma, with their truckling to Gowdy and Wade and Stone and the rest who helped the elder build his church. I suppose that the stolen money, some of it, went to pay for that church; but if every church had remained unbuilt that has stolen money in it, there would be fewer temples pointing, as the old song says, with taper spire to heaven, wouldn't there? Of course these scandalous matters were soon lost sight of in the excitement of the Civil War. This thing which changed all our lives the way war does, came upon me like a clap of thunder. I was living like a hermit, and working like a horse, not trying to make any splurge, as I might have done, even having given up the idea of getting me a team of horses, which I had been thinking of for a while back with the notion of maybe getting a buggy and beginning to take Virginia out buggy-riding, and thus working up in a year or two to popping the question to her. But now I sulked in my cabin. 3 I guess the war surprised the people who read about it as much as it did me. I often thought of the poor slaves, and liked Dunlap and Thatcher, the men I had run into back in Wisconsin on the road in 1855, for going down into Kansas to fight for Free Soil; but as for fighting in which I should have any interest; bless you, it never occurred to any of us, either North or South. The trouble was always going to be off somewhere else. I guess that's the way with the oncoming of wars. If we knew they would come to us, we'd be less blood-thirsty. I heard of the Dred Scott Decision, and thought J.P. Roebuck was talking foolishness when he came to me one day over in my back field to borrow a chew of tobacco--he was always doing that--and said that this decision made slavery a general thing all over the Union. I didn't see any slavery around Vandemark Township, and no signs of any. I heard of Old John Brown, and had a hazy idea that he was some kind of traitor who ought to have been hanged, or the government wouldn't have hanged him. You see how inconsistent I was. But wars are fought by inconsistent men who suffer and die for other people's ideas: don't you think so? Abraham Lincoln was nominated about corn-planting time; but I was not thrilled. I had never heard of him. The nation was drifting down the rapids to the falls; and for all the deafening roar that came to our ears, we did not know or think of the cataract we were to be swept over. I was a voter now, and so was Magnus; but he was for Lincoln, and I was not. It seemed to me that the Republican Party was too new. And yet I was not satisfied with Douglas. Why? It was merely because I had got it into my mind that he had been beaten in a debate by Lincoln, and it seemed that this defeat ought to put him out of the running for president. I sat down a few rods from the polls and thought over the matter of choosing between Edward Everett and John C. Breckenridge, pestered by Governor Wade and H.L. Burns and N.V. and the rest, until finally they left me and when I had made my decision, I found that the polls had closed. I was a good deal relieved. I am giving you a glimpse into the mind of a conscientious and ignorant voter. If I had read more, my mind would have been made up beforehand, but by some one else. I was not a fool; I was just slow and bewildered. The average voter shoots at the flock and gets it over with. He has had his mind made up for him by some one--and maybe it's just as well: for when he tries, as I did, to make it up for himself, he is apt to find that he has no basis for judgment. That is why all governments, free and the other kind, have always been minority governments, and always will be. And I reckon that's just as well, too. Lincoln's first call for volunteers took only a few men out of the county, and none from Vandemark Township, except George Story. I had not begun to take much interest in the matter; and when in the summer of 1861 there began to be war meetings to spur up young men to enlistment the speakers all shouted to us that the war was not to free the slaves, but to save the Union. Now this was a new slant on the question, and I had to think over it for a while. Sitting in the wagon of history with my feet dangling down and facing the rear, as we all ride, I can now see that the thing was as broad as it was long. The Union could not be preserved without freeing the slaves, for all of what Lincoln said when he stated that he would save the Union by freeing the slaves if he could do that, or by keeping them slaves if he could do that, or by freeing some of them and leaving the rest in servitude if he could do that; but that save the Union he would. Now in my narrow way, I could see some point in freeing the slaves, but as for the Union, I hardly knew whether it was important or not. I needed to think it over. It might be just as well not to fight to preserve the Union; and when I had heard men say, "I enlisted to save the Union, and not to free niggers," as a lot of them did, I scratched my head and wondered why I could not feel so devoted to the Union as they did. Looking back from the tail-end of the wagon, I now see what Lincoln meant by the importance of keeping us all under one flag; but I didn't know then, and I don't believe one man in a hundred who shouted for the Union knew why the Union was so important. There never was a better cause than the one we sung for in "The Union, the Union forever!" but thousands and thousands sang and shouted it, and died for it--how bravely and wonderfully they died for it!--who knew as little what it meant as I did. And the rebels--how gallantly they died for their cause, too. Not for slavery, as we blindly thought, misjudging them as we must always misjudge our foes (or we should not have the hate in our hearts to fight them); but for the very thing we were fighting for--liberty, as they believed. Both sides are always right in war. I finally began to see light when I thought one night of my old life on the canal, and asked myself how it would affect us in Iowa if York State and the East should secede, as the South was trying to do. It would put them in shape to starve us of the West by levying duties on our crops when going to market. But, said I to myself, we could then ship down the Mississippi; but the river was already closed and would always be controlled by the Confederacy. This was serious; but when I said to myself that the East would never secede, the question, Why not? could not be answered if the principle of secession could once be set up as correct and made good by victory. Then, it came into my mind after a month or two of thinking, that any state or group of states could secede whenever they liked; that others would go to war with them to keep such unions as were left; and we should never be at peace long: so after all, the Union _was_ important, and must be preserved. The question must be settled now in this war. But I don't know how long I should have studied this matter over in my lonely benightedness, if I had not seen Virginia one night at a war meeting that I sneaked into in the Centre, with a young man dressed in store clothes whom I afterward knew as Will Lockwood, the principal of the Monterey Centre school, who seemingly was going forward to put his name down as enlisted. I jumped in ahead of him, so as to show Virginia that her fellow was not the only patriot, and beat him to it. "So you are going to fight Kaintucky?" said she to me as if I had engaged to ruin everything she held dear. "We must save the Union," I said. "I didn't think of you being on the other side!" "Mr. Lockwood," said she, "this is Teunis Vandemark, an old friend of mine. He's going to fight my friends, too." In two or three minutes I found that he was from Herkimer County, had lived along the Erie Canal, and was actually the son of my old teacher Lockwood, to whom I had gone when I was wintering with Mrs. Fogg in the old canalling days. He was my best friend during all my service as a soldier--which you will soon see was not long. We left him on the field at Shiloh. 4 The recruiting officer got us uniforms--or somebody did; and during the nice weather--it was October when I enlisted--our company did some drilling. We had no arms, but used shotguns, squirrel rifles, and even sticks. Will Lockwood tried to drill us, but made a bad mess of it. Then one day Buckner Gowdy, who had also enlisted, took charge of a squad of men and in ten minutes showed that he knew more about drill than any one else in the county. He had been educated at a military school in Virginia. All the skill in drill that we ever got, we owed to him. The sharp word of command; the quick swing to the proper position; the snappy step; everything that we knew more than a lot of yokels might be expected to know, we got from Buck Gowdy. Magnus admitted it, even; but he turned pale whenever he was in a squad under Gowdy's command. It was gall and wormwood for me, and worse for him; but when it came to electing a captain of our company, I voted for Gowdy, and under the same conditions would do it again. It was better to have a real captain who was a scoundrel, than a man who knew nothing but kept the Commandments. War is hell in more than one respect. I felt that Gowdy would be more likely to bring us safe out of any bad hole in which we might find ourselves, than any one else. But I was glad, sometimes, when he was rawhiding us into shape, that Magnus Thorkelson was drilling with a wooden gun. I wondered how the new captain himself felt about this. Governor Wade gave us a great entertainment at his farm just before we marched--still without guns--to the railroad to take the cars for Dubuque, where boats were supposed to be waiting to take us down the river--if we could make it before navigation was closed by the ice. His great barns were cleared out for tables, and the house was open, and there were flags and transparencies expressing the heroism of those who were willing to do anything to get us into the fight. Everybody was there--except Judge Stone. I remember looking through the open door at the great iron safe into which he had put the county satchel--I am careful not to commit myself as to the money part of it--and all the events of the previous visit came back through my mind; but mainly how angry I had been with Virginia for being kissed by Bob Wade. And Bob was there, too, all spick and span in his new lieutenant's uniform with Kittie Fleming hanging on his arm, her eyes drinking him in with every glance. The governor was in no position to make a row about this. The occasion had caused an armistice to be signed as to all our neighborhood quarrels, and Bob Wade was emancipated from the stern paternal control, as Jack had been when he went off with the first flight in the original seventy-five thousand--emancipated by the uniform. Bob and Kittie sailed along in the face and eyes of the governor and his wife in spite of the fact that such association was forbidden--and sailed down to Waterloo where they were married before we went off hurrahing for the cause. Virginia was there with the elder and grandma. The old preacher and his wife looked more shabby than I had ever seen them, grandma's gloves more extensively darned, the elder's clothes shinier, his cuffs in all their whiteness more frayed, and there were beautifully darned places in the stiff starched bosom of his shirt. He pressed my hand warmly as he said, "God bless you, Jacob, and bring you safe back to us, my boy!" Grandma's eyes glistened as she echoed his sentiments and began asking me about my underwear and especially my socks. Virginia looked the other way; but when I went off by myself, Will Lockwood came and drew me away into a corner to talk with me about old times along the canal; and suddenly we found Virginia there, and Will all at once thought of some one he wanted to speak to and left us together. "I didn't mean that I thought you ought not to go to the war, Teunis," said she. "You must go, of course." "Maybe your friends," I said after standing dumb for a while, "will be on the Union side." "No," said she. "I have no relations--and few friends there; but all I have will be on the other side, I reckon. It makes no difference. They've forgotten me by this time. Everybody has forgotten me that once liked me--everybody but Elder Thorndyke and Mrs. Thorndyke. They love me, but nobody else does." "I thought some others acted as if they did," I said. "You thought a lot about it!" she scoffed. Then we sat quite a while silent. "I shall think every day," said she at last, "about the only happy time I have had since Ann took sick--and long before that. The only happy time, and the happiest, I reckon, that I ever'll have. I'll think of it every day while you're at the front. I want you to know when you are suffering and in danger that some one thinks of the kindest thing you ever did--and maybe the kindest thing any boy ever did. You don't care about it now, maybe; but the time may come when you will." "What time was that?" I asked. "You know, Teunis," the tears were falling in her lap now. "Those days when we were together alone on the wide prairie--when you took me in and was so good to me--and saved me from going wild, if not from anything else bad. I remember that for the first few days, I was not quite easy in my feelings--I reckon your goodness hadn't come to me yet; but one day, after you had been away for a while, there in the grove where we stayed so long, you looked so pale and sorry that I began talking to you more intimately, you remember, and we suddenly drew close to each other, and for the first time, I felt so safe, so safe! Something has come between us lately, Teunis. I partly know what; and partly I don't; but something--" She stopped in the middle of what she seemed to be saying. At first I thought she had choked up with grief, but when I looked her in the face, except for her eyes shining very bright, I could not see that she was at all worked up in her feelings. She spoke quite calmly to some one that passed by. I was abashed by the thought that she was giving me credit for something I was not entitled to. She spoke of the day when I was in my heart the meanest: but how could I explain? So I said nothing, much, but hummed and hawed, with "I--" and "Yes, I--," and nothing to the point. Finally, I bogged down, and quit. "We are very poor," said she, nodding toward the elder and grandma. "So, ignorant as I am, I kept a school last summer--did you know that?" "Yes," I said, "I knew about it. Over in the Hoosier settlement." "I ain't a good teacher," she said, "only with the little children; but sometimes we shouldn't have had the necessaries of life, if it hadn't been for what I earned. I can't do too much for them. They have been father and mother to me, and I shall be a daughter to them. If--if they want me to go with--with--in circles which I--I--don't care half so much about as for--for the birds, and flowers--and the people back in our grove--and for people who don't care for me any more--why, I don't think I ought to disobey Mrs. Thorndyke. But I don't believe as she does--or did--about things that have happened to you since--since we parted and got to be strangers, Teunis. And neither does any one else, nor she herself any more. People respect you, Teunis. I wanted to say that to you, too, before you go away--maybe forever, Teunis!" She touched on so many things--sore things and sacred things--in this speech, that I only looked at her with tears in my eyes; and she saw them. It was the only answer I could make, and before she could say any more, the elder and his wife came and took her home. I had got half-way to Cairo, Illinois, before I worked it out that by "the people back in our grove," she must have meant me; for the only others there had been that gang of horse-thieves: and if so she must have meant me when she spoke of "people who don't care for me any more"--but it was too late to do anything in the way of correcting this mistake then. All I could pride myself on was having a good memory as to what she said. I guess this proves my relationship to that other Dutchman who took so long to build the church. Remember, though, that he finally built it. 5 The Civil War is no part of the history of Vandemark Township; and I had small part in the Civil War. But one thing that took place on the field of Shiloh does belong in this history. Most of the members of my company enlisted in October, 1861, but we did not get to the front until the very day of the Battle of Shiloh. I was in one of the two regiments whose part in the battle has caused so much controversy. I gave Senator Cummins an affidavit about it only the other day to settle something about a monument on the field. We came up the Tennessee River the night of the day before the battle, and landed at Pittsburgh Landing at daybreak of the first day's fight. We had not had our guns issued to us yet. Some have thought it a little hard on us to be shoved into a great battle without ever having loaded or fired our muskets. When we were landed the guns were issued to my company, and we were given about half an hour's instruction in the way they were worked. Of course most of us had done shooting, and were a little better than green hands; but Will Lockwood during the fight loaded his gun until it was full of unfired loads, and forgot to put a cap on. Then he discovered his mistake, and put on a cap, and would have blown off his own head by firing all the stuff out at once, when Captain Gowdy saw what he was doing and snatched the gun away from him calling him a damned fool, and broke the stock off the musket on the ground. There were plenty of guns for Will to select from by that time which were not in use, so he picked up another and made a new start; but not for long. After the guns were issued to us, we stood there on the bank, and lounged about on the landing, waiting for the issue of cartridges. An orderly came to me with Magnus following him, and gave me the captain's order to report to him in the cabin of the transport which lay tied up at the river bank. We looked at each other in wonder, but followed the orderly into the cabin, where we stood at attention. The captain returned our salutes, dismissed the orderly, and after his footsteps had gone out of hearing, turned to us. "Thorkelson and Vandemark," said he, "I have a few words to say to you. I don't find anything in the books covering the case, and am speaking as man to man." "Yes, sir," said I. "Ay hare," said Magnus. "Thorkelson," Gowdy went on, "you have had an ambition to put an end to me. Well, now's your chance, or will be when we get out there where the shooting is going on. You've had a poor chance to practise marksmanship; but maybe you can shoot well enough to hit a man of my size from the rear--for my men will be to the rear of me in a fight" He stopped and looked straight in Magnus's eyes; and Magnus stared straight back. At last, Gowdy's eyes swept around toward me, and then back again. "Well," said he, "what do you and your friend say? The bond to keep the peace doesn't run in Tennessee." "I think," said I, "as man to man, that you deserve shooting; but maybe this ain't the place for it. I voted for you for captain because you seem to know your business--and I don't b'lieve we've got another that does. That's how I feel." Gowdy laughed, that friendly, warm, musical laugh of his, just as he would have laughed in a horse trade, or over the bar, or while helping the church at a donation party. "Well," said he, "I called you in here--especially you, Thorkelson--to say that if you feel bound by any vow you've made, to shoot me, why, you may shoot and be damned. I shan't pay any attention to the matter. From the way it sounds out there at the front, it will be only one bullet added to a basketful. That's all, Thorkelson." "Captain Gowdy," said Magnus. "Go on, Thorkelson," said Gowdy. "Van Ay bane svorn in," said Magnus, "Ay take you for captain. You bane a dam good-for-nothing rascal, but you bane best man for captain. Ay bane tied up. You bane necessary to maybe save lives of a hundred dam sight better men dan you. Ay not shoot. You insult me ven you talk about it." "In spite of the somewhat uncomplimentary and insubordinate language in which you express yourself," said Gowdy, "which I overlook under the peculiar circumstances, I reckon I must admit that I did assume an attitude on your part of which you are incapable, and that such an assumption was insulting--if a private can be insulted by a commissioned officer. This being man to man, I apologize. You may go, Thorkelson." Magnus clicked his heels together in the way he had learned in the old country, and saluted; Captain Gowdy returned the salute, and Magnus marched out with his head high, and his stomach drawn in. "Devilish good soldier!" said Gowdy as he went out. "Well, that clears the atmosphere a little! So, Vandemark, you think I need killing, eh?" "Yes, sir." "Well, it's all in the point of view," said he, leaning toward me and smiling that ingratiating smile of his. "Sometimes I think so, too; but there's only one policy for me--lose 'em and forget 'em. I sometimes think that the time may come when I shall wish I had married that girl. Have you seen the baby lately?" "I used to see it every few days," said I. "It's runnin' all over the place." "Look like me?" "It will when it gits older." "When you go back," said he, "if I don't, will you do me and this little offspring of mine--and its mother--a favor?" "I'll have to wait and see what it is," said I. "Same old cautious Vandemark!" said he, laughing. "Well, that's why I picked you to do this, if you will be so good. You can look the matter over in case it comes to anything, and act if you think best; but I think you will decide to act. Please go to Lusch in Waterloo and ask for a packet of papers I left there, to be opened in your presence and at your request if I wink out in this irrepressible conflict. Remember, I shall be on the other side of Jordan or some other stream. Inside of the outer envelope will be a letter to Rowena, which please deliver. There will also be one for you, with some securities and other things to be held in trust for the benefit of Rowena's boy--and mine. I hate that 'Owen Lovejoy' part of his name; but he is entitled to the name of Gowdy, and in view of the fact that he has it, I want him to have a good chance--as good as he can have in view of the irregularity of his birth. To tell you the plain truth, as my affairs are now situated, I'm giving him more than he could take as my son if he were legitimate--for as neighbor to neighbor, I'm practically bu'sted. All I'm doing is hanging on for land to rise. Now this isn't much to do, and you won't have to act unless you want to. Will you have the papers opened, and act for the dead scoundrel if it seems the proper thing to do? You see, there's hardly anybody else who is satisfactory to me, and at the same time a friend to the other parties." "I'll have the papers opened," said I; "but remember, this don't take back what I said a few minutes ago. I think you ought to be killed." "Thank you," said he. "Private Vandemark! You may go!" Now I have told this story over and over again in court, to commissioners taking testimony, to lawyers in their offices, to lawyers out at my farm. It has been printed in court records, including the Reports of the Supreme Court of Iowa. Judges of the Supreme Court of Iowa have been nominated or refused nomination because of their views, or their lack of views, or their refusal to state in advance off in some hole and corner, what their views would be on the legal effect of this conversation between me and Buckner Gowdy in the cabin of the transport on the morning of the first day's battle of Shiloh--so N.V. says--but this is the first time I have had a chance to tell it as it was, without some squirt of a lawyer pointing his finger at me and trying to make me change the story; or some other limb of the law interrupting me with objections that it was incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial, not the best evidence, hearsay, a privileged communication, and a lot of other balderdash. This is what took place, just as I have stated it; and this is all the Vandemark Township, Monterey County, or Iowa history there was in the battle so far as I know--except that Iowa had more men in that fight than any other state in proportion to her population. Just to show you that I didn't run away, I must tell you that we had ammunition issued to us after a while, and were told how to use it. We got forty rounds of cartridges at first and ten rounds right afterward. Then we formed and marched, part of the time at the double, out into a cotton-field. In front of us a few hundred yards off, was a line of forest trees, and under the trees were tents, that I guess some of our other men were driven out of that morning. Here we were at once under a hot fire and lost a lot of men. We went into action about half-past nine or ten o'clock in the forenoon, and two regiments of us stood the enemy off along that line until about noon. Then they rushed us, and such of us as could went away from there. Those that didn't are most of them there yet. I stayed, because of a shot through my leg which splintered the bone. The enemy trampled over me as they drove our men off the field, and a horse stepped on my shoulder, breaking the collar-bone. Then, when the Johnnies were driven back, I was mauled around again, but don't remember much except that I was thirsty. And then, for months and months, I was in one hospital or another; and finally I was discharged as unfit for service, because I was too lame to march. I can feel it in frosty weather yet; but it never amounted to much except to the dealers in riding plows and the like. So ended my military life. I had borne arms for my country for about three hours! It was the eighth of January, 1863, when I got home. I rode from the railroad to Foster Blake's in his sleigh, looked over my herd which he was running on shares for me, and crossed Vandemark's Folly Marsh on the hard snow which was over the tall grass and reeds everywhere. How my grove had grown that past summer! I began to feel at home, as I warmed the little house up with a fire in the stove, and rolling up in my blankets, which for a long time were more comfortable to me than a bed, went to sleep on the floor. I never felt the sense of home more delightfully than that night. I would set things to rights, and maybe go over to Monterey Centre and see Virginia next day. I could see smoke at Magnus's down the road. I felt a pleasure in thus sneaking in without any one's knowing it. I had not gone to see Mr. Lusch in Waterloo, for I had learned that so far from being killed, Captain Gowdy had come through Shiloh without a scratch, and that he had soon afterward resigned and gone back to Monterey County. It has always been believed, but I don't know why, that he was allowed to resign either because of his relationship to the great Confederate families of Kentucky, or because of his record there before he went to Iowa. Anyhow, he never joined the G.A.R. or fellowshipped with the soldiers after the war. I always hated him; but I do him the justice to say here that he was a brave man, and except for his one great weakness--the weakness that I am told Lord Byron was destroyed by--he would have been a good man. I feel certain that if he had been given a chance to make a career in either army, he would have been a general before the war was over. That afternoon, J.P. Roebuck, who had seen my smoke, came over to welcome me home and to talk politics with me. We must have a township for ourselves, he said. Now look at the situation in the school. We had a big school in the Vandemark schoolhouse, thirteen scholars being enrolled. We had a good teacher, too, Virginia Royall. But there wasn't enough fuel to last two days, and those Monterey Centre folks were dead on their feet and nobody seemed to care if the school closed down. He went on with his argument for a separate township organization; I all the time thinking with my mind in a whirl that Virginia was near, and I could see her next day. When he said that we would have to get the vote of Doc Bliven, who was a member of the Board of Supervisors, I began to take notice. "Bliven always seemed to like you," said Roebuck. "We all kind of wish you'd see what you can do for us with him." "I think I can get his vote," I said, after thinking it over for a while--and as I thought of it, the Dubuque ferry in 1855, the arrest of Bliven in the queue of people waiting at the post-office, my smuggled passenger, and the uplift I felt as the Iowa prairie opened to my view as we drew out of the ravines to the top of the hills--all this rolled over my memory. Roebuck looked at me like a person facing a medium in a trance. "Yes," I said, "I believe I can get his vote. I'll try." CHAPTER XX JUST AS GRANDMA THORNDYKE EXPECTED I was surprised next morning to note the change which had taken place in the weather. It had been cold and raw when I was crossing the prairies to my farm, with the wind in the southeast, and filled with a bitter chill. In the night the wind had gone down, and it was as still as death in the morning. For the first time in my life, and it has happened but twice since, I heard the whistles of the engines on the railroad twelve miles away to the north. There was a little beard of hoar frost along the side of every spear of grass and weed; which, as the sun rose higher, dropped off and lay under every twig and bent, in a little heap if it stood up straight, or in a windrow if it slanted; for so still was the air that the frost went straight down, and lay as it fell. I could hear the bawling of the cattle in every barnyard for miles around, and the crowing of roosters as the fowls strutted about in the warm sun. It was thawing by ten o'clock. The temperature had run up as the wind dropped; and as I now know, with the lowering of the pressure of the barometer, if we had had one. "This is a weather-breeder!" This was my way of telling to myself what a scientist would have described as marked low barometer; and he would have predicted from his maps that we should soon find ourselves in the northwest quadrant of the "low" with high winds and falling temperature. It all comes to the same thing. Instead of going to see Virginia before her school opened in the morning, I went to work banking up my house, fixing my sheds, and reefing things down for a gale as I learned to say on the Lakes. I made up my mind that I would go to the schoolhouse just before four and surprise Virginia, and hoped it would be a little stormy so I could have an excuse to take her home. I need not have worried about the storm. It came. At noon the northwestern sky, a third of the way to a point overhead, was of an indigo-blue color; but it still seemed to be clear sky--though I looked at it with suspicion, it was such an unusual thing for January. As I stood gazing at it, Narcisse Lacroix, Pierre's twelve-year-old boy, came by with his little sister. I asked him if school was out, and he said the teacher had sent them home because there was no more fuel for the stove; but it was so warm that the teacher was going to stay and sweep out, and write up her register. As the children went out of sight, a strange and awful change came over the face of nature. The bright sun was blotted out as it touched the edge of that rising belt of indigo blue. This blanket of cloud, like a curtain with puckering strings to bring it together in the southeast, drew fast across the sky--very, very fast, considering that there was not a breath of wind stirring. It was a fearful thing to see, the blue-black cloud hurrying up the sky, over the sky, and far down until there was no bright spot except a narrowing oval near the southeastern horizon; and not a breath of wind. The storm was like a leaning wall, that bent far over us while its foot dragged along the ground, miles and miles behind its top. Everything had a tinge of strange, ghastly greenish blue like the face of a corpse, and it was growing suddenly dark as if the day had all at once shut down into dusk. I knew what it meant, though I had never seen the change from calm warmth to cold wind come with such marked symptoms of suddenness and violence. It meant a blizzard--though we never heard or adopted the word until in the late 'seventies. I thought I had plenty of time, however, and I went into the house and changed my clothes; for I wanted to look my best when I saw my girl. I put on new and warm underwear, for I foresaw that it might be bad before I could get home. I put on an extra pair of drawers under my blue trousers, and a buckskin undervest under my shirt. I thanked God for this forethought before the night was over. As I stood naked in making this change of clothes, suddenly the house staggered as if it had been cuffed by a great hand. I peeped out of the window, and against the dark sky I could see the young grove of trees bowing before the great gusts which had struck them from the northwest. The wall of wind and frost and death had moved against them. 2 The thought in my mind was, Hurry! Hurry! For what if Virginia, in the schoolhouse without fuel, should try to reach the place where she boarded, or any inhabited house, in that storm? As yet there was no snow in the air except the few flakes which were driven horizontally out of the fierce squall; but I knew that this could not last; for the crust on the blanket of snow already on the ground would soon be ground through wherever exposed to the sand-blast of particles already driven along the surface of the earth in a creeping sheet of white. As I hurriedly finished my dressing, I heard the rattle of a shower of missiles as they struck the house; and looking out I saw that the crust was already being cut through by this grinding process; and as the wind got a purchase under the crust, it was torn up in great flakes as if blown up by a thousand explosions from underneath. In an instant, almost, for these bursts of snow took place nearly all at once, the air was filled with such a smother of snow that the landscape went out of sight in a great cloud of deep-shaded whiteness. The blizzard was upon us. I should have my work cut out for me in getting to the schoolhouse. I wonder if the people who have been born in or moved to Iowa in the past thirty to forty years can be made to understand that we can not possibly have such winter storms of this sort as we had then. The groves themselves prevent it. The standing corn-stalks prevent it. Every object that civilization and development have placed in the way of the wind prevents it. Then, the snow, once lifted on the wings of the blast, became a part of the air, and remained in it. The atmosphere for hundreds of feet, for thousands of feet from the grassy surface of the prairie, was a moving cloud of snow, which fell only as the very tempest itself became over-burdened with it. As the storm continued, it always grew cold; for it was the North emptying itself into the South. I knew what the blizzard was; and my breath caught as I thought of Virginia, in what I knew must be a losing struggle with it. Even to the strongest man, there was terror in this storm, the breath of which came with a roar and struck with a shiver, as the trees creaked and groaned, and the paths and roads were obliterated. As the tumult grows hills are leveled, and hollows rise into hills. Every shed-roof is the edge of an oblique Niagara of snow; every angle the center of a whirlpool. If you are caught out in it, the Spirit of the Storm flies at you and loads your eyebrows and eyelashes and hair and beard with icicles and snow. As you look out into the white, the light through your bloodshot eyelids turns everything to crimson. Your feet lag, as the feathery whiteness comes almost to your knees. Your breath comes choked as with water. If you are out far away from shelter, God help you! You struggle along for a time, all the while fearing to believe that the storm which did not seem so very dangerous, is growing more violent, and that the daylight, which you thought would last for hours yet, seems to be fading, and that night appears to be setting in earlier than usual. It is! For there are two miles of snow between you and the sun. But in a swiftly moving maze of snow, partly spit out of the lowering clouds, and partly torn and swept up from the gray and cloud-like earth, in a roar of rising wind, and oppressed by growing anxiety, you stubbornly press on. Night shuts down darker. You can not tell, when you try to look about you, what is sky and what is earth; for all is storm. You feel more and more tired. All at once, you find that the wind which was at your side a while ago, as you kept beating into it on your course toward help and shelter, is now at your back. Has the wind changed? No; it will blow for hours from the same quarter--perhaps for days! No; you have changed your course, and are beating off with the storm! This will never do: you rally, and again turn your cheek to the cutting blast: but you know that you are off your path; yet you wonder if you may not be going right--if the wind _has_ changed; or if you have not turned to the left when you should have gone to the right. Loneliness, anxiety, weariness, uncertainty. An awful sense of helplessness takes possession of you. If it were daylight, you could pass around the deep drifts, even in this chaos; but now a drift looks the same as the prairie grass swept bare. You plunge headlong into it, flounder through it, creeping on hands and knees, with your face sometimes buried in the snow, get on your feet again, and struggle on. You know that the snow, finer than flour, is beating through your clothing. You are chilled, and shiver. Sometimes-you stop for a while and with your hands over your eyes stand stooped with your back to the wind. You try to stamp your feet to warm them, but the snow, soft and yielding, forbids this. You are so tired that you stop to rest in the midst of a great drift--you turn your face from the driving storm and wait. It seems so much easier than stumbling wearily on. Then comes the in-rushing consciousness that to rest thus is to die. You rush on in a frenzy. You have long since ceased to think of what is your proper course,--you only know that you must struggle on. You attempt a shout;--ah, it seems so faint and distant even to yourself! No one else could hear it a rod in this raging, howling, shrieking storm, in which awful sounds come out of the air itself, and not alone from the things against which it beats. And there is no one else to hear. You gaze about with snow-smitten eyeballs for some possible light from a friendly window. Why, the sun itself could not pierce this moving earth-cloud of snow! Your feet are not so cold as they were. You can not feel them as you walk. You come to a hollow filled with soft snow. Perhaps there is the bed of a stream deep down below. You plunge into this hollow, and as you fall, turn your face from the storm. A strange and delicious sense of warmth and drowsiness steals over you; you sink lower, and feel the cold soft whiteness sifting over neck and cheek and forehead: but you do not care. The struggle is over; and--in the morning the sun glints coldly over a new landscape of gently undulating alabaster. Yonder is a little hillock which marks the place where the blizzard overtook its prey. Sometime, when the warm March winds have thawed the snow, some gaunt wolf will snuff about this spot, and send up the long howl that calls the pack to the banquet. Such thoughts as these were a part of our lives then, and with such thoughts my mind was filled as I stepped out into the storm, my trousers tied down over my boots with bag-strings; my fur cap drawn down over my eyes, my blue military overcoat flapping about my legs; the cape of it wrapped about my head, and tied with a woolen comforter. 3 Through these wrappings, a strange sound came to my ears--the sound of sleigh-bells; and in a moment, so close were they, there emerged from the whirl of snow, a team of horses drawing a swell-body cutter, in which sat a man driving, wrapped up in buffalo robes and blankets until the box of the sleigh was filled. The horses came to a stop in the lee of my house. There had been no such rig in the county before I had gone to the war. "Is this the Vandemark schoolhouse?" came from the man in the cutter. "No, Captain," said I; for discipline is strong, "this is my farm." "Ah, it's you, Mr. Vandemark, is it?" said he. "Can you tell me the way to the schoolhouse?" Discipline flew off into the storm. I never for a moment harbored the idea that I was to allow Buck Gowdy to rescue Virginia from the blizzard, and carry her off into either danger or safety. There was none of my Dutch hesitation here. This was battle; and I behaved with as much prompt decision as I did on the field of Shiloh, where, I have the captain's word for it in writing, I behaved with a good deal of it. "Never mind about the schoolhouse," I said. "I'll attend to that!' "The hell you will!" said he, in that calm way of his. "Let me see. Your house faces the north. These trees are on the section line.... The schoolhouse is.... I have it, now. Sorry to cut in ahead of you; but--get up, Susie--Winnie, go on!" But I had Susie and Winnie by the bits. "Vandemark," he said, and as he shouted this to make me hear I could feel the authority I had grown to recognize in drill, "you forget yourself! Let go those horses!" "Not by a damned sight!" I found myself swearing as if I were in the habit of it. Now the man in any kind of rig with another holding his horses' bits is in an embarrassing fix. He can't do anything so long as he remains in the vehicle; and neither can his horses. He must carry the fight to the other man, or be made a fool of. Buck Gowdy was not a man to hesitate in such a case. He carried the fight to me--and I was glad to see him coming. I had waited for this a long time. I have no skill in describing fights, and I was too much engaged in this to remember the details. How many blows were exchanged; what sort of blows they were; how much damage they did until the last, more than a cut lip on my part, I can not tell. Why no more damage was done is clearer--we were both so wrapped up as to be unable to do much. I only know that at the last, I had Gowdy down in the snow right by my well-curb; and that without taking time to make any plan, I wrapped the well-rope around him so as to make it necessary for him to take a little time in getting loose; I wrote him a receipt for the team and rig, which N.V. Creede tells me would not have done me any good; and I went out, very much winded, shut the door behind me, and getting into the cutter, drove off into the blizzard with Gowdy's team and sleigh, leaving him rolling around on the floor unwinding the well-rope, swearing like a trooper, and in a warm room where there was plenty to eat. "And in my opinion," said N.V., "no matter how much girl there was at stake, the man that chose to go out into that storm when he could have let the job out was the fool in the case." It was less than a mile to the schoolhouse, which I was lucky to find at all. I could not see it twenty feet away; but I was almost upset by a snow fort which the children had built, and taking this as the sure sign of a playground, I guessed my way the fifty or sixty feet that more by luck than judgment brought me to the back end of the house, instead of the front. I made my way around on the windward side of the building, hoping that the jingle of the bells might be heard as I passed the windows--for I dared not leave the horses again, as I had done during my contest with Gowdy. Nothing but the shelter in which they then found themselves had kept them from bolting--that and their bewilderment. I pulled up before the door and shouted Virginia's name with all my might, over and over again. But I suppose I sat there ten or fifteen minutes before Virginia came to the door; and then, while she had all her wraps on, she was in her anxiety just taking a look at the weather, debating in her mind whether to try for the safety of the fireside, or risk the stay in the schoolhouse with no fuel. She had not heard the bells, or the trampling, or my holloing. More by my motions than anything else, she saw that I was inviting her to get in; but she knew no more than her heels who I was. She went back into the schoolhouse and got her dinner-basket--lucky or providential act!--and in she climbed. If I had been Buck Gowdy or Asher Bushyager or the Devil himself, she would have done the same. She would have thought, of course, that it was one of the neighbors come for her; and, anyhow, there was nothing else to do. As I turned back the rich robes and the jingle of the bells came to her ears, she started; but I drew her down into the seat, and pulled the flannel-lined coonskin robe which was under us, up over our laps; I wrapped the army blanket and the thick buffalo-robe over and under us; and as I did so, a little black-and-tan terrier came shivering out from under the coonskin robe and jumped into her lap. I started to put it down again, but she held it--and as she did she looked at my blue sleeve, and then up at the mass of wrappings I had over my face. I thought she snuggled up against me a little closer, then. 4 I turned the horses toward her boarding-place, which was with a new family who had moved in at the head of the slew, near the pond for which poor Rowena was making the day of the prairie fire; and in doing so, set their faces right into the teeth of the gale. It seemed as if it would strip the scalps from our heads, in spite of all our capes and comforters and veils. Virginia pulled the robe up over her head. I had to face the storm and manage my team; but before I had gone forty rods, I saw that I was asking too much of them; and I let them turn to beat off with it. At that moment I really abandoned control, and gave it over to the wind and snow. But I thought myself steering for my own house. I was not much worried; having the confidence of youth and strength. The cutter was low and would not tip over easily. The horses were active and powerful and resolute. We were nested down in the deep box, wrapped in the warmest of robes; and it was not yet so very cold--not that cold which draws down into the lungs; seals the nostrils and mouth; and paralyzes the strength. That cold was coming--coming like an army with banners; but it was not yet here. I was not much worried until I had driven before the wind, beating up as much as I could to the east, without finding my house, or anything in the way of grove or fence to tell me where it was. I now remembered that I had not mounted the hill on which my house stood. In fact, I had missed my farm, and was lost, so far as knowing my locality was concerned: and the wind was growing fiercer and the cold more bitter. For a moment I quailed inwardly; but I felt Virginia snuggled down by me in what seemed to be perfect trust; and I brushed the snow from my eye-opening and pushed on--hoping that I might by pure accident strike shelter in that wild waste of prairie, and determined to make the fight of my life for it if I failed. It was getting dusk. The horses were tiring. We plunged through a deep drift under the lee of a knoll; and I stopped a few moments to let them breathe. I knew that stopping was a bad symptom, unless one had a good reason for it--but I gave myself a good reason. I felt Virginia pulling at my sleeve; and I turned back the robes and looked at her. She pulled my ear down to her lips. "I know you now," she shouted. "It's Teunis!" I nodded; and she squeezed my arm with her two hands. Give up! Not for all the winds and snows of the whole of the Iowa prairie! I disarranged the robes while I put my arm around her for a moment; while she patted my shoulder. Then, putting tendernesses aside, when they must be indulged in at the expense of snow in the sleigh, I put my horses into it again. A few minutes ago, I gave you the thoughts that ran through my mind as I conjured up the image of one lost in such a storm; but now I thought of nothing--only for a few minutes after that pressure on my arm--but getting on from moment to moment, keeping my sleigh from upsetting, encouraging those brave mares, and peering around for anything that might promise shelter. Virginia has always told of this to the children, when I was not present, to prove that I am brave, even if I am mortal slow; and if just facing danger from minute to minute without looking further, is bravery, I suppose I am--and there is plenty of good courage in the world which is nothing more, look at it how you will. So far, the cutter and team of which I had robbed Buck Gowdy, had been a benefit to us. They gave us transportation, and the warm sleigh in which to nest down. I began to wonder, now, as it began to grow dark, as the tempest greatened, as my horses disappeared in the smother, and as the frost began to penetrate to our bodies, whether I should not have done better to have stayed in the schoolhouse, and burned up the partitions for fuel; but the thought came too late; though it troubled me much. Two or three times, one of the mares fell in the drifts, and nothing but the courage bred into them in the blue-grass fields of Kentucky saved us from stalling out in that fearful moving flood of wind and frost and snow. Two or three times we narrowly escaped being thrown out into it by the overturn of the sleigh; and then I foresaw a struggle, in which there would be no hope; for in a storm in which a strong man is helpless, how could he expect to come out safe with a weak girl on his hands? At last, the inevitable happened: the off mare dove into a great drift; the nigh one pulled on: and they came to a staggering halt, one of them was kept from falling partly by her own efforts, and partly by the snow about her legs against which she braced herself. As they stood there, they turned their heads and looked back as if to say that so far as they were concerned, the fight was over. They had done all they could. I sat a moment thinking. I looked about, and saw, between gusts, that we were almost against a huge straw-pile, where some neighbor had threshed a setting of wheat. This might mean that we were close to a house, or it might not. I handed the lines to Virginia under the robes, got out, and struggled forward to look at my team. Their bloodshot eyes and quivering flanks told me that they could help us no longer; so I unhitched them, so as to keep the cutter as a possible shelter, and turned them loose. They floundered off into the drifts, and left us alone. Cuffed and mauled by the storm, I made a circuit of the stack, and stumbled over the tumbling-rod of the threshing-machine, which was still standing where it had been used. Leaning against the wheel was a shovel, carried for use in setting the separator. This I took with me, with some notion of building a snow-house for us; for I somehow felt that if there was any hope for us, it lay in the shelter of that straw. As I passed the side of the stack, just where the ground was scraped bare by the wind, I saw what seemed to be a hole under and into the great loose pile of dry straw. It looked exactly like one of those burrows which the children used to make in play in such places. Virginia was safe for the moment, sitting covered up snugly with her hands warmed by the little dog; but the cold was beginning to penetrate the robes. I could leave her for the moment while I investigated the burrow with the shovel. As I gained a little advantage over the snow which was drifted in almost as fast as I could shovel it out, my heart leaped as I found the hole opening out into the middle of the stack; and I plunged in on my hands and knees, found it dry and free from snow within ten feet of the mouth, and after enlarging it by humping up my back under it where the settling had made it too small, I emerged and went to Virginia; whom I took out with her dog, wrapped her in the robes so as to keep them from getting snowy inside, and backing into the burrow, hauled the pile of robes, girl and dog in after me, like a gigantic mouse engaged in saving her young. I think no mouse ever yearned over her treasures in such case more than I did. And then I went back to get the dinner-basket, which was already buried under the snow which had filled the cutter; for I knew that there was likely to be something left over of one of the bountiful dinners which a farmer's wife puts up for the teacher. Then I went back into the little chamber of straw in which we had found shelter, stopping up the mouth with snow and straw as I went in. I drew a long breath. This was far better than I had dared hope for. There is a warmth generated in such a pile, from the slow fermentation of the straw juices; even when seemingly dry as this was: and far in the middle of the stack, vegetables might have been stored without freezing. The sound of the tempest did not reach us here; it was still as death, and dark as tar. I wondered that Virginia did not say anything; but she kept still because she did not understand where she was, or what I had done with her. Finally, when she spoke it was to say, "Unwrap me, Teunis! I am smothering with the heat!" I laughed a long loud laugh. I guess I was almost hysterical. The change was so sudden, so complete. Virginia was actually complaining of the heat! I unwrapped her carefully, and kissed her. Did ever any peril turn to any one a face so full of clemency and tenderness as this blizzard to me? "It takes," says she, "a storm to move _you_ to any speed faster than a walk." The darkness in the burrow was now full of light for me. I made it soft as a mouse-nest, by pulling down the clean straw, and spreading it in the bottom, with the coonskin under her, and the buffalo-robe for a coverlid. There was scarcely room for two there, but we made it do, and found room for the little dog also. There was an inexpressible happiness in our safety from the awful storm, which we knew raged all about our nest; but to be together, and to feel that the things that stood between us had all been swept away at once--even the chaff that fell down our necks only gave us cause for laughter. "Your coat is all wet!" she exclaimed. "It was the snow, shoveling the way in," I said. "It's nothing." But she began right there to take care of me. She made me take off the overcoat, and wrap myself in the blanket. The dampness went out into the dry straw; but when drowsiness came upon us, she would not let me take the chance of getting chilled, but made me wrap myself in the robes with her; and we lay there talking until finally, tired by my labors, I went to sleep with her arms about me, and her lips close to mine; and when I awoke, she was asleep, and I lay there listening to her soft breathing for hours. We were both hungry when she awoke, and in the total darkness we felt about for the dinner-basket, in which were the dinners of the children of the McConkey family with whom she had boarded, and who had gone home at noon, because the fuel was gone. We ate frozen pie, and frozen boiled eggs, and frozen bread and butter; and then lay talking and caressing each other for hours. We talked about the poor horses, for which Virginia felt a deep pity, out there in the fierce storm and the awful cold. We talked of the beautiful cutter; and finally, I explained the way in which I had robbed Gowdy of horses and robes and sleigh, and dog. "He can never have the dog back," said she. "And to think that I am hiding out in a straw-stack with a robber and a horse-thief!" Then she said she reckoned we'd have to join the Bunker gang, if we could find any of it to join. Certainly we should be fugitives from justice when the storm was over; but she for herself would rather be a fugitive always with me than to be rescued by "that man"--and it was lucky for him, too, she said, that I had licked him and shut him up in a house where he would be warm and fed; because he never would have been able to save himself in this awful storm as I had done. Nobody could have done so well as I had done. I had snatched her from the very jaws of death. "Then," said I, "you're mine." "Of course I am," said she. "I've been yours ever since we lived together so beautifully on the road, and in our Grove of Destiny. Of course I'm yours--and you are mine, Teunis--ain't you?" "Then," said I, "just as soon as we get out of here, we'll be married." It took argument to establish this point, but the jury was with me from the start; and finally nothing stood between me and a verdict but the fact that she must finish her term of school. I urged upon her that my house was nearer the school than was McConkey's, and she could finish it if she chose. Then she said she didn't believe it would be legal for Virginia Vandemark to finish a contract signed by Virginia Royall--and pretty soon I realized that she was making fun of me, and I hugged her and kissed her until she begged my pardon. And all the time the storm raged. We finished the food in the dinner pail, and began wondering how long we had been imprisoned, and how hungry we ought to be by this time. I was not in the least hungry myself; but I began to feel panicky for fear Virginia might be starving to death. She had a watch, of course, as a teacher; but it had run down long ago, and even if it had not, we could not have lit a match in that place by which to look at it. Becoming really frightened as the thought of starvation and death from thirst came oftener and oftener into my mind, I dug my way to the opening of the burrow, and found it black night, and the snow still sweeping over the land; but there was hope in the fact that I could see one or two bright stars overhead. The gale was abating; and I went back with this word, and a basket of snow in lieu of water. Whether it was the first night out or the second, I did not know, and this offered ground for argument. Virginia said that we had lived through so much that it had probably made the time seem longer than it was; but I argued that the time of holding her in my arms, kissing her, telling her how much I loved her, and persuading her to marry me as soon as we could get to Elder Thorndyke's, made it seem shorter--and this led to more efforts to make the time pass away. Finally, I dug out again, just as we both were really and truly hungry, and went back after Virginia. I made her wrap up warmly, and we crawled out, covered with chaff, rumpled, mussed up, but safe and happy; and found the sun shining over a landscape of sparkling frost, with sun-dogs in the sky and spiracles of frost in the air, and a light breeze still blowing from the northwest, so bitingly cold that a finger or cheek was nipped by it in a moment's exposure. And within forty rods of us was the farmstead of Amos Bemisdarfer; who stood looking at us in amazement as we came across the rippled surface of the snow to his back door. "I kess," said Amos, "it mus' have peen your team I put in de parn lass night. Come in. Preckfuss is retty." * * * * * I left it to Virginia--she had been so sensible and wise in all her words since we had agreed to be married at once--to tell the elder and Grandma Thorndyke about it. But she went to pieces when she tried it. She ran into their little front room where the elder was working on a sermon, pulling grandma out of the kitchen by the hand. "Teunis and I," she gasped, "have been lost in the storm, and nearly froze to death, and he tied that man up with the well-rope, and maybe he's starved to death in Teunis's house, and Teunis and I slept in a straw-stack, and Teunis is just as brave as he can be, and we're going to be married awful soon, and I'm going to board with him then, and that'll be nicer than with the McConkeys' and nearer the schoolhouse, and cheaper, and Teunis will build fires for me, and we'll be just as happy as we can be, and when you quit this stingy church you'll both of you live with us forever and ever, and I want you to kiss Teunis and call him your son right now, and if you don't we'll both be mad at you always--no we won't, no we won't, you dear things, but you will marry us, won't you?" And then she cried hysterically and kissed us all. "What Virginia says," said I, "is all true--especially the getting married right now, and your living with us. We'll both be awful sorry if we can't have you right off." "I snum!" exclaimed Grandma Thorndyke. "Just as I expected!" Grandma outlived the elder by many years; and it was not very long before she came, a widow, to live with us "until she could hear from her folks in Massachusetts." She finally heard from them, but she lived with us, and is buried in our lot in the Monterey Centre burying-ground. She always expected everything that happened. I have given some hints of her character; but she had one weakness; she always, when she was a little down, spoke of herself as being a burden to us, especially in the hard times in the 'seventies. There was never a better woman, or one that did more for a family than she did for Virginia and me and our children--and our chickens and our calves and our lambs and goslings and ducks and young turkeys. Of course, she wanted Virginia to do better than to marry me; and that was all right with me after I understood it: but grandma made that good, by always taking my side of every little difference in the family. Peace to her ashes! 5 Now I have reached the point in this history where things get beyond me. I can't tell the history of Monterey County; and the unsettled matters like the Wade-Stone controversy, the outcome of the betrayal of Rowena Fewkes by Buckner Gowdy, and other beginnings of things like the doings of the Bushyager bandits; for some of them run out into the history of the state as well as the county. And as for the township history, it is now approaching the point where there is nothing to it but more settlers, roads, schools, and the drainage of the slew--of which, so far as the reader is concerned if he is not posted, he may post himself up by getting that Excelsior County History, which he can do cheaply from almost any one who was swindled by their slick agent. What remains to be told here is a short horse and soon curried. Vandemark Township was set off as a separate township within six weeks of the day we crawled out of the straw-stack--and on that day we had been married a month, and Virginia was boarding with me as she predicted. Doctor Bliven as a member of the County Board voted for the new township just as his wife said he would after I talked with her about it. N.V. Creede says that at this time I was threatened with political ability; but happily recovered. One reason for this joke he finds in the fact that I was elected justice of the peace in the township at the first election of officers; and got some reputation out of the fact that they named the township after me when it was fashionable to name them after Lincoln, Colfax, Grant, Sherman, Sheridan and the rest of the Civil War heroes. The second is the way I handled Dick McGill. N.V. says this was very subtle. I knew that if he wrote up my dragging Virginia into a straw-pile and keeping her there two nights and a day, while he would make folks laugh all over the county, he would make us ashamed; for he never failed to give everything a tint of his own color. So I went to him and told him that if he said a word about it, I should maul him into a slop and feed him to the hogs. This was my way of being "subtle." "Why, Jake," he said, "I never would say anything to take the shine off the greatest thing ever done in these parts. I've got it all written up, and I'm sending a copy of it to the Chicago _Tribune_. It's an epic of prairie life. Read it, and if you don't want it printed, why, it's me for the swine; for it's already gone to Chicago." Of course it seemed all right to me, but I was afraid of it, and was thinking of pounding him up right then, when in came Elder Thorndyke to put in the paper something about his next Sunday's services, and McGill asked him to read the story and act as umpire. And after he had gone over it, he grasped my hand and said that Virginia and I had not told them half of the strange story of our living through the blizzard out on the prairie, and that it was a great drama of resolution, resource and bravery on my part, and seemed almost like a miracle. "Will this hurt Virginia's feelings if it is printed?" I asked. "No, no," he said. "It will make her fiancé a hero. It will tickle her," said he, "half to death." Then I told Dick he might go on with it if he would leave it just as it was. The joke was on him, after all, for there was nothing in it about my fight with Buck Gowdy, or of my robbing him of the team and sleigh and harness and robes and Nick, the little dog. The third thing that N.V. thought might have sent me down through the greased tin horn of politics, which has ruined more good men than any other form of gambling, was my management of the business of getting the township set off, against the opposition of the whole Monterey Centre Ring. But he did not know of that day in Dubuque, and of my smuggling of Mrs. Bliven into Iowa, as I have told it in this history. It hurt Bliven politically, but he kept on boosting me, and it was his electioneering, that I knew nothing about, that elected me justice of the peace; and it was Mrs. Bliven's urging that caused me to qualify by being sworn in--though I couldn't see what she meant by her interest. 6 On my next birthday, the twenty-seventh of July, however, something happened that after a few months of figuring made me think that they knew what they were about all the time; for on that day they (the Blivens) got up a surprise party on us, and came in such rigs as they had (there were more light rigs than at the Governor Wade reception, a fact of historical interest as showing progress); though Virginia did not seem to be much surprised. In the course of the evening Doc Bliven started in making fun of me as a justice of the peace. "I helped a little to elect you, Jake," said he, "but I'll bet you couldn't make out a mittimus if you had to send a criminal to jail to-night." "I won't bet," I said, "I know I couldn't!" "I'll bet the oysters for the crowd, Squire Vandemark," he went on deviling me, "that you couldn't perform the marriage ceremony." Now here he came closer to my abilities, for I had been through a marriage ceremony lately, and I have a good memory--and oysters were a novelty in Iowa, coming in tin cans and called cove oysters, put up in Baltimore. It looked like a chance to stick Doc Bliven, and while I was hesitating, Mrs. Bliven whispered that there was a form for the ceremony in the instruction book. "I'll bet you the oysters for the crowd I can," I said. "You furnish the happy couple--and I'll see that you furnish the oyster supper, too." "Any couple will do," said the doctor. "Come, Mollie, we may as well go through it again." The word "again" seemed suspicious. I began to wonder: and before the ceremony was over, I reading from the book of instructions, and people interrupting with their jokes, I saw that this meant a good deal to the Blivens. Mollie's voice trembled as she said "I do!"; and the doctor's hand was not steady as he took hers. I asked myself what had become of the man who had made the attack on Bliven as he stood in line for his mail at the Dubuque post-office away back there in 1855. "Don't forget my certificate, Jake," said Mrs. Bliven, as they sat down; and I had to write it out and give it to her. "And remember the report of it to the county clerk," said Henderson L. Burns, who held that office himself. "The Doc will kick out of the supper unless you do everything." I did not forget the report, and I suppose it is there in the old records to this day. "We got word," whispered Mrs. Bliven to me as she went away, "that I have been a widow for more than a year. You've been a good friend to me, Jake[16]!" [16] There is no record of this marriage in the clerk's office; where it was regarded, of course, as a joke. This was probably a unique case of a secret marriage made in public; but there is no doubt as to its validity. The editor remembers the Blivens as respected citizens. They are dead long since, and left no descendants. Otherwise the historian would not have told their story--which is not illustrative of anything usual in our early history; but shows that in Iowa as in other new countries there were those who were escaping from their past.--G.v.d.M. I shall not close this history, without clearing up my record as to the mares, Susie and Winnie, and the cutter, and Nick, the black-and-tan, that saved Virginia's fingers from freezing, and the robes. First, I kept the property, and every horse on the farm is descended from Susie and Winnie. Second, I paid Buck Gowdy all the outfit was worth, though he never knew it, and never would have taken pay: I drove a bunch of cattle over into his corn-field the next fall and left them just before day one morning, and he took them up, advertised them as estrays, and finally, as N.V. says, reduced them to possession. And third, they were legally mine, anyhow; for when I got home, I found this paper lying on the bed, where he had slept those two nights when we were nesting in the straw-pile: BILL OF SALE In consideration of one lesson in the manly art of self-defense, of two days' board and lodging, and of one dollar ($1.00) to me in hand by J.T. Vandemark, the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, I hereby sell and transfer to said J.T. Vandemark, possession having already been given, the following described personal property, to wit: 1 Bay Mare called Susie, weight 1150 lbs., with star in forehead, and white left hind foot, five years old; 1 Bay Mare called Winnie, weight 1175 lbs., with star in forehead, and two white hind feet, six years old; 1 one-seated, swell-body cutter, one fine army blanket, one coonskin robe lined with flannel, one large buffalo robe. It is hereby understood that if any of said animals are ever returned to me at Blue-grass Manor or elsewhere they will be hamstrung by the undersigned and turned out to die. Signed, J. Buckner Gowdy. One of my grandsons, Frank McConkey, has just read over this chapter, and remarks, "He was a dead game sport!" But he had also read what Captain Gowdy had interlined, or rather written on the margin to go in after the description of the property conveyed: "Also one blue-blooded black-and-tan terrier name 'Nicodemus.' The tail goes with the hide, Jacob!" Since his death, I have grown to liking the man much better; in fact ever since I whaled him. * * * * * Here ends the story, so far as I can tell it. It is not my story. There are some fifteen hundred townships in Iowa; and each of them had its history like this; and so had every township in all the great, wonderful West of the prairie. The thing in my mind has been to tell the truth; not the truth of statistics; not just information: but the living truth as we lived it. Every one of these townships has a history beginning in the East, or in Scandinavia, or Germany, or the South. We are a result of lines of effect which draw together into our story; and we are a cause of a future of which no man can form a conjecture. The prairies took me, an ignorant, orphaned canal hand, and made me something much better. How much better it is not for me to say. The best prayer I can utter now is that it may do as well with my children and grandchildren, with the tenants on these rich farms, and the farm-hands that help till them, and with the owners who find that expensive land is just like expensive clothes:--merely something you must have, and must pay heavily for. THE END 
18413	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 18413-h.htm or 18413-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/4/1/18413/18413-h/18413-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/4/1/18413/18413-h.zip) PRUDENCE OF THE PARSONAGE by ETHEL HUESTON With Illustrations by Arthur William Brown [Frontispiece: "What did you put in this soup, Prudence?"] New York Grosset & Dunlap Publishers Copyright 1915 The Bobbs-Merrill Company TO MY MOTHER WHO DEVOTED HER LIFE TO REARING A WHOLE PARSONAGE-FULL OF ROLLICKING YOUNG METHODISTS CONTENTS CHAPTER I INTRODUCING HER II THE REST OF THE FAMILY III THE LADIES' AID IV A SECRET SOCIETY V THE TWINS STICK UP FOR THE BIBLE VI AN ADMIRER VII LESSONS IN ETIQUETTE VIII THE FIRST DARK SHADOW OF WINTER IX PRACTISING ECONOMY X A BURGLAR'S VISIT XI ROMANCE COMES XII ROUSED FROM HER SLUMBER XIII SHE ORDERS HER LIFE XIV SHE COMES TO GRIEF XV FATE TAKES CHARGE ILLUSTRATIONS "What did you put in this soup, Prudence?" . . . . _Frontispiece_ "If you'll shut the door one minute, we'll have everything exactly as you left it." "Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?" "She predicted I'm to fall in love with you." PRUDENCE OF THE PARSONAGE CHAPTER I INTRODUCING HER None but the residents consider Mount Mark, Iowa, much of a town, and those who are honest among them admit, although reluctantly, that Mount Mark can boast of far more patriotism than good judgment! But the _very most_ patriotic of them all has no word of praise for the ugly little red C., B. & Q. railway station. If pretty is as pretty does, as we have been told so unpleasantly often, then the station is handsome enough, but as an ornament to the commonwealth it is a dismal failure,--low, smoky and dust-grimed. In winter its bleakness and bareness add to the chill of the rigorous Iowa temperature, and in summer the sap oozing through the boards is disagreeably suggestive of perspiration. The waiting-room itself is "cleaned" every day, and yet the same dust lies in the corners where it has lain for lo, these many years. And as for the cobwebs, their chief distinction lies in their ripe old age. If there were only seven spiders in the ark, after the subsiding of the waters, at least a majority of them must have found their way to Mount Mark station in South-eastern Iowa. Mount Mark is anything but proud of the little station. It openly scoffs at it, and sniffs contemptuously at the ticket agent who bears the entire C., B. & Q. reputation upon his humble shoulders. At the same time, it certainly does owe the railroad and the state a debt of gratitude for its presence there. It is the favorite social rendezvous for the community! Only four passenger trains daily pass through Mount Mark,--not including the expresses, which rush haughtily by with no more than a scornful whistle for the sleepy town, and in return for this indignity, Mount Mark cherishes a most unchristian antipathy toward those demon fliers. But the "passengers"--ah, that is a different matter. The arrival of a passenger train in Mount Mark is an event--something in the nature of a C., B. & Q. "At Home," and is always attended by a large and enthusiastic gathering of "our best people." All that is lacking are the proverbial "light refreshments!" So it happened that one sultry morning, late in the month of August, there was the usual flutter of excitement and confusion on the platform and in the waiting-room of the station. The habitués were there in force. Conspicuous among them were four gaily dressed young men, smoking cigarettes and gazing with lack-luster eyes upon the animated scene, which evidently bored them. All the same, they invariably appeared at the depot to witness this event, stirring to others no doubt, but incapable of arousing the interest of these life-weary youths. They comprised the Slaughter-house Quartette, and were the most familiar and notorious characters in all the town. _The Daily News_ reporter, in a well-creased, light gray suit and tan shoes, and with eye-glasses scientifically balanced on his aquiline nose, was making pointed inquiries into the private plans of the travelers. _The Daily News_ reporters in Mount Mark always wear well-creased, light gray suits and tan shoes, and always have eye-glasses scientifically balanced on aquiline noses. The uninitiated can not understand how it is managed, but there lies the fact. Perhaps _The News_ includes these details in its requirements of applicants. Possibly it furnishes the gray suits and the tan shoes, and even the eye-glasses. Of course, the reporters can practise balancing them scientifically,--but how does it happen that they always have aquiline noses? At any rate, that is the Mount Mark type. It never varies. The young woman going to Burlington to spend the week-end was surrounded with about fifteen other young women who had come to "see her off." She had relatives in Burlington and went there very often, and she used to say she was glad she didn't have to exchange Christmas presents with all the "friends" who witnessed her arrivals and departures at the station. Mount Mark is a very respectable town, be it understood, and girls do not go to the station without an excuse! The Adams Express wagon was drawn close to the track, and the agent was rushing about with a breathless energy which seemed all out of proportion to his accomplishments. The telegraph operator was gazing earnestly out of his open window, and his hands were busily moving papers from one pigeon-hole to another, and back again. Old Harvey Reel, who drove the hotel bus, was discussing politics with the man who kept the restaurant, and the baggage master, superior and supremely dirty, was checking baggage with his almost unendurably lordly air. This was one of the four daily rejuvenations that gladdened the heart of Mount Mark. A man in a black business suit stood alone on the platform, his hands in his pockets, his eyes wandering from one to another of the strange faces about him. His plain white ready-made tie proclaimed his calling. "It's the new Methodist preacher," volunteered the baggage master, crossing the platform, ostensibly on business bound, but really to see "who all" was there. "I know him. He's not a bad sort." "They say he's got five kids, and most of 'em girls," responded the Adams Express man. "I've ordered me a dress suit to pay my respects in when they get here. I want to be on hand early to pick me out a girl." "Yah," mocked the telegraph operator, bobbing his head through the window, "you need to. They tell me every girl in Mount Mark has turned you down a'ready." But the Methodist minister, gazing away down the track where a thin curl of smoke announced the coming of Number Nine, and Prudence,--heard nothing of this conversation. He was not a handsome man. His hair was gray at the temples, his face was earnest, only saved from severity by the little clusters of lines at his eyes and mouth which proclaimed that he laughed often, and with relish. "Train going east!" The minister stood back from the crowd, but when the train came pounding in a brightness leaped into his eyes that entirely changed the expression of his face. A slender girl stood in the vestibule, leaning dangerously outward, and waving wildly at him a small gloved hand. When the train stopped she leaped lightly from the steps, ignoring the stool placed for her feet by the conductor. "Father!" she cried excitedly and small and slight as she was, she elbowed her way swiftly through the gaping crowd. "Oh, father!" And she flung her arms about him joyously, unconscious of the admiring eyes of the Adams Express man, and the telegraph operator, and old Harvey Reel, whose eyes were always admiring when girls passed by. She did not even observe that the Slaughterhouse Quartette looked at her unanimously, with languid interest from out the wreaths of smoke they had created. Her father kissed her warmly. "Where is your baggage?" he asked, a hand held out to relieve her. "Here!" And with a radiant smile she thrust upon him a box of candy and a gaudy-covered magazine. "Your suit-case," he explained patiently. "Oh!" she gasped. "Run, father, run! I left it on the train!" Father did run, but Prudence, fleeter-footed, out-distanced him and clambered on board, panting. When she rejoined her father her face was flushed. "Oh, father," she said quite snappily, "isn't that just like me?" "Yes, very like," he agreed, and he smiled. "Where is your umbrella?" Prudence stopped abruptly. "I don't know," she said, with a stony face. "I can't remember a blessed thing about the old umbrella. Oh, I guess I didn't bring it, at all." She breathed long in her relief. "Yes, that's it, father, I left it at Aunt Grace's. Don't you worry about it. Fairy'll bring it to-morrow. Isn't it nice that we can count on Fairy's remembering?" "Yes, very nice," he said, but his eyes were tender as he looked down at the little figure beside him. "And so this is Mount Mark! Isn't it a funny name, father? Why do they call it Mount Mark?" "I don't know. I hadn't thought to inquire. We turn here, Prudence; we are going north now. This is Main Street. The city part of the town--the business part--is to the south." "It's a pretty street, isn't it?" she cried. "Such nice big maples, and such shady, porchy houses. I love houses with porches, don't you? Has the parsonage a porch?" "Yes, a big one on the south, and a tiny one in front. The house faces west. That is the college there. It opens in three weeks, and Fairy can make freshmen all right, they tell me. I wish you could go, too. You haven't had your share of anything--any good thing, Prudence." "Well, I have my share of you, father," she said comfortingly. "And I've always had my share of oatmeal and sorghum molasses,--though one wouldn't think it to look at me. Fairy gained a whole inch last week at Aunt Grace's. She was so disgusted with herself. She says she'll not be able to look back on the visit with any pleasure at all, just because of that inch. Carol said she ought to look back with more pleasure, because there's an inch more of her to do it! But Fairy says she did not gain the inch in her eyes! Aunt Grace laughed every minute we were there. She says she is all sore up and down, from laughing so much." "We have the house fixed up pretty well, Prudence, but of course you'll have to go over it yourself and arrange it as you like. But remember this: You are not allowed to move the heavy furniture. I forbid it emphatically. There isn't enough of you for that." "Yes, I'll remember,--I think I will. I'm almost certain to remember some things, you know." "I must go to a trustees' meeting at two o'clock, but we can get a good deal done before then. Mrs. Adams is coming to help you this afternoon. She is one of our Ladies, and very kind. There, that is the parsonage!" Prudence gazed in silence. Many would not have considered it a beautiful dwelling, but to Prudence it was heavenly. Fortunately the wide, grassy, shaded lawn greeted one first. Great spreading maples bordered the street, and clustering rose-bushes lined the walk leading up to the house. The walk was badly worn and broken to be sure,--but the roses were lovely! The grass had been carefully cut,--the father-minister had seen to that. The parsonage, to Prudence's gratified eyes, looked homey, and big, and inviting. In fact, it was very nearly gorgeous! It needed painting badly, it is true. The original color had been a peculiar drab, but most of it had disappeared long before, so it was no eyesore on account of the color. There were many windows, and the well-known lace curtains looked down upon Prudence tripping happily up the little board walk,--or so it seemed to her. "Two whole stories, and an attic besides! Not to mention the bathroom! Oh, father, the night after you wrote there was a bathroom, Constance thanked God for it when she said her prayers. And I couldn't reprove her, for I felt the same way about it myself. It'll be so splendid to have a whole tub to bathe in! I spent half the time bathing this last week at Aunt Grace's. A tub is so bountiful! A pan is awfully insufficient, father, even for me! I often think what a trouble it must be to Fairy! And a furnace, too! And electric lights! Don't you think there is something awe-inspiring in the idea of just turning a little knob on the wall, and flooding a whole room with light? I do revel in electric lights, I tell you. Oh, we have waited a long time for it, and we've been very patient indeed, but, between you and me, father, I am most mightily glad we've hit the luxury-land at last. I'm sure we'll all feel much more religious in a parsonage that has a bathroom and electric lights! Oh, father!" He had thrown open the door, and Prudence stood upon the threshold of her new home. It was not a fashionable building, by any means. The hall was narrow and long, and the staircase was just a plain businesslike staircase, with no room for cushions, and flowers, and books. The doors leading from the hall were open, and Prudence caught a glimpse of three rooms furnished, rather scantily, in the old familiar furniture that had been in that other parsonage where Prudence was born, nineteen years before. Together she and her father went from room to room, up-stairs and down, moving a table to the left, a bed to the right,--according to her own good pleasure. Afterward they had a cozy luncheon for two in the "dining-room." "Oh, it is so elegant to have a dining-room," breathed Prudence happily. "I always pretended it was rather fun, and a great saving of work, to eat and cook and study and live in one room, but inwardly the idea always outraged me. Is that the school over there?" "Yes, that's where Connie will go. There is only one high school in Mount Mark, so the twins will have to go to the other side of town,--a long walk, but in good weather they can come home for dinner.--I'm afraid the kitchen will be too cold in winter, Prudence,--it's hardly more than a shed, really. Maybe we'd----" "Oh, father, if you love me, don't suggest that we move the stove in here in winter! I'm perfectly willing to freeze out there, for the sake of having a dining-room. Did I ever tell you what Carol said about that kitchen-dining-room-living-room combination at Exminster? Well, she asked us a riddle, 'When is a dining-room not a dining-room?' And she answered it herself, 'When it's a little pig-pen.' And I felt so badly about it, but it did look like a pig-pen, with stove here, and cupboard there, and table yonder, and--oh, no, father, please let me freeze!" "I confess I do not see the connection between a roomful of furniture and a pig-pen, but Carol's wit is often too subtle for me." "Oh, that's a lovely place over there, father!" exclaimed Prudence, looking from the living-room windows toward the south. "Isn't it beautiful?" "Yes. The Avery family lives there. The parents are very old and feeble, and the daughters are all--elderly--and all school-teachers. There are four of them, and the youngest is forty-six. It is certainly a beautiful place. See the orchard out behind, and the vineyard. They are very wealthy, and they are not fond of children outside of school hours, I am told, so we must keep an eye on Connie.--Dear me, it is two o'clock already, and I must go at once. Mrs. Adams will be here in a few minutes, and you will not be lonely." But when Mrs. Adams arrived at the parsonage, she knocked repeatedly, and in vain, upon the front door. After that she went to the side door, with no better result. Finally, she gathered her robes about her and went into the back yard. She peered into the woodshed, and saw no one. She went into the barn-lot, and found it empty. In despair, she plunged into the barn--and stopped abruptly. In a shadowy corner was a slender figure kneeling beside an overturned nail keg, her face buried in her hands. Evidently this was Prudence engaged in prayer,--and in the barn, of all places in the world! "A--a--a--hem!" stammered Mrs. Adams inquiringly. "Amen!" This was spoken aloud and hurriedly, and Prudence leaped to her feet. Her fair hair clung about her face in damp babyish tendrils, and her face was flushed and dusty, but alight with friendly interest. She ran forward eagerly, thrusting forth a slim and grimy hand. "You are Mrs. Adams, aren't you? I am Prudence Starr. It is so kind of you to come the very first day," she cried. "It makes me love you right at the start." "Ye--yes, I am Mrs. Adams." Mrs. Adams was embarrassed. She could not banish from her mental vision that kneeling figure by the nail keg. Interrogation was written all over her ample face, and Prudence promptly read it and hastened to reply. "I do not generally say my prayers in the barn, Mrs. Adams, I assure you. I suppose you were greatly surprised. I didn't expect to do it myself, when I came out here, but--well, when I found this grand, old, rambling barn, I was so thankful I couldn't resist praying about it. Of course, I didn't specially designate the barn, but God knew what I meant, I am sure." "But a barn!" ejaculated the perplexed "member." "Do you call that a blessing?" "Yes, indeed I do," declared Prudence. Then she explained patiently: "Oh, it is on the children's account, you know. They have always longed for a big romantic barn to play in. We've never had anything but a shed, and when father went to Conference this year, the twins told him particularly to look out for a good big barn. They said we'd be willing to put up with any kind of a parsonage, if only we might draw a barn for once. You can't imagine how happy this dear old place will make them, and I was happy on their account. That's why I couldn't resist saying my prayers,--I was so happy I couldn't hold in." As they walked slowly toward the house, Mrs. Adams looked at this parsonage girl in frank curiosity and some dismay, which she strongly endeavored to conceal from the bright-eyed Prudence. The Ladies had said it would be so nice to have a grown girl in the parsonage! Prudence was nineteen from all account, but she looked like a child and--well, it was not exactly grown-up to give thanks for a barn, to say the very least! Yet this girl had full charge of four younger children, and was further burdened with the entire care of a minister-father! Well, well! Mrs. Adams sighed a little. "You are tired," said Prudence sympathetically. "It's so hot walking, isn't it? Let's sit on the porch until you are nicely rested. Isn't this a lovely yard? And the children will be so happy to have this delicious big porch. Oh, I just adore Mount Mark already." "This is a fine chance for us to get acquainted," said the good woman with eagerness. Now if the truth must be told, there had been some ill feeling in the Ladies' Aid Society concerning the reception of Prudence. After the session of Conference, when the Reverend Mr. Starr was assigned to Mount Mark, the Ladies of the church had felt great interest in the man and his family. They inquired on every hand, and learned several interesting items. The mother had been taken from the family five years before, after a long illness, and Prudence, the eldest daughter, had taken charge of the household. There were five children. So much was known, and being women, they looked forward with eager curiosity to the coming of Prudence, the young mistress of the parsonage. Mr. Starr had arrived at Mount Mark a week ahead of his family. The furniture had been shipped from his previous charge, and he, with the assistance of a strong and willing negro, had "placed it" according to the written instructions of Prudence, who had conscientiously outlined just what should go in every room. She and the other children had spent the week visiting at the home of their aunt, and Prudence had come on a day in advance of the others to "wind everything up," as she had expressed it. But to return to the Ladies,--the parsonage girls always capitalized the Ladies of their father's church, and indeed italicized them, as well. And the irrepressible Carol had been heard to remark, "I often feel like exclamation-pointing them, I promise you." But to return once more. "One of us should go and help the dear child," said Mrs. Scott, the president of the Aids, when they assembled for their business meeting, "help her, and welcome her, and advise her." "I was thinking of going over," said one, and another, and several others. "Oh, that will not do at all," said the president; "she would be excited meeting so many strangers, and could not properly attend to her work. That will never do, never, never! But one of us must go, of course." "I move that the president appoint a committee of one to help Miss Prudence get settled, and welcome her to our midst," said Mrs. Barnaby, secretly hoping that in respect for her making this suggestion honoring the president, the president would have appreciation enough to appoint Mrs. Barnaby herself as committee. The motion was seconded, and carried. "Well," said Mrs. Scott slowly, "I think in a case like this the president herself should represent the society. Therefore, I will undertake this duty for you." But this called forth a storm of protest and it became so clamorous that it was unofficially decided to draw cuts! Which was done, and in consequence of that drawing of cuts, Mrs. Adams now sat on the front porch of the old gray parsonage, cheered by the knowledge that every other Lady of the Aid was envying her! "Now, just be real sociable and tell me all about yourself, and the others, too," urged Mrs. Adams. "I want to know all about every one of you. Tell me everything." "There isn't much to tell," said Prudence, smiling. "There are five of us; I am the oldest, I am nineteen. Then comes Fairy, then the twins, and then the baby." "Are the twins boys, or a boy and a girl?" "Neither," said Prudence, "they are both girls." "More girls!" gasped Mrs. Adams. "And the baby?" "She is a girl, too." And Prudence laughed. "In short, we are all girls except father. He couldn't be, of course,--or I suppose he would, for our family does seem to run to girls." "Prudence is a very nice name for a minister's daughter," said Mrs. Adams suggestively. "Yes,--for some ministers' daughters," assented Prudence. "But is sadly unsuitable for me. You see, father and mother were very enthusiastic about the first baby who hadn't arrived. They had two names all picked out months ahead,--Prudence and John Wesley. That's how I happen to be Prudence. They thought, as you do, that it was an uplifting name for a parsonage baby.--I was only three years old when Fairy was born, but already they realized that they had made a great mistake. So they decided to christen baby number two more appropriately. They chose Frank and Fairy,--both light-hearted, happy, cheerful names.--It's Fairy," Prudence smiled reflectively. "But things went badly again. They were very unlucky with their babies. Fairy is Prudence by nature, and I am Fairy. She is tall and a little inclined to be fat. She is steady, and industrious, and reliable, and sensible, and clever. In fact, she is an all-round solid and worthwhile girl. She can do anything, and do it right, and is going to be a college professor. It is a sad thing to think of a college professor being called Fairy all her life, isn't it? Especially when she is so dignified and grand. But one simply can't tell beforehand what to expect, can one? "Father and mother were quite discouraged by that time. They hardly knew what to do. But anyhow they were sure the next would be a boy. Every one predicted a boy, and so they chose a good old Methodist name,--Charles. They hated to give it John Wesley, for they had sort of dedicated that to me, you know,--only I happened to be Prudence. But Charles was second-best. And they were very happy about it, and--it was twin girls! It was quite a blow, I guess. But they rallied swiftly, and called them Carol and Lark. Such nice musical names! Father and mother were both good singers, and mother a splendid pianist. And Fairy and I showed musical symptoms early in life, so they thought they couldn't be far wrong that time. It was a bitter mistake. It seemed to turn the twins against music right from the start. Carol can carry a tune if there's a strong voice beside her, but Lark can hardly tell the difference between _Star Spangled Banner_ and _Rock of Ages_. "The neighbors were kind of amused by then, and mother was very sensitive about it. So the next time she determined to get ahead of Fate. 'No more nonsense, now,' said mother. 'It's almost certain to be a boy, and we'll call him William after father,--and Billy for short.' We all liked the name Billy, mother especially. But she couldn't call father anything but William,--we being parsonage people, you know. But she kept looking forward to little Billy,--and then they changed it in a hurry to Constance. And after that, father and mother gave the whole thing up as a bad job. There aren't any more of us. Connie settled the baby business in our family." Mrs. Adams wiped her eyes, and leaned weakly back in her chair, gasping for breath. "Well, I swan!" was all she could say at that moment. While giving herself time to recover her mental poise she looked critically at this young daughter of the parsonage. Then her eyes wandered down to her clothes, and lingered, in silent questioning, on Prudence's dress. It was a very peculiar color. In fact, it was no color at all,--no named color. Prudence's eyes had followed Mrs. Adams' glance, and she spoke frankly. "I suppose you're wondering if this dress is any color! Well, I think it really is, but it isn't any of the regular shades. It is my own invention, but I've never named it. We couldn't think of anything appropriate. Carol suggested 'Prudence Shade,' but I couldn't bring myself to accept that. Of course, Mrs. Adams, you understand how parsonage people do with clothes,--handing them down from generation unto generation. Well, I didn't mind it at first,--when I was the biggest. But all of a sudden Fairy grew up and out and around, and one day when I was so nearly out of clothes I hardly felt that I could attend church any more, she suggested that I cut an old one of hers down for me! At first I laughed, and then I was insulted. Fairy is three years younger than I, and before then she had got my handed-downs. But now the tables were turned. From that time on, whenever anything happened to Fairy's clothes so a gore had to be cut out, or the bottom taken off,--they were cut down for me. I still feel bitter about it. Fairy is dark, and dark blues are becoming to her. She handed down this dress,--it was dark blue then. But I was not wanting a dark blue, and I thought it would be less recognizable if I gave it a contrasting color. I chose lavender. I dyed it four times, and this was the result." "Do the twins dress alike?" inquired Mrs. Adams, when she could control her voice. "Yes,--unfortunately for Connie. They do it on purpose to escape the handed-downs! They won't even have hair ribbons different. And the result is that poor Connie never gets one new thing except shoes. She says she can not help thanking the Lord in her prayers, that all of us outwear our shoes before we can outgrow them.--Connie is only nine. Fairy is sixteen, and the twins are thirteen. They are a very clever lot of girls. Fairy, as I told you, is just naturally smart, and aims to be a college professor. Lark is an intelligent studious girl, and is going to be an author. Carol is pretty, and lovable, and kind-hearted, and witty,--but not deep. She is going to be a Red Cross nurse and go to war. The twins have it all planned out. Carol is going to war as a Red Cross nurse, and Lark is going, too, so she can write a book about it, and they are both going to marry soldiers,--preferably dashing young generals! Now they can hardly wait for war to break out. Connie is a sober, odd, sensitive little thing, and hasn't decided whether she wants to be a foreign missionary, or get married and have ten children.--But they are all clever, and I'm proud of every one of them." "And what are you going to be?" inquired Mrs. Adams, looking with real affection at the bright sweet face. But Prudence laughed. "Oh, dear me, Mrs. Adams, seems to me if I just get the others raised up properly, I'll have my hands full. I used to have aims, dozens of them. Now I have just one, and I'm working at it every day." "You ought to go to school," declared Mrs. Adams. "You're just a girl yourself." "I don't want to go to school," laughed Prudence. "Not any more. I like it, just taking care of father and the girls,--with Fairy to keep me balanced! I read, but I do not like to study.--No, you'll have to get along with me just the way I am, Mrs. Adams. It's all I can do to keep things going now, without spending half the time dreaming of big things to do in the future." "Don't you have dreams?" gasped Mrs. Adams. "Don't you have dreams of the future? Girls in books nowadays dream----" "Yes, I dream," interrupted Prudence, "I dream lots,--but it's mostly of what Fairy and the others will do when I get them properly raised. You'll like the girls, Mrs. Adams, I know you will. They really are a gifted little bunch,--except me. But I don't mind. It's a great honor for me to have the privilege of bringing up four clever girls to do great things,--don't you think? And I'm only nineteen myself! I don't see what more a body could want." "It seems to me," said Mrs. Adams, "that I know more about your sisters than I do about you. I feel more acquainted with them right now, than with you." "That's so, too," said Prudence, nodding. "But they are the ones that really count, you know. I'm just common little Prudence of the Parsonage,--but the others!" And Prudence flung out her hands dramatically. CHAPTER II THE REST OF THE FAMILY It was Saturday morning when the four young parsonage girls arrived in Mount Mark. The elderly Misses Avery, next door, looked out of their windows, pending their appearance on Main Street, with interest and concern. It was a serious matter, this having a whole parsonage-full of young girls so close to the old Avery mansion. To be sure, the Averys had a deep and profound respect for ministerial households, but they were Episcopalians themselves, and in all their long lives they had never so much as heard of a widower-rector with five daughters, and no housekeeper. There was something blood-curdling in the bare idea. The Misses Avery considered Prudence herself rather a sweet, silly little thing. "You have some real nice people in the Methodist church," Miss Dora had told her. "I dare say you will find a few of them very likeable." "Oh, I will like them all," said Prudence quickly and seriously. "Like them all!" echoed Miss Dora. "Oh, impossible!" "Not for us," said Prudence. "We are used to it, you know. We always like people." "That is ridiculous," said Miss Dora. "It is absolutely impossible. One can't! Of course, as Christians, we must tolerate, and try to help every one. But Christian tolerance and love are----" "Oh, excuse me, but--really I can't believe there is such a thing as Christian tolerance," said Prudence firmly. "There is Christian love, and--that is all we need." Then leaning forward: "What do you do, Miss Avery, when you meet people you dislike at very first sight?" "Keep away from them," was the grim reply. "Exactly! And keep on disliking them," said Prudence triumphantly. "It's very different with us. When we dislike people at first sight, we visit them, and talk to them, and invite them to the parsonage, and entertain them with our best linen and silverware, and keep on getting friendlier and friendlier, and--first thing you know, we like them fine! It's a perfectly splendid rule, and it has never failed us once. Try it, Miss Avery, do! You will be enthusiastic about it, I know." So the Misses Avery concluded that Prudence was very young, and couldn't seem to quite outgrow it! She was not entirely responsible. And they wondered, with something akin to an agony of fear, if the younger girls "had it, too!" Therefore the Misses Avery kept watch at their respective windows, and when Miss Alice cried excitedly, "Quick! Quick! They are coming!" they trooped to Miss Alice's window with a speed that would have done credit to the parsonage girls themselves. First came the minister, whom they knew very well by this time, and considered quite respectable. He was lively, as was to be expected of a Methodist minister, and told jokes, and laughed at them! Now, a comical rector,--oh, a very different matter,--it wasn't done, that's all! At any rate, here came the Methodist minister, laughing, and on one side of him tripped a small earnest-looking maiden, clasping his hand, and gazing alternately up into his face, and down at the stylish cement sidewalk beneath her feet. On the other side, was Fairy. The Misses Avery knew the girls by name already,--having talked much with Prudence. "Such a Fairy!" gasped Miss Millicent, and the others echoed the gasp, but wordlessly. For Fairy for very nearly as tall as her father, built upon generous lines, rather commanding in appearance, a little splendid-looking. Even from their windows they could discern something distinctly Juno-like in this sixteen-year-old girl, with the easy elastic stride that matched her father's, and the graceful head, well carried. A young goddess,--named Fairy! Behind them, laughing and chattering, like three children, as they were,--came the twins with Prudence, each with an arm around her waist. And Prudence was very little taller than they. When they reached the fence that bordered the parsonage, the scene for a moment resembled a miniature riot. The smaller girls jumped and exclaimed, and clasped their hands. Fairy leaned over the fence, and stared intently at this, their parsonage home. Then the serious little girl scrambled under the fence, followed closely by the lithe-limbed twins. A pause, a very short one,--and then Prudence, too, was wriggling beneath the fence. "Hold the wire up for me, papa," cried Fairy, "I'm too fat." And a second later she was running gracefully across the lawn toward the parsonage. The Methodist minister laughed boyishly, and placing his hands on the fence-post, he vaulted lightly over, and reached the house with his daughters. Then the Misses Avery, school-teachers, and elderly, looked at one another. "Did you ever?" whispered the oldest Miss Avery, and the others slowly shook their heads. Now, think! Did you ever see a rector jumping a three-wire fence, and running full speed across his front yard, in pursuit of a flying family? It may possibly have occurred,--we have never seen it. Neither had the Misses Avery. Nor did they ever expect to. And if they had seen it, it is quite likely they would have joined the backsliders at that instant. But without wasting much time on this gruesome thought, they hurried to a window commanding the best view of the parsonage, and raised it. Then they clustered behind the curtains, and watched, and listened. There was plenty to hear! From the parsonage windows came the sound of scampering feet and banging doors. Once there was the unmistakable clatter of a chair overturned. With it all, there was a constant chorus of "Oh, look!" "Oh! Oh!" "Oh, how sweet!" "Oh, papa!" "Oh, Prudence!" "Look, Larkie, look at this!" Then the thud of many feet speeding down the stairs, and the slam of a door, and the slam of a gate. The whole parsonage-full had poured out into the back yard, and the barn-lot. Into the chicken coop they raced, the minister ever close upon their heels. Over the board fence they clambered to the big rambling barn, and the wide door swung closed after them. But in a few seconds they were out once more, by the back barn door, and over the fence, and on to the "field." There they closed ranks, with their arms recklessly around whoever was nearest, and made a thorough tour of the bit of pasture-land. For some moments they leaned upon the dividing fence and gazed admiringly into the rich orchard and vineyard of the Avery estate. But soon they were skipping back to the parsonage again, and the kitchen door banged behind them. Then the eldest Miss Avery closed the window overlooking the parsonage and confronted her sisters. "We must just make the best of it," she said quietly. But next door, the gray old ugly parsonage was full to overflowing with satisfaction and happiness and love. The Starrs had never had an appointment like this before. They had just come from the village of Exminster, of five hundred inhabitants. There the Reverend Mr. Starr had filled the pulpits of three small Methodist churches, scattered at random throughout the country,--consideration, five hundred dollars. But here,--why, Mount Mark had a population of fully three thousand, and a business academy, and the Presbyterian College,--small, to be sure, but the name had a grand and inspiring sound. And Mr. Starr had to fill only one pulpit! It was heavenly, that's what it was. To be sure, many of his people lived out in the country, necessitating the upkeep of a horse for the sake of his pastoral work, but that was only an advantage. Also to be sure, the Methodists in Mount Mark were in a minority, and an inferiority,--Mount Mark being a Presbyterian stronghold due to the homing there of the trim and orderly little college. But what of that? The salary was six hundred and fifty dollars and the parsonage was adorable! The parsonage family could see nothing at all wrong with the world that day, and the future was rainbow-tinted. Every one has experienced the ecstatic creepy sensation of sleeping in a brand-new home. The parsonage girls reveled in the memory of that first night for many days. "It may be haunted for all we know," cried Carol deliciously. "Just think, Connie, there may be seven ghosts camped on the head of your bed, waiting----" "Carol!" When the family gathered for worship on that first Sabbath morning, Mr. Starr said, as he turned the leaves of his well-worn Bible, "I think it would be well for you girls to help with the morning worship now. You need practise in praying aloud, and--so we will begin to-day. Connie and I will make the prayers this morning, Prudence and Carol to-morrow, and Fairy and Lark the next day. We will keep that system up for a while, anyhow. When I finish reading the chapter, Connie, you will make the first prayer. Just pray for whatever you wish as you do at night for yourself. I will follow you." Connie's eyes were wide with responsibility during the reading of the chapter, but when she began to speak her voice did not falter. Connie had nine years of good Methodist experience back of her! "Our Father, who art in Heaven, we bow ourselves before Thy footstool in humility and reverence. Thou art our God, our Creator, our Saviour. Bless us this day, and cause Thy face to shine upon us. Blot out our transgressions, pardon our trespasses. Wash us, that we may be whiter than snow. Hide not Thy face from the eyes of Thy children, turn not upon us in wrath. Pity us, Lord, as we kneel here prostrate before Thy majesty and glory. Let the words of our mouths and the meditations of our hearts, be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord, our strength and our Redeemer. And finally save us, an unbroken family around Thy throne in Heaven, for Jesus' sake. Amen." This was followed by an electric silence. Prudence was biting her lips painfully, and counting by tens as fast as she could. Fairy was mentally going over the prayer, sentence by sentence, and attributing each petition to the individual member in the old church at Exminster to whom it belonged. The twins were a little amazed, and quite proud. Connie was an honor to the parsonage,--but they were concerned lest they themselves should do not quite so well when their days came. But in less than a moment the minister-father began his prayer. His voice was a little subdued, and he prayed with less fervor and abandon than usual, but otherwise things went off quite nicely. When he said, "Amen," Prudence was on her feet and half-way up-stairs before the others were fairly risen. Fairy stood gazing intently out of the window for a moment, and then went out to the barn to see if the horse was through eating. Mr. Starr walked gravely and soberly out the front door, and around the house. He ran into Fairy coming out the kitchen door, and they glanced quickly at each other. "Hurry, papa," she whispered, "you can't hold in much longer! Neither can I!" And together, choking with laughter, they hurried into the barn and gave full vent to their feelings. So it was that the twins and Connie were alone for a while. "You did a pretty good job, Connie," said Carol approvingly. "Yes. I think I did myself," was the complacent answer. "But I intended to put in, 'Keep us as the apple of Thy eye, hold us in the hollow of Thy hand,' and I forgot it until I had said 'Amen.' I had a notion to put in a post-script, but I believe that isn't done." "Never mind," said Carol, "I'll use that in mine, to-morrow." It can not be said that this form of family worship was a great success. The twins were invariably stereotyped, cut and dried. They thanked the Lord for the beautiful morning, for kind friends, for health, and family, and parsonage. Connie always prayed in sentences extracted from the prayers of others she had often heard, and every time with nearly disastrous effect. But the days passed around, and Prudence and Carol's turn came again. Carol was a thoughtless, impetuous, impulsive girl, and her prayers were as nearly "verbal repetitions" as any prayers could be. So on this morning, after the reading of the chapter, Carol knelt by her chair, and began in her customary solemn voice: "Oh, our Father, we thank Thee for this beautiful morning." Then intense silence. For Carol remembered with horror and shame that it was a dreary, dismal morning, cloudy, ugly and all unlovely. In her despair, the rest of her petition scattered to the four winds of heaven. She couldn't think of another word, so she gulped, and stammered out a faint "Amen." But Prudence could not begin. Prudence was red in the face, and nearly suffocated. She felt all swollen inside,--she couldn't speak. The silence continued. "Oh, why doesn't father do it?" she wondered. As a matter of fact, father couldn't. But Prudence did not know that. One who laughs often gets in the habit of laughter,--and sometimes laughs out of season, as well as in. Finally, Prudence plunged in desperately, "Dear Father"--as she usually began her sweet, intimate little talks with God,--and then she paused. Before her eyes flashed a picture of the "beautiful morning," for which Carol had just been thankful! She tried again. "Dear Father,"--and then she whirled around on the floor, and laughed. Mr. Starr got up from his knees, sat down on his chair, and literally shook. Fairy rolled on the lounge, screaming with merriment. Even sober little Connie giggled and squealed. But Carol could not get up. She was disgraced. She had done a horrible, disgusting, idiotic thing. She had insulted God! She could never face the family again. Her shoulders rose and fell convulsively. Lark did not laugh either. With a rush she was on her knees beside Carol, her arms around the heaving shoulders. "Don't you care, Carrie," she whispered. "Don't you care. It was just a mistake,--don't cry, Carrie." But Carol would not be comforted. She tried to sneak unobserved from the room, but her father stopped her. "Don't feel so badly about it, Carol," he said kindly, really sorry for the stricken child,--though his eyes still twinkled, "it was just a mistake. But remember after this, my child, to speak to God when you pray. Remember that you are talking to Him. Then you will not make such a blunder.--So many of us," he said reflectively, "ministers as well as others, pray into the ears of the people, and forget we are talking to God." After that, the morning worship went better. The prayers of the children changed,--became more personal, less flowery. They remembered from that time on, that when they knelt they were at the feet of God, and speaking direct to Him. It was the hated duty of the twins to wash and dry the dishes,--taking turns about with the washing. This time was always given up to story-telling, for Lark had a strange and wonderful imagination, and Carol listened to her tales with wonder and delight. Even Connie found dish-doing hours irresistible, and could invariably be found, face in her hands, both elbows on the table, gazing with passionate earnestness at the young story-teller. Now, some of Lark's stories were such weird and fearful things that they had seriously interfered with Connie's slumbers, and Prudence had sternly prohibited them. But this evening, just as she opened the kitchen door, she heard Lark say in thrilling tones: "She crept down the stairs in the deep darkness, her hand sliding lightly over the rail. Suddenly she stopped. Her hand was arrested in its movement. Ice-cold fingers gripped hers tightly. Then with one piercing shriek, she plunged forward, and fell to the bottom of the stairs with a terrific crash, while a mocking laugh----" The kitchen door slammed sharply behind Prudence as she stepped into the kitchen, and Connie's piercing shriek would surely have rivaled that of Lark's unfortunate heroine. Even Carol started nervously, and let the plate she had been solemnly wiping for nine minutes, fall to the floor. Lark gasped, and then began sheepishly washing dishes as though her life depended on it. The water was cold, and little masses of grease clung to the edges of the pan and floated about on the surface of the water. "Get fresh hot water, Lark, and finish the dishes. Connie, go right up-stairs to bed. You twins can come in to me as soon as you finish." But Connie was afraid to go to bed alone, and Prudence was obliged to accompany her. So it was in their own room that the twins finally faced an indignant Prudence. "Carol, you may go right straight to bed. And Lark--I do not know what in the world to do with you. Why don't you mind me, and do as I tell you? How many times have I told you not to tell weird stories like that? Can't you tell nice, interesting, mild stories?" "Prudence, as sure as you live, I can't! I start them just as mild and proper as can be, but before I get half-way through, a murder, or death, or mystery crops in, and I can't help it." "But you must help it, Lark. Or I shall forbid your telling stories of any kind. They are so silly, those wild things, and they make you all nervous, and excitable, and-- Now, think, Larkie, and tell me how I shall punish you." Lark applied all the resources of her wonderful brain to this task, and presently suggested reluctantly: "Well, you might keep me home from the ice-cream social to-morrow night." But her face was wistful. "No," said Prudence decidedly, to Lark's intense relief. "I can't do that. You've been looking forward to it so long, and your class is to help with the serving. No, not that, Larkie. That would be too mean. Think of something else." "Well,--you might make me wash and dry the dishes all alone--for a week, Prudence, and that will be a bad punishment, too, for I just despise washing dishes by myself. Telling stories makes it so much--livelier." "All right, then," said Prudence, relieved in turn, "that is what I will do. And Carol and Connie must not even stay in the kitchen with you." "I believe I'll go to bed now, too," said Lark, with a thoughtful glance at her two sisters, already curled up snugly and waiting for the conclusion of the administering of justice. "If you don't mind, Prudence." Prudence smiled a bit ruefully. "Oh, I suppose you might as well, if you like. But remember this, Lark: No more deaths, and murders, and mysteries, and highway robberies." "All right, Prudence," said Lark with determination. And as Prudence walked slowly down-stairs she heard Lark starting in on her next story: "Once there was a handsome young man, named Archibald Tremaine,--a very respectable young fellow. He wouldn't so much as dream of robbing, or murdering, or dying." Then Prudence smiled to herself in the dark and hurried down. The family had been in the new parsonage only three weeks, when a visiting minister called on them. It was about ten minutes before the luncheon hour at the time of his arrival. Mr. Starr was in the country, visiting, so the girls received him alone. It was an unfortunate day for the Starrs. Fairy had been at college all morning, and Prudence had been rummaging in the attic, getting it ready for a rainy-day and winter playroom for the younger girls. She was dusty, perspirey and tired. The luncheon hour arrived, and the girls came in from school, eager to be up and away again. Still the grave young minister sat discoursing upon serious topics with the fidgety Prudence,--and in spite of dust and perspiration, she was good to look upon. The Reverend Mr. Morgan realized that, and could not tear himself away. The twins came in, shook hands with him soberly, glancing significantly at the clock as they did so. Connie ran in excitedly, wanting to know what was the matter with everybody, and weren't they to have any luncheon? Still Mr. Morgan remained in his chair, gazing at Prudence with frank appreciation. Finally Prudence sighed. "Do you like sweet corn, Mr. Morgan?" This was entirely out of the line of their conversation, and for a moment he faltered. "Sweet corn?" he repeated. "Yes, roasting-ears, you know,--cooked on the cob." Then he smiled. "Oh, yes indeed. Very much," he said. "Well," she began her explanation rather drearily, "I was busy this morning and did not prepare much luncheon. We are very fond of sweet corn, and I cooked an enormous panful. But that's all we have for luncheon,--sweet corn and butter. We haven't even bread, because I am going to bake this afternoon, and we never eat it with sweet corn, anyhow. Now, if you care to eat sweet corn and butter, and canned peaches, we'd just love to have you stay for luncheon with us." The Reverend Mr. Morgan was charmed, and said so. So Prudence rushed to the kitchen, opened the peaches in a hurry, and fished out a clean napkin for their guest. Then they gathered about the table, five girls and the visiting minister. It was really a curious sight, that table. In the center stood a tall vase of goldenrod. On either side of the vase was a great platter piled high with sweet corn, on the cob! Around the table were six plates, with the necessary silverware, and a glass of water for each. There was also a small dish of peaches at each place, and an individual plate of butter. That was all,--except the napkins. But Prudence made no apologies. She was a daughter of the parsonage! She showed the Reverend Mr. Morgan to his place as graciously and sweetly as though she were ushering him in to a twenty-seven course banquet. "Will you return thanks, Mr. Morgan?" she said. And the girls bowed their heads. The Reverend Mr. Morgan cleared his throat, and began, "Our Father, we thank Thee for this table." There was more of the blessing, but the parsonage girls heard not one additional phrase,--except Connie, who followed him conscientiously through every word. By the time he had finished, Prudence and Fairy, and even Lark, had composed their faces. But Carol burst into merry laughter, close upon his reverent "Amen,"--and after one awful glare at her sister, Prudence joined in. This gaiety communicated itself to the others and soon it was a rollicking group around the parsonage table. Mr. Morgan himself smiled uncertainly. He was puzzled. More, he was embarrassed. But as soon as Carol could get her breath, she gasped out an explanation. "You were just--right, Mr. Morgan,--to give thanks--for the table! There's nothing--on it--to be thankful for!" And the whole family went off once more into peals of laughter. Mr. Morgan had very little appetite that day. He did not seem to be so fond of sweet corn as he had assured Prudence. He talked very little, too. And as soon as possible he took his hat and walked hurriedly away. He did not call at the parsonage again. "Oh, Carol," said Prudence reproachfully, wiping her eyes, "how could you start us all off like that?" "For the table, for the table!" shrieked Carol, and Prudence joined in perforce. "It was awful," she gasped, "but it was funny! I believe even father would have laughed." A few weeks after this, Carol distinguished herself again, and to her lasting mortification. The parsonage pasture had been rented out during the summer months before the change of ministers, the outgoing incumbent having kept neither horse nor cow. As may be imagined, the little pasture had been taxed to the utmost, and when the new minister arrived, he found that his field afforded poor grazing for his pretty little Jersey. But a man living only six blocks from the parsonage had generously offered Mr. Starr free pasturage in his broad meadow, and the offer was gratefully accepted. This meant that every evening the twins must walk the six blocks after the cow, and every morning must take her back for the day's grazing. One evening, as they were starting out from the meadow homeward with the docile animal, Carol stopped and gazed at Blinkie reflectively. "Lark," she said, "I just believe to my soul that I could ride this cow. She's so gentle, and I'm such a good hand at sticking on." "Carol!" ejaculated Lark. "Think how it would look for a parsonage girl to go down the street riding a cow." "But there's no one to see," protested Carol. And this was true. For the parsonage was near the edge of town, and the girls passed only five houses on their way home from the meadow,--and all of them were well back from the road. And Carol was, as she had claimed, a good hand at "sticking on." She had ridden a great deal while they were at Exminster, a neighbor being well supplied with rideable horses, and she was passionately fond of the sport. To be sure, she had never ridden a cow, but she was sure it would be easy. Lark argued and pleaded, but Carol was firm. "I must try it," she insisted, "and if it doesn't go well I can slide off. You can lead her, Lark." The obliging Lark boosted her sister up, and Carol nimbly scrambled into place, riding astride. "I've got to ride this way," she said; "cows have such funny backs I couldn't keep on any other way. If I see any one coming, I'll slide for it." For a while all went well. Lark led Blinkie carefully, gazing about anxiously to see that no one approached. Carol gained confidence as they proceeded, and chatted with her sister nonchalantly, waving her hands about to show her perfect balance and lack of fear. So they advanced to within two blocks of the parsonage. "It's very nice," said Carol, "very nice indeed,--but her backbone is rather--well, rather penetrating. I think I need a saddle." By this time, Blinkie concluded that she was being imposed upon. She shook her head violently, and twitched the rope from Lark's hand,--for Lark now shared her sister's confidence, and held it loosely. With a little cry she tried to catch the end of it, but Blinkie was too quick for her. She gave a scornful toss of her dainty head, and struck out madly for home. With great presence of mind, Carol fell flat upon the cow's neck, and hung on for dear life, while Lark, in terror, started out in pursuit. "Help! Help!" she cried loudly. "Papa! Papa! Papa!" In this way, they turned in at the parsonage gate, which happily stood open,--otherwise Blinkie would undoubtedly have gone through, or over. As luck would have it, Mr. Starr was standing at the door with two men who had been calling on him, and hearing Lark's frantic cries, they rushed to meet the wild procession, and had the unique experience of seeing a parsonage girl riding flat on her stomach on the neck of a galloping Jersey, with another parsonage girl in mad pursuit. Blinkie stopped beside the barn, and turned her head about inquiringly. Carol slid to the ground, and buried her face in her hands at sight of the two men with her father. Then with never a word, she lit out for the house at top speed. Seeing that she was not hurt, and that no harm had been done, the three men sat down on the ground and burst into hearty laughter. Lark came upon them as they sat thus, and Lark was angry. She stamped her foot with a violence that must have hurt her. "I don't see anything to laugh at," she cried passionately, "it was awful, it was just awful! Carrie might have been killed! It--it----" "Tell us all about it, Lark," gasped her father. And Lark did so, smiling a little herself, now that her fears were relieved. "Poor Carol," she said, "she'll never live down the humiliation. I must go and console her." And a little later, the twins were weeping on each other's shoulders. "I wouldn't have cared," sobbed Carol, "if it had been anybody else in the world! But--the presiding elder,--and--the president of the Presbyterian College! And I know the Presbyterians look down on us Methodists anyhow, though they wouldn't admit it! And riding a cow! Oh, Larkie, if you love me, go down-stairs and get me the carbolic acid, so I can die and be out of disgrace." This, however, Lark stoutly refused to do, and in a little while Carol felt much better. But she talked it over with Prudence very seriously. "I hope you understand, Prudence, that I shall never have anything more to do with Blinkie! She can die of starvation for all I care. I'll never take her to and from the pasture again. I couldn't do it! Such rank ingratitude as that cow displayed was never equaled, I am certain." "I suppose you'll quit using milk and cream, too," suggested Prudence. "Oh, well," said Carol more tolerantly, "I don't want to be too hard on Blinkie, for after all it was partly my own fault. So I won't go that far. But I must draw the line somewhere! Hereafter, Blinkie and I meet as strangers!" CHAPTER III THE LADIES' AID "It's perfectly disgusting, I admit, father," said Prudence sweetly, "but you know yourself that it very seldom happens. And I am sure the kitchen is perfectly clean, and the soup is very nice indeed,--if it is canned soup! Twins, this is four slices of bread apiece for you! You see, father, I really feel that this is a crisis in the life of the parsonage----" "How long does a parsonage usually live?" demanded Carol. "It wouldn't live long if the ministers had many twins," said Fairy quickly. "Ouch!" grinned Connie, plagiarizing, for that expressive word belonged exclusively to the twins, and it was double impertinence to apply it to one of its very possessors. "And you understand, don't you, father, that if everything does not go just exactly right, I shall feel I am disgraced for life? I know the Ladies disapprove of me, and look on me with suspicion. I know they think it wicked and ridiculous to leave the raising of four bright spirits in the unworthy hands of a girl like me. I know they will all sniff and smile and--Of course, twins, they have a perfect right to feel, and act, so. I am not complaining. But I want to show them for once in their lives that the parsonage runs smoothly and sweetly. If you would just stay at home with us, father, it would be a big help. You are such a tower of strength." "But unfortunately I can not. People do not get married every day in the week, and when they are all ready for it they do not allow even Ladies' Aids to stand in their way. It is a long drive, ten miles at least, and I must start at once. And it will likely be very late when I get back. But if you are all good, and help Prudence, and uphold the reputation of the parsonage, I will divide the wedding fee with you,--share and share alike." This was met with such enthusiasm that he added hastily, "But wait! It may be only a dollar!" Then kissing the various members of the parsonage family, he went out the back door, barnward. "Now," said Prudence briskly, "I want to make a bargain with you, girls. If you'll stay clear away from the Ladies, and be very good and orderly, I'll give you all the lemonade and cake you can drink afterward." "Oh, Prudence, I'm sure I can't drink much cake," cried Carol tragically, "I just can't imagine myself doing it!" "I mean, eat the cake, of course," said Prudence, blushing. "And let us make taffy after supper?" wheedled Carol. Prudence hesitated, and the three young faces hardened. Then Prudence relented and hastily agreed. "You won't need to appear at all, you know. You can just stay outdoors and play as though you were model children." "Yes," said Carol tartly, "the kind the members used to have,--which are all grown up, now! And all moved out of Mount Mark, too!" "Carol! That sounds malicious, and malice isn't tolerated here for a minute. Now,--oh, Fairy, did you remember to dust the back of the dresser in our bedroom?" "Mercy! What in the world do you want the back of the dresser dusted for? Do you expect the Ladies to look right through it?" "No, but some one might drop something behind it, and it would have to be pulled out and they would all see it. This house has got to be absolutely spotless for once,--I am sure it will be the first time." "And the last, I hope," added Carol sepulchrally. "We have an hour and a half yet," continued Prudence. "That will give us plenty of time for the last touches. Twins and Connie, you'd better go right out in the field and play. I'll call you a little before two, and then you must go quietly upstairs, and dress--just wear your plain little ginghams, the clean ones of course! Then if they do catch a glimpse of you, you will be presentable.--Yes, you can take some bread and sugar, but hurry." "You may take," said Fairy. "Yes, of course, may take is what I mean.--Now hurry." Then Prudence and Fairy set to work again in good earnest. The house was already well cleaned. The sandwiches were made. But there were the last "rites," and every detail must be religiously attended to. It must be remembered that the three main down-stairs rooms of the parsonage were connected by double doors,--double doors, you understand, not portières! The front room, seldom used by the parsonage family, opened on the right of the narrow hallway. Beyond it was the living-room, which it must be confessed the parsonage girls only called "living-room" when they were on their Sunday behavior,--ordinarily it was the sitting-room, and a cheery, homey, attractive place it was, with a great bay window looking out upon the stately mansion of the Averys. To the left of the living-room was the dining-room. The double doors between them were always open. The other pair was closed, except on occasions of importance. Now, this really was a crisis in the life of the parsonage family,--if not of the parsonage itself. The girls had met, separately, every member of the Ladies' Aid. But this was their first combined movement upon the parsonage, and Prudence and Fairy realized that much depended on the success of the day. As girls, the whole Methodist church pronounced the young Starrs charming. But as parsonage people,--well, they were obliged to reserve judgment. And as for Prudence having entire charge of the household, it must be acknowledged that every individual Lady looked forward to this meeting with eagerness,--they wanted to "size up" the situation. They were coming to see for themselves! Yes, it was undoubtedly a crisis. "There'll be a crowd, of course," said Fairy. "We'll just leave the doors between the front rooms open." "Yes, but we'll close the dining-room doors. Then we'll have the refreshments all out on the table, and when we are ready we'll just fling back the doors carelessly and--there you are!" So the table was prettily decorated with flowers, and great plates of sandwiches and cake were placed upon it. In the center was an enormous punch-bowl, borrowed from the Averys, full of lemonade. Glasses were properly arranged on the trays, and piles of nicely home-laundered napkins were scattered here and there. The girls felt that the dining-room was a credit to them, and to the Methodist Church entire. From every nook and corner of the house they hunted out chairs and stools, anticipating a real run upon the parsonage. Nor were they disappointed. The twins and Connie were not even arrayed in their plain little ginghams, clean, before the first arrivals were ushered up into the front bedroom, ordinarily occupied by Prudence and Fairy. "There's Mrs. Adams, and Mrs. Prentiss, and Mrs.----," began Connie, listening intently to the voices in the next room. "Yes," whispered Carol, "peek through the keyhole, Lark, and see if Mrs. Prentiss is looking under the bed for dust. They say she----" "You'd better not let Prudence catch you repeating----" "There's Mrs. Stone, and Mrs. Davis, and----" "They say Mrs. Davis only belongs to the Ladies' Aid for the sake of the refreshments, and----" "Carol! Prudence will punish you." "Well, I don't believe it," protested Carol. "I'm just telling you what I've heard other people say." "We aren't allowed to repeat gossip," urged Lark. "No, and I think it's a shame, too, for it's awfully funny. Minnie Drake told me that Miss Varne joined the Methodist church as soon as she heard the new minister was a widower so she----" "Carol!" Carol whirled around sharply, and flushed, and swallowed hard. For Prudence was just behind her. "I--I--I--" but she could get no further. Upon occasion, Prudence was quite terrible. "So I heard," she said dryly, but her eyes were hard. "Now run down-stairs and out to the field, or to the barn, and play. And, Carol, be sure and remind me of that speech to-night. I might forget it." The girls ran quickly out, Carol well in the lead. "No wedding fee for me," she mumbled bitterly. "Do you suppose there can be seven devils in my tongue, Lark, like there are in the Bible?" "I don't remember there being seven devils in the Bible," said Lark. "Oh, I mean the--the possessed people it tells about in the Bible,--crazy, I suppose it means. Somehow I just can't help repeating----" "You don't want to," said Lark, not without sympathy. "You think it's such fun, you know." "Well, anyhow, I'm sure I won't get any wedding fee to-night. It seems to me Prudence is very--harsh sometimes." "You can appeal to father, if you like." "Not on your life," said Carol promptly and emphatically; "he's worse than Prudence. Like as not he'd give me a good thrashing into the bargain. No,--I'm strong for Prudence when it comes to punishment,--in preference to father, I mean. I can't seem to be fond of any kind of punishment from anybody." For a while Carol was much depressed, but by nature she was a buoyant soul and her spirits were presently soaring again. In the meantime, the Ladies of the Aid Society continued to arrive. Prudence and Fairy, freshly gowned and smiling-faced, received them with cordiality and many merry words. It was not difficult for them, they had been reared in the hospitable atmosphere of Methodist parsonages, where, if you have but two dishes of oatmeal, the outsider is welcome to one. That is Carol's description of parsonage life. But Prudence was concerned to observe that a big easy chair placed well back in a secluded corner, seemed to be giving dissatisfaction. It was Mrs. Adams who sat there first. She squirmed quite a little, and seemed to be gripping the arms of the chair with unnecessary fervor. Presently she stammered an excuse, and rising, went into the other room. After that, Mrs. Miller tried the corner chair, and soon moved away. Then Mrs. Jack, Mrs. Norey, and Mrs. Beed, in turn, sat there,--and did not stay. Prudence was quite agonized. Had the awful twins filled it with needles for the reception of the poor Ladies? At first opportunity, she hurried into the secluded corner, intent upon trying the chair for herself. She sat down anxiously. Then she gasped, and clutched frantically at the arms of the chair. For she discovered at once to her dismay that the chair was bottomless, and that only by hanging on for her life could she keep from dropping through. She thought hard for a moment,--but thinking did not interfere with her grasp on the chair-arms,--and then she realized that the wisest thing would be to discuss it publicly. Anything would be better than leaving it unexplained, for the Ladies to comment upon privately. So up rose Prudence, conscientiously pulling after her the thin cushion which had concealed the chair's shortcoming. "Look, Fairy!" she cried. "Did you take the bottom out of this chair?--It must have been horribly uncomfortable for those who have sat there!--However did it happen?" Fairy was frankly amazed, and a little inclined to be amused. "Ask the twins," she said tersely, "I know nothing about it." At that moment, the luckless Carol went running through the hall. Prudence knew it was she, without seeing, because she had a peculiar skipping run that was quite characteristic and unmistakable. "Carol!" she called. And Carol paused. "Carol!" more imperatively. Then Carol slowly opened the door,--she was a parsonage girl and rose to the occasion. She smiled winsomely,--Carol was nearly always winsome. "How do you do?" she said brightly. "Isn't it a lovely day? Did you call me, Prudence?" "Yes. Do you know where the bottom of that chair has gone?" "Why, no, Prudence--gracious! That chair!--Why, I didn't know you were going to bring that chair in here--Why,--oh, I am so sorry! Why in the world didn't you tell us beforehand?" Some of the Ladies smiled. Others lifted their brows and shoulders in a mildly suggestive way, that Prudence, after nineteen years in the parsonage, had learned to know and dread. "And where is the chair-bottom now?" she inquired. "And why did you take it?" "Why we wanted to make----" "You and Lark?" "Well, yes,--but it was really all my fault, you know. We wanted to make a seat up high in the peach tree, and we couldn't find a board the right shape. So she discovered--I mean, I did--that by pulling out two tiny nails we could get the bottom off the chair, and it was just fine. It's a perfectly adorable seat," brightening, but sobering again as she realized the gravity of the occasion. "And we put the cushion in the chair so that it wouldn't be noticed. We never use that chair, you know, and we didn't think of your needing it to-day. We put it away back in the cold corner of the sitting--er, living-room where no one ever sits. I'm so sorry about it." Carol was really quite crushed, but true to her parsonage training, she struggled valiantly and presently brought forth a crumpled and sickly smile. But Prudence smiled at her kindly. "That wasn't very naughty, Carol," she said frankly. "It's true that we seldom use that chair. And we ought to have looked." She glanced reproachfully at Fairy. "It is strange that in dusting it, Fairy--but never mind. You may go now, Carol. It is all right." Then she apologized gently to the Ladies, and the conversation went on, but Prudence was uncomfortably conscious of keen and quizzical eyes turned her way. Evidently they thought she was too lenient. "Well, it wasn't very naughty," she thought wretchedly. "How can I pretend it was terribly bad, when I feel in my heart that it wasn't!" Before long, the meeting was called to order, and the secretary instructed to read the minutes. "Oh," fluttered Miss Carr excitedly, "I forgot to bring the book. I haven't been secretary very long, you know." "Only six months," interrupted Mrs. Adams tartly. "How do you expect to keep to-day's minutes?" demanded the president. "Oh, I am sure Miss Prudence will give me a pencil and paper, and I'll copy them in the book as soon as ever I get home." "Yes, indeed," said Prudence. "There is a tablet on that table beside you, and pencils, too. I thought we might need them." Then the president made a few remarks, but while she talked, Miss Carr was excitedly opening the tablet. Miss Carr was always excited, and always fluttering, and always giggling girlishly. Carol called her a sweet old simpering soul, and so she was. But now, right in the midst of the president's serious remarks, she quite giggled out. The president stared at her in amazement. The Ladies looked up curiously. Miss Carr was bending low over the tablet, and laughing gaily to herself. "Oh, this is very cute," she said. "Who wrote it? Oh, it is just real cunning." Fairy sprang up, suddenly scarlet. "Oh, perhaps you have one of the twins' books, and they're always scribbling and----" "No, it is yours, Fairy. I got it from among your school-books." Fairy sank back, intensely mortified, and Miss Carr chirped brightly: "Oh, Fairy, dear, did you write this little poem? How perfectly sweet! And what a queer, sentimental little creature you are. I never dreamed you were so romantic. Mayn't I read it aloud?" Fairy was speechless, but the Ladies, including the president, were impatiently waiting. So Miss Carr began reading in a sentimental, dreamy voice that must have been very fetching fifty years before. At the first suggestion of poetry, Prudence sat up with conscious pride,--Fairy was so clever! But before Miss Carr had finished the second verse, she too was literally drowned in humiliation. "My love rode out of the glooming night, Into the glare of the morning light. My love rode out of the dim unknown, Into my heart to claim his own. My love rode out of the yesterday, Into the now,--and he came to stay. Oh, love that is rich, and pure, and true, The love in my heart leaps out to you. Oh, love, at last you have found your part,-- To come and dwell in my empty heart." Miss Carr sat down, giggling delightedly, and the younger Ladies laughed, and the older Ladies smiled. But Mrs. Prentiss turned to Fairy gravely. "How old are you, my dear?" And with a too-apparent effort, Fairy answered, "Sixteen!" "Indeed!" A simple word, but so suggestively uttered. "Shall we continue the meeting, Ladies?" This aroused Prudence's ire on her sister's behalf, and she squared her shoulders defiantly. For a while, Fairy was utterly subdued. But thinking it over to herself, she decided that after all there was nothing absolutely shameful in a sixteen-year-old girl writing sentimental verses. Silly, to be sure! But all sixteen-year-olds are silly. We love them for it! And Fairy's good nature and really good judgment came to her rescue, and she smiled at Prudence with her old serenity. The meeting progressed, and the business was presently disposed of. So far, things were not too seriously bad, and Prudence sighed in great relief. Then the Ladies took out their sewing, and began industriously working at many unmentionable articles, designed for the intimate clothing of a lot of young Methodists confined in an orphans' home in Chicago. And they talked together pleasantly and gaily. And Prudence and Fairy felt that the cloud was lifted. But soon it settled again, dark and lowering. Prudence heard Lark running through the hall and her soul misgave her. Why was Lark going upstairs? What was her errand? And she remembered the wraps of the Ladies, up-stairs, alone and unprotected. Dare she trust Lark in such a crisis? Perhaps the very sight of Prudence and the Ladies' Aid would arouse her better nature, and prevent catastrophe. To be sure, her mission might be innocent, but Prudence dared not run the risk. Fortunately she was sitting near the door. "Lark!" she called softly. Lark stopped abruptly, and something fell to the floor. "Lark!" There was a muttered exclamation from without, and Lark began fumbling rapidly around on the floor talking incoherently to herself. "Lark!" The Ladies smiled, and Miss Carr, laughing lightly, said, "She is an attentive creature, isn't she?" Prudence would gladly have flown out into the hall to settle this matter, but she realized that she was on exhibition. Had she done so, the Ladies would have set her down forever after as thoroughly incompetent,--she could not go! But Lark must come to her. "Lark!" This was Prudence's most awful voice, and Lark was bound to heed. "Oh, Prue," she said plaintively, "I'll be there in a minute. Can't you wait just five minutes? Let me run up-stairs first, won't you? Then I'll come gladly! Won't that do?" Her voice was hopeful. But Prudence replied with dangerous calm: "Come at once, Lark." "All right, then," and added threateningly, "but you'll wish I hadn't." Then Lark opened the door,--a woeful figure! In one hand she carried an empty shoe box. And her face was streaked with good rich Iowa mud. Her clothes were plastered with it. One shoe was caked from the sole to the very top button, and a great gash in her stocking revealed a generous portion of round white leg. Poor Prudence! At that moment, she would have exchanged the whole parsonage, bathroom, electric lights and all, for a tiny log cabin in the heart of a great forest where she and Lark might be alone together. And Fairy laughed. Prudence looked at her with tears in her eyes, and then turned to the wretched girl. "What have you been doing, Lark?" The heart-break expressed in the face of Lark would have made the angels weep. Beneath the smudges of mud on her cheeks she was pallid, and try as she would, she could not keep her chin from trembling ominously. Her eyes were fastened on the floor for the most part, but occasionally she raised them hurriedly, appealingly, to her sister's face, and dropped them again. Not for worlds would she have faced the Ladies! Prudence was obliged to repeat her question before Lark could articulate a reply. She gulped painfully a few times,--making meanwhile a desperate effort to hide the gash in one stocking by placing the other across it, rubbing it up and down in great embarrassment, and balancing herself with apparent difficulty. Her voice, when she was able to speak, was barely recognizable. "We--we--we are making--mud images, Prudence. It--it was awfully messy, I know, but--they say--it is such a good--and useful thing to do. We--we didn't expect--the--the Ladies to see us." "Mud images!" gasped Prudence, and even Fairy stared incredulously. "Where in the world did you get hold of an idea like that?" "It--it was in that--that Mother's Home Friend paper you take, Prudence." Prudence blushed guiltily. "It--it was modeling in clay, but--we haven't any clay, and--the mud is very nice, but--Oh, I know I look just--horrible. I--I--Connie pushed me in the--puddle--for fun. I--I was vexed about it, Prudence, honestly. I--I was chasing her, and I fell, and tore my stocking,--and--and--but, Prudence, the papers do say children ought to model, and we didn't think of--getting caught." Another appealing glance into her sister's face, and Lark plunged on, bent on smoothing matters if she could. "Carol is--is just fine at it, really. She--she's making a Venus de Milo, and it's good. But we can't remember whether her arm is off at the elbow or below the shoulder----" An enormous gulp, and by furious blinking Lark managed to crowd back the tears that would slip to the edge of her lashes. "I--I'm very sorry, Prudence." "Very well, Lark, you may go. I do not really object to your modeling in mud, I am sure. I am sorry you look so disreputable. You must change your shoes and stockings at once, and then you can go on with your modeling. But there must be no more pushing and chasing. I'll see Connie about that to-night. Now----" "Oh! Oh! Oh! What in the world is that?" This was a chorus of several Ladies' Aid voices,--a double quartette at the very least. Lark gave a sharp exclamation and began looking hurriedly about her on the floor. "It's got in here,--just as I expected," she exclaimed. "I said you would be sorry, Prue,--Oh, there it is under your chair, Mrs. Prentiss. Just wait,--maybe I can shove it back in the box again." This was greeted with a fresh chorus of shrieks. There was a hurried and absolute vacation of that corner of the front room. The Ladies fled, dropping their cherished sewing, shoving one another in a most Unladies-Aid-like way. And there, beneath a chair, squatted the cause of the confusion, an innocent, unhappy, blinking toad! "Oh, Larkie!" This was a prolonged wail. "It's all right, Prue, honestly it is," urged Lark with pathetic solemnity. "We didn't do it for a joke. We're keeping him for a good purpose. Connie found him in the garden,--and--Carol said we ought to keep him for Professor Duke,--he asked us to bring him things to cut up in science, you remember. So we just shoved him into this shoe box, and--we thought we'd keep him in the bath-tub until morning. We did it for a good purpose, don't you see we did? Oh, Prudence!" Prudence was horribly outraged, but even in that critical moment, justice insisted that Lark's arguments were sound. The professor had certainly asked the scholars to bring him "things to cut up." But a toad! A live one!--And the Ladies' Aid! Prudence shivered. "I am sure you meant well, Larkie," she said in a low voice, striving hard to keep down the bitter resentment in her heart, "I know you did. But you should not have brought that--that thing--into the house. Pick him up at once, and take him out-of-doors and let him go." But this was not readily done. In spite of her shame and deep dismay, Lark refused to touch the toad with her fingers. "I can't touch him, Prudence,--I simply can't," she whimpered. "We shoved him in with the broom handle before." And as no one else was willing to touch it, and as the Ladies clustered together in confusion, and with much laughter, in the far corner of the other room, Prudence brought the broom and the not unwilling toad was helped to other quarters. "Now go," said Prudence quickly, and Lark was swift to avail herself of the permission. Followed a quiet hour, and then the Ladies put aside their sewing and walked about the room, chatting in little groups. With a significant glance to Fairy, Prudence walked calmly to the double doors between the dining-room and the sitting-room. The eyes of the Ladies followed her with interest and even enthusiasm. They were hungry. Prudence slowly opened wide the doors, and--stood amazed! The Ladies clustered about her, and stood amazed also. The dining-room was there, and the table! But the appearance of the place was vastly different! The snowy cloth was draped artistically over a picture on the wall, the lowest edges well above the floor. The plates and trays, napkin-covered, were safely stowed away on the floor in distant corners. The kitchen scrub bucket had been brought in and turned upside down, to afford a fitting resting place for the borrowed punch bowl, full to overflowing with fragrant lemonade. And at the table were three dirty, disheveled little figures, bending seriously over piles of mud. A not-unrecognizable Venus de Milo occupied the center of the table. Connie was painstakingly at work on some animal, a dog perhaps, or possibly an elephant. And---- The three young modelers looked up in exclamatory consternation as the doors opened. "Oh, are you ready?" cried Carol. "How the time has flown! We had no idea you'd be ready so soon. Oh, we are sorry, Prudence. We intended to have everything fixed properly for you again. We needed a flat place for our modeling. It's a shame, that's what it is. Isn't that a handsome Venus? I did that!--If you'll just shut the door one minute, Prudence, we'll have everything exactly as you left it. And we're as sorry as we can be. You can have my Venus for a centerpiece, if you like." [Illustration: "If you'll just shut the door one minute, Prudence, we'll have everything exactly as you left it."] Prudence silently closed the doors, and the Ladies, laughing significantly, drew away. "Don't you think, my dear," began Mrs. Prentiss too sweetly, "that they are a little more than you can manage? Don't you really think an older woman is needed?" "I do not think so," cried Fairy, before her sister could speak, "no older woman could be kinder, or sweeter, or more patient and helpful than Prue." "Undoubtedly true! But something more is needed, I am afraid! It appears that girls are a little more disorderly than in my own young days! Perhaps I do not judge advisedly, but it seems to me they are a little--unmanageable." "Indeed they are not," cried Prudence loyally. "They are young, lively, mischievous, I know,--and I am glad of it. But I have lived with them ever since they were born, and I ought to know them. They are unselfish, they are sympathetic, they are always generous. They do foolish and irritating things,--but never things that are hateful and mean. They are all right at heart, and that is all that counts. They are not bad girls! What have they done to-day? They were exasperating, and humiliating, too, but what did they do that was really mean? They embarrassed and mortified me, but not intentionally! I can't punish them for the effect on me, you know! Would that be just or fair? At heart, they meant no harm." It must be confessed that there were many serious faces among the Ladies. Some cheeks were flushed, some eyes were downcast, some lips were compressed and some were trembling. Every mother there was asking in her heart, "Did I punish my children just for the effect on me? Did I judge my children by what was in their hearts, or just by the trouble they made me?" And the silence lasted so long that it became awkward. Finally Mrs. Prentiss crossed the room and stood by Prudence's side. She laid a hand tenderly on the young girl's arm, and said in a voice that was slightly tremulous: "I believe you are right, my dear. It is what girls are at heart that really counts. I believe your sisters are all you say they are. And one thing I am very sure of,--they are happy girls to have a sister so patient, and loving, and just. Not all real mothers have as much to their credit!" CHAPTER IV A SECRET SOCIETY Carol and Lark, in keeping with their twin-ship, were the dearest of chums and comrades. They resembled each other closely in build, being of the same height and size. They were slender, yet gave a suggestion of sturdiness. Carol's face was a delicately tinted oval, brightened by clear and sparkling eyes of blue. She was really beautiful, bright, attractive and vivacious. She made friends readily, and was always considered the "most popular girl in our crowd"--whatever Carol's crowd at the time might be. But she was not extremely clever, caring little for study, and with no especial talent in any direction. Lark was as nearly contrasting as any sister could be. Her face was pale, her eyes were dark brown and full of shadows, and she was a brilliant and earnest student. For each other the twins felt a passionate devotion that was very beautiful, but ludicrous as well. To them, the great rambling barn back of the parsonage was a most delightful place. It had a big cow-shed on one side, and horse stalls on the other, with a "heavenly" haymow over all, and with "chutes" for the descent of hay,--and twins! In one corner was a high dark crib for corn, with an open window looking down into the horse stalls adjoining. When the crib was newly filled, the twins could clamber painfully up on the corn, struggle backward through the narrow window, and holding to the ledge of it with their hands, drop down into the nearest stall. To be sure they were likely to fall,--more likely than not,--and their hands were splinter-filled and their heads blue-bumped most of the time. But splinters and bumps did not interfere with their pursuit of pleasure. Now the twins had a Secret Society,--of which they were the founders, the officers and the membership body. Its name was Skull and Crossbones. Why that name was chosen perhaps even the twins themselves could not explain, but it sounded deep, dark and bloody,--and so was the Society. Lark furnished the brain power for the organization but her sister was an enthusiastic and energetic second. Carol's club name was Lady Gwendolyn, and Lark's was Sir Alfred Angelcourt ordinarily, although subject to frequent change. Sometimes she was Lord Beveling, the villain of the plot, and chased poor Gwendolyn madly through corn-crib, horse stalls and haymow. Again she was the dark-browed Indian silently stalking his unconscious prey. Then she was a fierce lion lying in wait for the approaching damsel. The old barn saw stirring times after the coming of the new parsonage family. "Hark! Hark!" sounded a hissing whisper from the corn-crib, and Connie, eavesdropping outside the barn, shivered sympathetically. "What is it! Oh, what is it?" wailed the unfortunate lady. "Look! Look! Run for your life!" Then while Connie clutched the barn door in a frenzy, there was a sound of rattling corn as the twins scrambled upward, a silence, a low thud, and an unromantic "Ouch!" as Carol bumped her head and stumbled. "Are you assaulted?" shouted the bold Sir Alfred, and Connie heard a wild scuffle as he rescued his companion from the clutches of the old halter on which she had stumbled. Up the haymow ladder they hurried, and then slid recklessly down the hay-chutes. Presently the barn door was flung open, and the "Society" knocked Connie flying backward, ran madly around the barn a few times, and scurried under the fence and into the chicken coop. A little later, Connie, assailed with shots of corncobs, ran bitterly toward the house. "Peaking" was strictly forbidden when the twins were engaged in Skull and Crossbones activities. And Connie's soul burned with desire. She felt that this secret society was threatening not only her happiness, but also her health, for she could not sleep for horrid dreams of Skulls and Crossbones at night, and could not eat for envying the twins their secret and mysterious joys. Therefore, with unwonted humility, she applied for entrance. She had applied many times previously, without effect. But this time she enforced her application with a nickel's worth of red peppermint drops, bought for the very purpose. The twins accepted the drops gravely, and told Connie she must make formal application. Then they marched solemnly off to the barn with the peppermint drops, without offering Connie a share. This hurt, but she did not long grieve over it, she was so busy wondering what on earth they meant by "formal application." Finally she applied to Prudence, and received assistance. The afternoon mail brought to the parsonage an envelope addressed to "Misses Carol and Lark Starr, The Methodist Parsonage, Mount Mark, Iowa," and in the lower left-hand corner was a suggestive drawing of a Skull and Crossbones. The eyes of the mischievous twins twinkled with delight when they saw it, and they carried it to the barn for prompt perusal. It read as follows: "Miss Constance Starr humbly and respectfully craves admittance into the Ancient and Honorable Organization of Skull and Crossbones." The twins pondered long on a fitting reply, and the next afternoon the postman brought a letter for Connie, waiting impatiently for it. She had approached the twins about it at noon that day. "Did you get my application?" she had whispered nervously. But the twins had stared her out of countenance, and Connie realized that she had committed a serious breach of secret society etiquette. But here was the letter! Her fingers trembled as she opened it. It was decorated lavishly with skulls and crossbones, splashed with red ink, supposedly blood, and written in the same suggestive color. "Skull and Crossbones has heard the plea of Miss Constance Starr. If she present herself at the Parsonage Haymow this evening, at eight o'clock, she shall learn the will of the Society regarding her petition." Connie was jubilant! In a flash, she saw herself admitted to the mysterious Barnyard Order, and began working out a name for her own designation after entrance. It was a proud day for her. By the time the twins had finished washing the supper dishes, it was dark. Constance glanced out of the window apprehensively. She now remembered that eight o'clock was very, very late, and that the barn was a long way from the house! And up in the haymow, too! And such a mysterious bloody society! Her heart quaked within her. So she approached the twins respectfully, and said in an offhand way: "I can go any time now. Just let me know when you're ready, and I'll go right along with you." But the twins stared at her again in an amazing and overbearing fashion, and vouchsafed no reply. Connie, however, determined to keep a watchful eye upon them, and when they started barnward, she would trail closely along in their rear. It was a quarter to eight, and fearfully dark, when she suddenly remembered that they had been up-stairs an unnaturally long time. She rushed up in a panic. They were not there. She ran through the house. They were not to be found. The dreadful truth overwhelmed her,--the twins were already in the haymow, the hour had come, and she must go forth. Breathlessly, she slipped out of the back door, and closed it softly behind her. She could not distinguish the dark outlines of the barn in the equal darkness of the autumn night. She gave a long sobbing gasp as she groped her way forward. As she neared the barn, she was startled to hear from the haymow over her head, deep groans as of a soul in mortal agony. Something had happened to the twins! "Girls! Girls!" she cried, forgetting for the moment her own sorry state. "What is the matter? Twins!" Sepulchral silence! And Connie knew that this was the dreadful Skull and Bones. Her teeth chattered as she stood there, irresolute in the intense and throbbing darkness. "It's only the twins," she assured herself over and over, and began fumbling with the latch of the barn door,--but her fingers were stiff and cold. Suddenly from directly above her, there came the hideous clanking of iron chains. Connie had read ghost stories, and she knew the significance of clanking chains, but she stood her ground in spite of the almost irresistible impulse to fly. After the clanking, the loud and clamorous peal of a bell rang out. "It's that old cow bell they found in the field," she whispered practically, but found it none the less horrifying. Finally she stepped into the blackness of the barn, found the ladder leading to the haymow and began slowly climbing. But her own weight seemed a tremendous thing, and she had difficulty in raising herself from step to step. She comforted herself with the reflection that at the top were the twins,--company and triumph hand in hand. But when she reached the top, and peered around her, she found little comfort,--and no desirable company? A small barrel draped in black stood in the center of the mow, and on it a lighted candle gave out a feeble flickering ray which emphasized the darkness around it. On either side of the black-draped barrel stood a motionless figure, clothed in somber black. On the head of one was a skull,--not a really skull, just a pasteboard imitation, but it was just as awful to Connie. On the head of the other were crossbones. "Kneel," commanded the hoarse voice of Skull, in which Connie could faintly distinguish the tone of Lark. She knelt,--an abject quivering neophyte. "Hear the will of Skull and Crossbones," chanted Crossbones in a shrill monotone. Then Skull took up the strain once more. "Skull and Crossbones, great in mercy and in condescension, has listened graciously to the prayer of Constance, the Seeker. Hear the will of the Great Spirit! If the Seeker will, for the length of two weeks, submit herself to the will of Skull and Crossbones, she shall be admitted into the Ancient and Honorable Order. If the Seeker accepts this condition, she must bow herself to the ground three times, in token of submission." "There's no ground here," came a small faint voice from the kneeling Seeker. "The floor, madam," Skull explained sternly. "If the Seeker accepts the condition,--to submit herself absolutely to the will of Skull and Crossbones for two entire weeks,--she shall bow herself three times." Constance hesitated. It was so grandly expressed that she hardly understood what they wanted. Carol came to her rescue. "That means you've got to do everything Lark and I tell you for two weeks," she said in her natural voice. Then Constance bowed herself three times,--although she lost her balance in the act, and Carol forgot her dignity and gave way to laughter, swiftly subdued, however. "Arise and approach the altar," she commanded in the shrill voice, which yet gave signs of laughter. Constance arose and approached. "Upon the altar, before the Eternal Light, you will find a small black bow, with a drop of human blood in the center. This is the badge of your pledgedom. You must wear it day and night, during the entire two weeks. After that, if all is well; you shall be received into full membership. If you break your pledge to the Order, it must be restored at once to Skull and Crossbones. Take it, and pin it upon your breast." Constance did so,--and her breast heaved with rapture and awe in mingling. Then a horrible thing happened. The flame of the "Eternal Light" was suddenly extinguished, and Carol exclaimed, "The ceremony is ended. Return, damsel, to thine abode." A sound of scampering feet,--and Constance knew that the Grand Officials had fled, and she was alone in the dreadful darkness. She called after them pitifully, but she heard the slam of the kitchen door before she had even reached the ladder. It was a sobbing and miserable neophyte who stumbled into the kitchen a few seconds later. The twins were bending earnestly over their Latin grammars by the side of the kitchen fire, and did not raise their eyes as the Seeker burst into the room. Constance sat down, and gasped and quivered for a while. Then she looked down complacently at the little black bow with its smudge of red ink, and sighed contentedly. The week that followed was a gala one for the twins of Skull and Crossbones. Constance swept their room, made their bed, washed their dishes, did their chores, and in every way behaved as a model pledge of the Ancient and Honorable. The twins were gracious but firm. There was no arguing, and no faltering. "It is the will of Skull and Crossbones that the damsel do this," they would say. And the damsel did it. Prudence did not feel it was a case that called for her interference. So she sat back and watched, while the twins told stories, read and frolicked, and Constance did their daily tasks. So eight days passed, and then came Waterloo. Constance returned home after an errand downtown, and in her hand she carried a great golden pear. Perhaps Constance would have preferred that she escape the notice of the twins on this occasion, but as luck would have it, she passed Carol in the hall. "Gracious! What a pear! Where did you get it?" demanded Carol covetously. "I met Mr. Arnold down-town, and he bought it for me. He's very fond of me. It cost him a dime, too, for just this one. Isn't it a beauty?" And Connie licked her lips suggestively. Carol licked hers, too, thoughtfully. Then she called up the stairs, "Lark, come here, quick!" Lark did so, and duly exclaimed and admired. Then she said significantly, "I suppose you are going to divide with us?" "Of course," said Connie with some indignation. "I'm going to cut it in five pieces so Prudence and Fairy can have some, too." A pause, while Carol and Lark gazed at each other soberly. Mentally, each twin was figuring how big her share would be when the pear was divided in fives. Then Lark spoke. "It is the will of Skull and Crossbones that this luscious fruit be turned over to them immediately." Constance faltered, held it out, drew it back. "If I do, I suppose you'll give me part of it, anyhow," she said, and her eyes glittered. "Not so, damsel," said Carol ominously. "The Ancient and Honorable takes,--it never gives." For a moment Constance wavered. Then she flamed into sudden anger. "I won't do it, so there!" she cried. "I think you're mean selfish pigs, that's what I think! Taking my very own pear, and--but you won't get it! I don't care if I never get into your silly old society,--you don't get a bite of this pear, I can tell you that!" And Constance rushed up-stairs and slammed a door. A few seconds later the door opened again, and her cherished badge was flung down upon Skull and Crossbones. "There's your old black string smeared up with red ink!" she yelled at them wildly. And again the door slammed. Carol picked up the insulted badge, and studied it thoughtfully. Lark spoke first. "It occurs to me, Fair Gwendolyn, that we would do well to keep this little scene from the ears of the just and righteous Prudence." "Right, as always, Brave Knight," was the womanly retort. And the twins betook themselves to the haymow in thoughtful mood. A little later, when Prudence and Fairy came laughing into the down-stairs hall, a white-faced Constance met them. "Look," she said, holding out a pear, divided into three parts, just like Gaul. "Mr. Arnold gave me this pear, and here's a piece for each of you." The girls thanked her warmly, but Prudence paused with her third almost touching her lips. "How about the twins?" she inquired. "Aren't they at home? Won't they break your pledge if you leave them out?" Constance looked up sternly. "I offered them some half an hour ago, and they refused it," she said. "And they have already put me out of the society!" There was tragedy in the childish face, and Prudence put her arms around this baby-sister. "Tell Prue all about it, Connie," she said. But Constance shook her head. "It can't be talked about. Go on and eat your pear. It is good." "Was it all right?" questioned Prudence. "Did the twins play fair, Connie?" "Yes," said Constance. "It was all right. Don't talk about it." But in two days Constance repented of her rashness. In three days she was pleading for forgiveness. And in four days she was starting in on another two weeks of pledgedom, and the desecrated ribbon with its drop of blood reposed once more on her ambitious breast. For three days her service was sore indeed, for the twins informed her, with sympathy, that she must be punished for insubordination. "But after that, we'll be just as easy on you as anything, Connie," they told her. "So don't you get sore now. In three days, we'll let up on you." A week passed, ten days, and twelve. Then came a golden October afternoon when the twins sat in the haymow looking out upon a mellow world. Constance was in the yard, reading a fairy story. The situation was a tense one, for the twins were hungry, and time was heavy on their hands. "The apple trees in Avery's orchard are just loaded," said Lark aimlessly. "And there are lots on the ground, too. I saw them when I was out in the field this morning." "Some of the trees are close to our fence, too," said Carol slowly. "Very close." Lark glanced up with sudden interest. "That's so," she said. "And the wires on the fence are awfully loose." Carol gazed down into the yard where Constance was absorbed in her book. "Constance oughtn't to read as much as she does," she argued. "It's so bad for the eyes." "Yes, and what's more, she's been getting off too easy the last few days. The time is nearly up." "That's so," said Lark. "Let's call her up here." This was done at once, and the unfortunate Constance walked reluctantly toward the barn, her fascinating story still in her hand. "You see, they've got more apples than they need, and those on the ground are just going to waste," continued Carol, pending the arrival of the little pledge. "The chickens are pecking at them, and ruining them." "It's criminal destruction, that's what it is," declared Lark. Connie stood before them respectfully, as they had instructed her to stand. The twins hesitated, each secretly hoping the other would voice the order. But Lark as usual was obliged to be the spokesman. "Damsel," she said, "it is the will of Skull and Crossbones that you hie ye to yonder orchard,--Avery's, I mean,--and bring hither some of the golden apples basking in the sun." "What!" ejaculated Connie, startled out of her respect. Carol frowned. Connie hastened to modify her tone. "Did they say you might have them?" she inquired politely. "That concerns thee not, 'tis for thee only to render obedience to the orders of the Society. Go out through our field and sneak under the fence where the wires are loose, and hurry back. We're awfully hungry. The trees are near the fence. There isn't any danger." "But it's stealing," objected Connie. "What will Prudence----" "Damsel!" And Connie turned to obey with despair in her heart. "Bring twelve," Carol called after her, "that'll be four apiece. And hurry, Connie. And see they don't catch you while you're about it." After she had gone, the twins lay back thoughtfully on the hay and stared at the cobwebby roof above them. "It's a good thing Prudence and Fairy are downtown," said Lark sagely. "Yes, or we'd catch it," assented Carol. "But I don't see why! The Averys have too many apples, and they are going to waste. I'm sure Mrs. Avery would rather let us have them than the chickens." They lay in silence for a while. Something was hurting them, but whether it was their fear of the wrath of Prudence, or the twinges of tender consciences,--who can say? "She's an unearthly long time about it," exclaimed Lark, at last. "Do you suppose they caught her?" This was an awful thought, and the girls were temporarily suffocated. But they heard the barn door swinging beneath them, and sighed with relief. It was Connie! She climbed the ladder skilfully, and poured her golden treasure before the arch thieves, Skull and Crossbones. There were eight big tempting apples. "Hum! Eight," said Carol sternly. "I said twelve." "Yes, but I was afraid some one was coming. I heard such a noise through the grapevines, so I got what I could and ran for it. There's three apiece for you, and two for me," said Connie, sitting down sociably beside them on the hay. But Carol rose. "Damsel, begone," she ordered. "When Skull and Crossbones feast, thou canst not yet share the festive board. Rise thee, and speed." Connie rose, and walked soberly toward the ladder. But before she disappeared she fired this parting shot, "I don't want any of them. Stolen apples don't taste very good, I reckon." Carol and Lark had the grace to flush a little at this, but however the stolen apples tasted, the twins had no difficulty in disposing of them. Then, full almost beyond the point of comfort, they slid down the hay-chutes, went out the back way, climbed over the chicken coops,--not because it was necessary, but because it was their idea of amusement,--and went for a walk in the field. At the farthest corner of the field they crawled under the fence, cut through a neighboring potato patch, and came out on the street. Then they walked respectably down the sidewalk, turned the corner and came quietly in through the front door of the parsonage. Prudence was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal. Fairy was in the sitting-room, busy with her books. The twins set the table conscientiously, filled the wood-box, and in every way labored irreproachably. But Prudence had no word of praise for them that evening. She hardly seemed to know they were about the place. She went about her work with a pale face, and never a smile to be seen. Supper was nearly ready when Connie sauntered in from the barn. After leaving the haymow, she had found a cozy corner in the com-crib, with two heavy lap robes discarded by the twins in their flight from wolves, and had settled down there to finish her story. As she stepped into the kitchen, Prudence turned to her with such a sorry, reproachful gaze that Connie was frightened. "Are you sick, Prue?" she gasped. Prudence did not answer. She went to the door and called Fairy. "Finish getting supper, will you, Fairy? And when you are all ready, you and the twins go right on eating. Don't wait for father,--he isn't coming home until evening. Come up-stairs with me, Connie; I want to talk to you." Connie followed her sister soberly, and the twins flashed at each other startled and questioning looks. The three girls were at the table when Prudence came into the dining-room alone. She fixed a tray-supper quietly and carried it off up-stairs. Then she came back and sat down by the table. But her face bore marks of tears, and she had no appetite. The twins had felt small liking for their food before, now each mouthful seemed to choke them. But they dared not ask a question. They were devoutly thankful when Fairy finally voiced their interest. "What is the matter? Has Connie been in mischief?" "It's worse than that," faltered Prudence, tears rushing to her eyes again. "Why, Prudence! What in the world has she done?" "I may as well tell you, I suppose,--you'll have to know it sooner or later. She--went out into Avery's orchard and stole some apples this afternoon. I was back in the alley seeing if Mrs. Moon could do the washing, and I saw her from the other side. She went from tree to tree, and when she got through the fence she ran. There's no mistake about it,--she confessed." The twins looked up in agony, but Prudence's face reassured them. Constance had told no tales. "I have told her she must spend all of her time up-stairs alone for a week, taking her meals there, too. She will go to school, of course, but that is all. I want her to see the awfulness of it. I told her I didn't think we wanted to eat with--a thief--just yet! I said we must get used to the idea of it first. She is heartbroken, but--I must make her see it!" That was the end of supper. No one attempted to eat another bite. After the older girls had gone into the sitting-room, Carol and Lark went about their work with stricken faces. "She's a little brick not to tell," whispered Lark. "I'm going to give her that pearl pin of mine she always liked," said Carol in a hushed voice. "I'll give her my blue ribbon, too,--she loves blue so. And to-morrow I'll take that quarter I've saved and buy her a whole quarter's worth of candy." But that night when the twins went up to bed, they were doomed to disappointment. They had no chance of making it up with Constance. For Prudence had moved her small bed out of the twins' room, and had placed it in the front room occupied by herself and Fairy. They asked if they might speak to Constance, but Prudence went in with them to say good night to her. The twins broke down and cried as they saw the pitiful little figure with the wan and tear-stained face. They threw their arms around her passionately and kissed her many times. But they went to bed without saying anything. Hours later, Lark whispered, "Carol! are you asleep?" "No. I can't go to sleep somehow." "Neither can I. Do you think we'd better tell Prudence all about it?" Carol squirmed in the bed. "I--suppose we had," she said reluctantly. "But--it'll be lots worse for us than for Connie," Lark added. "We're so much older, and we made her do it." "Yes, and we ate all the apples," mourned Carol. "Maybe we'd better just let it go," suggested Lark. "And we'll make it up to Connie afterwards," said Carol. "Now, you be careful and not give it away, Carol." "You see that you don't." But it was a sorry night for the twins. The next morning they set off to school, with no chance for anything but a brief good morning with Connie,--given in the presence of Prudence. Half-way down the parsonage walk, Carol said: "Oh, wait a minute, Lark. I left my note-book on the table." And Lark walked slowly while Carol went rushing back. She found Prudence in the kitchen, and whispered: "Here--here's a note, Prudence. Don't read it until after I've gone to school,--at ten o'clock you may read it. Will you promise?" Prudence laughed a little, but she promised, and laid the note carefully away to wait the appointed hour for its perusal. As the clock struck ten she went to the mantle, and took it down. This is what Carol had written: "Oh, Prudence, do please forgive me, and don't punish Connie any more. You can punish me any way you like, and I'll be glad of it. It was all my fault. I made her go and get the apples for me, and I ate them. Connie didn't eat one of them. She said stolen apples would not taste very good. It was all my fault, and I'm so sorry. I was such a coward I didn't dare tell you last night. Will you forgive me? But you must punish me as hard as ever you can. But please, Prudence, won't you punish me some way without letting Lark know about it? Please, please, Prudence, don't let Larkie know. You can tell Papa and Fairy so they will despise me, but keep it from my twin. If you love me, Prudence, don't let Larkie know." As Prudence read this her face grew very stern. Carol's fault! And she was ashamed to have her much-loved twin know of her disgrace. At that moment, Prudence heard some one running through the hall, and thrust the note hastily into her dress. It was Lark, and she flung herself wildly upon Prudence, sobbing bitterly. "What is the matter, Lark?" she tried, really frightened. "Are you sick?" "Heartsick, that's all," wailed Lark. "I told the teacher I was sick so I could come home, but I'm not. Oh, Prudence, I know you'll despise and abominate me all the rest of your life, and everybody will, and I deserve it. For I stole those apples myself. That is, I made Connie go and get them for me. She didn't want to. She begged not to. But I made her. She didn't eat one of them,--I did it. And she felt very badly about it. Oh, Prudence, you can do anything in the world to me,--I don't care how horrible it is; I only hope you will. But, Prudence, you won't let Carol know, will you? Oh, spare me that, Prudence, please. That's my last request, that you keep it from Carol." Prudence was surprised and puzzled. She drew the note from her pocket, and gave it to Lark. "Carol gave me that before she went to school," she explained. "Read it, and tell me what you are driving at. I think you are both crazy. Or maybe you are just trying to shield poor Connie." Lark read Carol's note, and gasped, and--burst out laughing! The shame, and bitter weeping, and nervousness, had rendered her hysterical, and now she laughed and cried until Prudence was alarmed again. In time, however, Lark was able to explain. "We both did it," she gasped, "the Skull and Crossbones. And we both told the truth about it. We made her go and get them for us, and we ate them, and she didn't want to go. I advised Carol not to tell, and she advised me not to. All the way to school this morning, we kept advising each other not to say a word about it. But I intended all the time to pretend I was sick, so I could come and confess alone. I wanted to take the punishment for both of us, so Carol could get out. I guess that's what she thought, too. Bless her little old heart, as if I'd let her he punished for my fault. And it was mostly my fault, too, Prue, for I mentioned the apples first of all." Prudence laughed,--it was really ludicrous. But when she thought of loyal little Connie, sobbing all through the long night, the tears came to her eyes again. She went quickly to the telephone, and called up the school building next door to the parsonage. "May I speak to Constance Starr, Mr. Imes?" she asked. "It is very important. This is Prudence, her sister." And when Connie came to the telephone, she cried, "Oh, you blessed little child, why didn't you tell me? Will you forgive me, Connie? I ought to have made you tell me all about it, but I was so sorry, I couldn't bear to talk much about it. The twins have told me. You're a dear, sweet, good little darling, that's what you are." "Oh, Prudence!" That was all Connie said, but something in her voice made Prudence hang up the receiver quickly, and cry bitterly! That noon Prudence pronounced judgment on the sinners, but her eyes twinkled, for Carol and Lark had scolded each other roundly for giving things away! "Connie should have refused to obey you," she said gently, holding Connie in her arms. "She knew it was wrong. But she has been punished more than enough. But you twins! In the first place, I right now abolish the Skull and Crossbones forever and ever. And you can not play in the barn again for a month. And you must go over to the Averys this afternoon, and tell them about it, and pay for the apples. And you must send all of your spending money for the next month to that woman who is gathering up things for the bad little children in the Reform School,--that will help you remember what happens to boys and girls who get in the habit of taking things on the spur of the moment!" The twins accepted all of this graciously, except that which referred to confessing their sin to their neighbors. That did hurt! The twins were so superior, and admirable! They couldn't bear to ruin their reputations. But Prudence stood firm, in spite of their weeping and wailing. And that afternoon two shamefaced sorry girls crept meekly in at the Averys' door to make their peace. "But about the Skull and Crossbones, it's mostly punishment for me, Prue," said Connie regretfully, "for the twins have been in it ever since we came to Mount Mark, and I never got in at all! And I wanted them to call me Lady Magdalina Featheringale." And Connie sighed. CHAPTER V THE TWINS STICK UP FOR THE BIBLE Prudence had been calling on a "sick member." Whenever circumstances permitted she gladly served as pastoral assistant for her father, but she always felt that raising the family was her one big job, and nothing was allowed to take precedence of it. As she walked that afternoon down Maple Street,--seemingly so-called because it was bordered with grand old elms,--she felt at peace with all the world. The very sunshine beaming down upon her through the huge skeletons of the leafless elms, was not more care-free than the daughter of the parsonage. Parsonage life had been running smoothly for as much as ten days past, and Prudence, in view of that ten days' immunity, was beginning to feel that the twins, if not Connie also, were practically reared! "Mount Mark is a dear old place,--a duck of a place, as the twins would say,--and I'm quite sorry there's a five-year limit for Methodist preachers. I should truly like to live right here until I am old and dead." Then she paused, and bowed, and smiled. She did not recognize the bright-faced young woman approaching, but she remembered just in time that parsonage people are marked characters. So she greeted the stranger cordially. "You are Miss Starr, aren't you?" the bright-faced woman was saying. "I am Miss Allen,--the principal of the high school, you know." "Oh, yes," cried Prudence, thrusting forth her hand impulsively, "oh, yes, I know. I am so glad to meet you." Miss Allen was a young woman of twenty-six, with clear kind eyes and a strong sweet mouth. She had about her that charm of manner which can only be described as winsome womanliness. Prudence gazed at her with open and honest admiration. Such a young woman to be the principal of a high school in a city the size of Mount Mark! She must be tremendously clever. But Prudence did not sigh. We can't all be clever, you know. There must be some of us to admire the rest of us! The two walked along together, chatting sociably on subjects that meant nothing to either of them. Presently Miss Allen stopped, and with a graceful wave of her hand, said lightly: "This is where I am rooming. Are you in a very great hurry this afternoon? I should like to talk to you about the twins. Will you come in?" The spirits of Prudence fell earthward with a clatter! The twins! Whatever had they been doing now? She followed Miss Allen into the house and up the stairs with the joy quite quenched in her heart. She did not notice the dainty room into which she was conducted. She ignored the offered chair, and with a dismal face turned toward Miss Allen. "Oh, please! What have they been doing? Is it very awful?" Miss Allen laughed gaily. "Oh, sit down and don't look so distressed. It's nothing at all. They haven't been doing anything. I just want to discuss them on general principles, you know. It's my duty to confer with the parents and guardians of my scholars." Immensely relieved, Prudence sank down in the chair, and rocked comfortably to and fro a few times. General principles,--ah, blessed words! "I suppose you know that Carol is quite the idol of the high school already. She is the adored one of the place. You see, she is not mixed up in any scholastic rivalry. Lark is one of the very best in her class, and there is intense rivalry between a few of the freshmen. But Carol is out of all that, and every one is free to worship at her shrine. She makes no pretensions to stand first." "Is she very stupid?" Prudence was disappointed. She did so want both of her twins to shine. "Stupid! Not a bit of it. She is a very good scholar, much better than the average. Our first pupils, including Lark, average around ninety-six and seven. Then there are others ranging between ninety and ninety-four. Carol is one of them. The fairly good ones are over eighty-five, and the fairly bad ones are over seventy-five, and the hopeless ones are below that. This is a rough way of showing how they stand. Lark is a very fine scholar, really the best in the class. She not only makes good grades, she grasps the underlying significance of her studies. Very few freshmen, even among the best, do that. She is quite exceptional. We hope to make something very big and fine of Larkie." Prudence's eyes shone with motherly pride. She nodded, striving to make her voice natural and matter-of-fact as she answered, "Yes, she is bright." "She certainly is! Carol is quite different, but she is so sweet-spirited, and vivacious, and--un-snobbish, if you know what that means--that every one in high school, and even the grammar-grade children, idolize her. She is very witty, but her wit is always innocent and kind. She never hurts any one's feelings. And she is never impertinent. The professors are as crazy about her as the scholars,--forgive the slang. Did the twins ever tell you what happened the first day of school?" "No,--tell me." Prudence was clearly very anxious. "I shall never forget it. The freshmen were sent into the recitation room to confer with Professor Duke about text-books, etc. Carol was one of the first in the line, as they came out. She sat down in her seat in the first aisle, with one foot out at the side. One of the boys tripped over it. 'Carol,' said Miss Adams gently, 'you forgot yourself, didn't you?' And Carol's eyes twinkled as she said, 'Oh, no, Miss Adams, if I had I'd still be in the recitation room.'" Miss Allen laughed, but Prudence's eyes were agonized. "How hateful of her!" "Don't the twins tell you little things that happen at school,--like that, for instance?" "Never! I supposed they were perfectly all right." "Well, here's another. Twice a week we have talks on First Aid to the Injured. Professor Duke conducts them. One day he asked Carol what she would do if she had a very severe cold, and Carol said, 'I'd soak my feet in hot water and go to bed. My sister makes me.'" Miss Allen laughed again, but Prudence was speechless. "Sometimes we have talks on normal work, practical informal discussions. Many of our scholars will be country school-teachers, you know. Miss Adams conducts these normal hours. One day she asked Carol what she would do if she had applied for a school, and was asked by the directors to write a thesis on student discipline, that they might judge of her and her ability by it? Carol said, 'I'd get Lark to write it for me.'" Even Prudence laughed a little at this, but she said, "Why don't you scold her?" "We talked it all over shortly after she entered school. Miss Adams did not understand Carol at first, and thought she was a little impertinent. But Professor Duke and I stood firm against even mentioning it to her. She is perfectly good-natured about it. You know, of course, Miss Starr, that we really try to make individuals of our scholars. So many, many hundreds are turned out of the public schools all cut on one pattern. We do not like it. We fight against it. Carol is different from others by nature, and we're going to keep her different if possible. If we crush her individuality, she will come out just like thousands of others,--all one pattern! Miss Adams is as fond of Carol now as any one of us. You understand that we could not let impudence or impertinence pass unreproved, but Carol is never guilty of that. She is always respectful and courteous. But she is spontaneous and quick-witted, and we are glad of it. Do you know what the scholars call Professor Duke?" "Professor Duck," said Prudence humbly. "But they mean it for a compliment. They really admire and like him very much. I hope he does not know what they call him." "He does! One day he was talking about the nobility system in England. He explained the difference between dukes, and earls, and lords, etc., and told them who is to be addressed as Your Majesty, Your Highness, Your Grace and so on. Then he said, 'Now, Carol, if I was the king's eldest son, what would you call me?' And Carol said, 'I'd still call you a Duck, Professor,--it wouldn't make any difference to me.'" Prudence could only sigh. "One other time he was illustrating phenomena. He explained the idea, and tried to get one of the boys to mention the word,--phenomenon, you know. The boy couldn't think of it. Professor gave three or four illustrations, and still the boy couldn't remember it. 'Oh, come now,' professor said, finally, 'something unusual, something very much out of the ordinary! Suppose you should see a blackbird running a race down the street with a sparrow, what would you call it?' The boy couldn't imagine, and professor said, 'What would you call that, Carol?' Carol said, 'A bad dream.'" Prudence smiled wearily. "Sometimes we have discussions of moral points. We take turns about conducting them, and try to stimulate their interest in such things. We want to make them think, every one for himself. One day Professor Duke said, 'Suppose a boy in this town has a grudge against you,--unjust and unfair. You have tried one thing after another to change his attitude. But he continues to annoy and inconvenience and even hurt you, on every occasion. Remember that you have tried every ordinary way of winning his good will. Now what are you going to do as a last resort?' Carol said, 'I'll tell papa on him.'" Miss Allen laughed again, heartily. "It does have a disturbing effect on the class, I admit, and often spoils a good point, but Professor Duke calls on Carol every time he sees her eyes twinkle! He does it on purpose. And Miss Adams is nearly as bad as he. One day she said, 'Suppose you have unintentionally done something to greatly irritate and inconvenience a prominent man in town. He knows you did it, and he is very angry. He is a man of sharp temper and disagreeable manners. You know that he will be extremely unpleasant and insulting if you go to him with explanations and apologies. What are you going to do?' 'I think I'll just keep out of his way for a few weeks,' said Carol soberly." "I hope she doesn't talk like that to you, Miss Allen." Instantly Miss Allen was grave. "No, she does not, I am so sorry." Leaning forward suddenly, she said, "Miss Starr, why do the twins dislike me?" "Dislike you!" echoed Prudence. "Why, they do not dislike you! What in the world makes you think----" "Oh, yes indeed they do,--both of them. Now, why? People generally like me. I have always been popular with my students. This is my second year here. Last year the whole high school stood by me as one man. This year, the freshmen started as usual. After one week, the twins changed. I knew it instantly. Then other freshmen changed. Now the whole class comes as near snubbing me as they dare. Do you mean to say they have never told you about it?" "Indeed they have not. And I am sure you are mistaken. They do like you. They like everybody." "Christian tolerance, perhaps," smiled Miss Allen ruefully. "But I want them to like me personally and intimately. I can help the twins. I can do them good, I know I can. But they won't let me. They keep me at arm's length. They are both dear, and I love them. But they freeze me to death! Why?" "I can't believe it!" "But it is true. Don't they talk of their professors at home at all?" "Oh, often." "What do they say of us?" "Why, they say Miss Adams is a perfectly sweet old lamb,--they do not mean to be disrespectful. And they say Professor Duke is the dearest duck! They almost swear by 'Professor Duck'!" "And what do they say of me?" Prudence hesitated, thinking hard. "Come now, what do they say? We must get to the bottom of this." "Why, they have said that you are very pretty, and most unbelievably smart." "Oh! Quite a difference between sweet old lamb, and the dearest duck, and being very pretty and smart! Do you see it?" "Yes," confessed Prudence reluctantly, "but I hadn't thought of it before." "Now, what is wrong? What have I done? Why, look here. The twins think everything of Professor Duke, and I am sure Carol deliberately neglects her science lessons in order to be kept in after school by him. But though she hates mathematics,--my subject,--she works at it desperately so I can't keep her in. She sits on Mr. Duke's table and chats with him by the hour. But she passes me up with a curt, 'Good night, Miss Allen.'" "And Larkie, too?" "Lark is worse than Carol. Her dislike is deeper-seated. I believe I could win Carol in time. Sometimes I waylay her when she is leaving after school, and try my best. But just as she begins to thaw, Lark invariably comes up to see if she is ready to go home, and she looks at both of us with superior icy eyes. And Carol freezes in a second. Ordinarily, she looks at me with a sort of sympathetic pity and wonder, but Lark is always haughty and nearly contemptuous. It is different with the rest of the class. It is nothing important to them. The twins are popular in the class, you know, and the others, realizing that they dislike me, hold aloof on their account." "I can't fathom it," said Prudence. "Now, Professor Duke is very brilliant and clever and interesting. And he does like Carol tremendously,--Larkie, too. He says she is the cleverest girl he ever knew. But Carol is his favorite. But he does not like teaching, and he has not the real interests of the scholars at heart. Next year, he is to begin some very wonderful research work at a big salary. That is what he loves. That is where his interests lie. But this year, being idle, and his uncle being on the school board here, he accepted this place as a sort of vacation in the meanwhile. That is all it means to him. But I love teaching, it is my life-work. I love the young people, and I want to help them. Why won't the twins give me a chance? Surely I am as attractive as Professor Duke. They are even fond of Miss Adams, whom most people consider rather a sour old maid. But they have no use for me. I want you to find out the reason, and tell me. Will you do it? They will tell you if you ask them, won't they?" "I think so. It is partly my fault. I am very strict with them about saying hateful things about people. I do not allow it. And I insist that they like everybody,--if they don't, I make them. So they have just kept it to themselves. But I will do my best." One would have thought that Prudence carried the responsibility for the entire public-school system of the United States upon her shoulders that night, so anxious were her eyes, so grave her face. Supper over, she quietly suggested to Fairy that she would appreciate the absence of herself and Connie for a time. And Fairy instantly realized that the twins must be dealt with seriously for something. So she went in search of Connie, and the two set out for a long walk. Then Prudence went to the kitchen where the twins were washing the dishes, and as usual, laughing immoderately over something. Prudence sat down and leaned her elbows on the table, her chin in her palms. "I met Miss Allen to-day," she said, closely observing the faces of the twins. A significant glance flashed between them, and they stiffened instantly. "She's very pretty and sweet, isn't she?" continued Prudence. "Yes, very," agreed Lark without any enthusiasm. "Such pretty hair," added Carol dispassionately. "She must be very popular with the scholars," suggested Prudence. "Yes, most of them are fond of her," assented Lark. "She has rather winsome manners, I think," said Carol. "Which of your professors do you like best?" queried Prudence. "Duck," they answered unanimously, and with brightening faces. "Why?" "Because he is a duck," said Carol, and they all laughed. But Prudence returned to the charge without delay. "Do you like Miss Allen?" She was going through these questions with such solemnity that the twins' suspicions had been aroused right at the start. What had Miss Allen told their sister? Again that significant flash from twin to twin. "She certainly has very likeable ways," said Lark shrewdly. "But do you like her?" insisted Prudence. "I would like her very much under ordinary circumstances," admitted Carol. "What is unusual about the circumstances?" Prudence wanted to know. "Look here, Prudence, what did Miss Allen tell you? Was she complaining about us? We've been very nice and orderly, I'm sure." Lark was aggrieved. "She wasn't complaining. She likes you both. But she says you do not like her. I want to know why." "Well, if you must know, Miss Allen is a heretic," snapped Lark. Then Prudence leaned back in her chair and gazed at the flushed faces of the twins for two full minutes. "A--a--a what?" she ejaculated, when power of speech returned to her. "Heretic," said Carol with some relish. "A heretic! You know what heresy is, don't you? We'll tell you all about it if you like, now you've got things started." "We didn't tell you before because we thought you and father would feel badly about sending us to school to a heretic. But don't you worry,--Miss Allen hasn't influenced us any." "We haven't given her a chance," said Carol, with her impish smile. "Go on," begged Prudence. "Tell me. You're both crazy, I see that. But tell me!" "Well," began Lark, for Carol always relegated the story-telling to her more gifted twin, "we've suspected Miss Allen right from the start. They used to have Bible reading every morning in school, one chapter, you know, and then the Lord's prayer. After the first week, Miss Allen dropped it. We thought that was a--a suspicious circumstance." "Phenomenally so," said Carol darkly. "But we kept our suspicions to ourselves, and we didn't come across anything else for several days. We wouldn't condemn anybody on--on circumstantial evidence, Prue. We're very fair-minded, you know." "In spite of being twins," added Carol. "What's that got to do with it?" Prudence inquired, frowning at Carol. "Oh, nothing," admitted Carol, driven into a corner. "I just wanted to make it emphatic." "Go on, Lark." "Well, there's a girl at school named Hattie Simpson. You do not know her, Prue. We don't associate with her. Oh, yes, we like her very well, but she isn't parsonage material." "She's a goat," put in Carol. "You needn't frown, Prue, that's Bible! Don't you remember the sheep and the goats? I don't know now just what it was they did, but I know the goats were very--very disreputable characters!" "Go on, Lark." "Well, her folks are atheists, and she's an atheist, too. You know what an atheist is, don't you? You know, Prue, Mount Mark is a very religious town, on account of the Presbyterian College, and all, and it seems the Simpsons are the only atheists here. Hattie says people look down on her terribly because of it. She says the church folks consider them, the Simpsons, that is, the dust on their shoes, and the crumbs off the rich man's table. She got that terribly mixed up, but I didn't correct her." "I think she did very well for an atheist," said Carol, determined not to be totally overlooked in this discussion. "What has all this to do with Miss Allen?" "Well, one day Hattie was walking home from school with us, and she was telling us about it,--the dust on their shoes, etc.,--and she said she liked Miss Allen better than anybody else in town. I asked why. She said Miss Allen believed the same things the Simpsons believe, only Miss Allen daren't say so publicly, or they would put her out of the school. She said Miss Allen said that most church members were hypocrites and drunkards and--and just generally bad, and the ones outside the church are nearly always good and moral and kind. She said Miss Allen joined the Presbyterian church here because most of the school board are Presbyterians. She said Miss Allen said she didn't care if people were Catholics or Jews or atheists or--or just ordinary Protestants, so long as they were kind to one another, and went about the world doing good works. And that's why Miss Allen wouldn't read the Bible and say the Lord's prayer in school." "What do you think of that?" demanded Carol. "Isn't that heresy? She's as bad as the priest and Levite, isn't she?" "Did you ask Miss Allen about it?" "No, indeed, we've just ignored Miss Allen ever since. We have watched her as closely as we could since then, to see if we could catch her up again. Of course she has to be careful what she says in school, but we found several strong points against her. It's a perfectly plain case, no doubt about it." "And so you went among the other freshmen influencing them, and telling tales, and criticizing your----" "No indeed, Prue, we wouldn't! But you know it says in the Bible to beware of false doctrines and the sowers of bad seed,--or something like that--" "And we bewared as hard as we could!" grinned Carol. "We have tried to explain these things to the other freshmen so Miss Allen could not lead them into--into error. Oh, that's Christian Science, isn't it? Well, Minnie Carlson is a Christian Scientist and she talks so much about falling into error that--honestly----" "We can't tell error from truth any more," interjected Carol neatly. "And so I hope you won't punish us if we accidentally vary from the truth once in a while." This was quite beyond Prudence's depth. She knew little of Christian Science save that it was a widely accepted creed of recent origin. So she brought the twins back to Miss Allen again. "But, twins, do you think it was kind, and Christian, and--and like parsonage girls, to accept all this against Miss Allen without giving her a chance to defend herself?" "As I told you, Prue, we have watched her very close since then. She has never come right out in the open,--she wouldn't dare,--but she has given herself away several times. Nothing can get by us when we're on the watch, you know!" Prudence knew. "What did Miss Allen say?" The twins thought seriously for a while. "Oh, yes, Lark," suggested Carol finally, "don't you remember she said the Bible was an allegory?" "What?" "Yes, she did. She was explaining to the English class what was meant by allegory, and she said the purpose of using allegory was to teach an important truth in a homely impressive way that could be remembered. She mentioned several prominent allegories, and said the Bible was one. And you know yourself Prue, that the Bible is Gospel truth, and--I mean, it is so! I mean----" "What she means," said Lark helpfully, "is that the Bible is not just a pretty way of teaching people to be good, but it's solid fact clear through." "That's very well expressed, Lark,"--Prudence herself could not have expressed it half so well! "But how do you twins understand all these things so thoroughly?" "Oh, you know Mrs. Sears is our Sunday-school teacher, and she's always hot on the trail of the higher critics and heretics. She explained all about the--the nefarious system to us one Sunday. She says the higher critics try to explain away the Bible by calling it allegory. So we were ready for Miss Allen there. And whenever anything came up at school, we would ask Mrs. Sears about it on Sunday,--without mentioning names of course. She's very much gratified that we are so much interested in such things. She thinks we're sure to be deaconesses, at the very least. But Carol said she wouldn't be a deaconess,--she was going to be a Red Cross nurse and go to war. That stumped Mrs. Sears for a while, and then she said we could be Red Cross Deaconess nurses." "I won't," said Carol, "because the deaconess uniforms aren't as stylish as the Red Cross nurses'. I think I'll look pretty fine in a white uniform with a stiff little cap and a red cross on my arm. Red crosses make a very pretty decoration, don't you think they do, Lark?" "What else did Miss Allen say at school?" Prudence demanded, leading the twins back to the subject. "Well, one day she said,--you know she gives uplifting little moral talks quite often, Prue. Sometimes she tells us stories with inspiring points. She's really a moral person, I believe." "And I'm honestly sorry she's a heretic," said Carol, "for I do want to be friendly enough with her to ask if she uses anything on her complexion to keep it so rose-leafy. If she does, I'll have some of it, if it takes all my next year's clothes!" Lark laughed. "A rose-leaf complexion will be a poor substitute for----" "Oh, for goodness' sake, twins, come back to Miss Allen. I am going right up to her house this minute, to ask her about it, and explain----" "She's the one to do the explaining, seems to me," said Carol belligerently. "We've got to stick up for the Bible, Prue,--it's our business." "And I don't think you should tell her,--it may hurt her feelings," urged Lark. "Have heretics feelings?" queried Carol. "I suppose it's a feeling of----" "Carol! Will you quit talking for a minute! This is a serious matter. If she believes all that nonsense, she's no proper teacher and--and she'll have to be put out of the high school. And if she doesn't believe it, she's a martyr! I'm going to find out about it at once. Do you want to come with me?" "I should say not," said the twins promptly. "I think you're very foolish to go at all," added Lark. "I wouldn't go for a dollar," declared Carol. "It'd be very interesting to see how a heretic feels, but I don't care to know how ordinary Christians feel when they fall into their hands. I'm not aching to see Miss Allen to-night." So Prudence set forth, conscientiously, in the darkness. A brave and heroic thing for Prudence to do, for she was a cowardly creature at heart. Miss Allen heard her voice in the lower hall, and came running down-stairs to meet her. "Come up," she cried eagerly, "come on up." And before Prudence was fairly inside the door, she demanded, "What is it? Did you find out? Is it my fault?" Then Prudence blushed and stammered, "Why--it sounds--silly but--they think you are a--heretic." Miss Allen gasped. Then she laughed. Then she walked to her dressing-table and picked up a long hatpin. "Will you kindly jab this into me?" she said. "I'm having a nightmare." Prudence explained in detail. At first Miss Allen laughed, it must be confessed. Then she grew very sober. "It is really my fault," she said, "for I should have remembered that young people read a ton of meaning into a pound of words. Of course, I am not guilty, Miss Starr. Professor Duke and Miss Adams can swear to that. They call me Goody-goody. They say I am an old-fashioned apostle, and they accuse me of wanting to burn them both at the stake! Now, sit down and let me explain." Prudence sat down. She was glad, so glad, that this sweet-faced, bright-eyed woman was an "ordinary Christian," and not a "priest and a Levite!" "About the allegory business, it is very simple. What I said was this,--'The Bible is full of allegory.' I did not say, 'The Bible is allegory.' I said the Bible is full of allegory, and so it is. The parables, for instance,--what are they? Do you see the difference?--But it is really more serious about poor little Hattie Simpson. As the twins told you, her parents are atheists. Her father is a loud-voiced, bragging, boastful, coarse-hearted fellow. Hattie herself does not know what her parents believe, and what they do not. She simply follows blindly after them. She thinks she is an eyesore in Mount Mark because of it. She resents it bitterly, but she feels the only decent thing for her to do is to stand by her folks. Let me tell you about our conversation. I tried to make friends with her, for I truly pity her. She has no friends, she slinks about as though constantly ashamed of herself. She trusts no one, herself least of all. I tried to draw her out, and with partial success. She told me how she feels about it all. I said, 'Hattie, won't you let some one--some minister, who knows how--tell you about Christianity, and explain to you what Christians really believe?' 'No,' she said passionately, 'I'll stand by my folks.' Then I saw she was not ready yet. I said, 'Well, perhaps it is just as well for the present, for you are too young now to take any definite stand for yourself. It is true,' I told her, 'that many church members are not Christians, and are bad immoral people,--as your father says. They are not Christians. And it is true that many outside of the church are good moral people,--but they are not Christians, either.' And then I said, 'Don't worry your head just now about whether people are Catholics or Jews or Protestants, or what they are. Just try to love everybody, and try to grow up to be such a sweet, kind, loving woman that you will be a blessing to the world. And what is more,' I said, 'do not puzzle your head now about why some believe the Bible, and some do not. Just wait. When you are older, you shall go into things for yourself, and make your own decision.'" Prudence nodded. "I think you were very sweet about it," she said. "I wanted to win her confidence in the hope that some time, a little later, I myself may show her what Christ is to us, and why we love the Bible. But I did fight shy of the real point, for fear I might anger her and put a barrier between us. I just tried to win her confidence and her love, to pave the way for what I may be able to do later on. Do you see? I have had several talks with her, but she is not ready. She is just a child, stubbornly determined to stand with her folks, right or wrong. I am trying now to cultivate the ground, I say nothing to make her dislike or distrust me. I did not think of her telling it to others,--and telling it wrong! Surely no one but the twins could have read so much into it!" "Well," and Prudence smiled, "you know we are parsonage people! We have to stick up for the Bible, as Carol says." "Oh, and about the Bible reading," said Miss Allen suddenly, "I have nothing to do with that. As you know, there are Jews and Catholics and Christian Scientists and every branch of Protestant represented in our little school. The Jews and Christian Scientists are in a minority. The Jews, have always objected to Bible reading, but they were too few to be influential. With a Catholic teacher, the Catholics were quite willing to have it. With a Protestant teacher, the Protestants were strong for it. But there was always friction--one side objecting--so the school board ruled it out entirely. I did not explain this to the scholars. I did not want our young people to know of the petty bickering and scrapping going on among the elders in the town. So I simply said that hereafter we would dispense with the Bible reading. But it was the direct order of the board. I argued against it, so did Professor Duke, so did Miss Adams. But as it happens, we are all three Presbyterians! It did no good." Then as Prudence rose to go home, she asked eagerly, "Do you think the twins will like me now?" "I don't see how in the world they can help it," declared Prudence, smiling; "indeed, they admitted they were only too anxious to love you, but couldn't honestly do so because they had to stick up for the Bible! I am so glad and relieved! This is the first time I have gone heresy-hunting, and I was quite bowed down with the weight of it. And if ever I can help with poor little Hattie, will you let me know? I must have the twins invite her to spend some Saturday with us. That's the way I make the girls like people,--by being with them a great, great deal." Just before she said good night, Prudence murmured hopefully, "I am sorry it happened, but it will be a good lesson for the twins. I am sure that after this, they will be less ready to listen to gossip, and more ready to give one the benefit of a doubt. It's a great responsibility, this raising a family, Miss Allen--and especially twins!" CHAPTER VI AN ADMIRER It must be remembered that Prudence did not live in a sheltered and exclusive city home, where girls are rigidly withheld from all unchaperoned intercourse with young men and old. We know how things are managed in the "best homes" of the big cities,--girls are sheltered from innocent open things, and, too often, indulge in really serious amusements on the quiet. But this was the Middle West, where girls are to be trusted. Not all girls, of course, but as a matter of fact, the girls who need watching, seldom get enough of it to keep them out of mischief. Out in Iowa, girls and boys are allowed to like each other, and revel in each other's company. And it is good for both. Prudence was not a sentimental girl. Perhaps this was partly due to the fact that at the age when most girls are head-full of boy, Prudence was hands-full of younger sisters! And when hands are full to overflowing, there is small likelihood of heads being full of nonsense. Prudence liked boys as she liked girls,--that was the end of it. Romance was to her a closed book, and she felt no inclination to peep between the covers. Soul-stirring had not come to her yet. But Prudence was attractive. She had that indescribable charm that carries a deep appeal to the eyes, and the lips, and the hearts of men. Happily Prudence herself did not realize this. The first young man of Mount Mark to yield to the charms of Prudence was a serious-minded lawyer, nearly ten years her senior. This was just the type of man to become enraptured with Prudence. He gazed across at her solemnly during the church service. He waited patiently after the benediction until she finished her Methodist practise of hand-shaking, and then walked joyously home with her. He said little, but he gazed in frank enchantment at the small womanly girl beside him. "He's not half bad, Fairy," Prudence would confide to her sister when they were snug in their bed. "He's not half bad at all. But at heart, he doesn't approve of me. He doesn't know that himself, and I certainly can't believe it is my duty to tell him. But I am convinced that it is true. For instance, he thinks every one, especially women, should have a mission in life, a serious, earnest mission. I told him I didn't believe anything of the kind,--I think we are just supposed to live along from day to day and do what we can, and be happy, and not say mean things about one another. But he said he considered that I was fulfilling the noblest mission a woman could have. Now what do you reckon he meant by that, Fairy? I've been puzzling my brain over it for days and days. Anybody can tell I am not the sort of girl to have a mission! Maybe he just said it to encourage me,--he's a very encouraging sort of man. He's very nice,--oh, very nice, indeed! But isn't it a nuisance to have him tagging along home with me, when I might be having such a good time with you and the twins, or father? Can a girl tell a man she prefers to go home with her family, without hurting his feelings? Is there any way to turn a person down without letting him know it? He's so nice I wouldn't hurt his feelings for anything, but--it's such a bother! I'm too young for beaus, and since I'm never going to get married it's just a waste of time." And Fairy screamed with laughter, but told Prudence she must solve her own love problems! And Prudence, unwilling to give offense, and preferring self-sacrifice, endured his company until a gay young college lad slipped in ahead of him. "First come, first served," was the motto of heartless Prudence, and so she tripped comfortably away with "Jimmy," laughing at his silly college stories, and never thinking to give more than a parting smile at the solemn face she left behind. After Jimmy came a grocery clerk named Byron Poe Smith, and after him somebody else, and somebody else, and somebody else. And Prudence continued to laugh, and thought it "awfully amusing, Fairy, but I keep wondering what you and the twins are laughing about!" But it was Fairy herself who brought a real disturbing element into the life of Prudence. One of the lightest-minded of the many light-minded college men, had been deeply smitten by the charms of dignified Fairy. He walked with her, and talked with her,--this young man was a great deal of a talker, as so pathetically many college men are! He planned many little expeditions and entertainments for her amusement, and his own happiness. His name was Eugene Babler. "Oh, he talks a lot," said Fairy coolly, "but he certainly shows one a good time, and that's the point, you know!" She came in from college one afternoon and rattled off this little tale to Prudence. "A few of us were on the campus to-day, and we decided to go down the creek to-morrow afternoon and take our suppers. There'll be Ellen Stark, and Georgia Prentiss, and myself. And the boys will be Tom Angell, and Frank Morris, and Eugene Babler. And Professor Rayburn was there when we were talking about it, and so we asked him to go along, but we told him he must take a girl. And he said, 'I wonder if your sister wouldn't go? I have only met her once, but perhaps on your recommendation, Miss Fairy----' and he paused with his breath in the air, inquiringly. So I said, 'Do you mean Prudence, or one of the twins?' He smiled very kindly and said, 'I mean Prudence.' I said I was sure you would go, and so you'll have to do it. It's a great honor, Prue, for all the upper-class girls, and even the unmarried women on the Fac. are crazy about him. He's so aloof, you know, and very intelligent. I swelled with pride at the public tribute to the parsonage!" "Professor Rayburn! Of the Fac.!" gasped Prudence. "Oh, I'm sure he didn't mean me, Fairy. You must have misunderstood him. Why, I wouldn't know what to say to a professor, you know! What is his line?" "Bugs!" cried Fairy. "He's the biology man. And this is his first year here, and he's very brilliant,--they say! I'm no authority on bugs myself. But anyhow every one just raves about him, and he showed very plainly that he was anxious to get acquainted with you, so you'll have to go." "But bugs!" wailed Prudence. "What do I know about bugs! Will he expect me to know how to divide them,--separate them, you know--" "I suppose you mean dissect them, you poor child," screamed Fairy. "Divide bugs! If professor could hear you now, Prue, he would be sadly disillusioned. You must just trot up-stairs and get one of the twins' biology books and cram up a little. He won't expect you to be an advanced buggist. He can give you points himself. Men do love to have girls appeal to their superior knowledge, and be admiring and deferent. Maybe he will 'divide one' for you if you ask him 'please.'" "I won't do it," declared Prudence. "I don't like bugs anyhow, and--why, the very pictures of them in the twins' books make me nervous. I won't do it. You can just tell him I don't feel qualified to go." "You've got to go," said Fairy sternly, "for I said you would, and he's counting on it. He's going to phone you this afternoon and ask you himself. You've got to go." At that instant, the telephone rang. "There's professor!" cried Fairy. "You tell him you are just delighted to go, and that you are so interested in bugs!" With a flushed face, Prudence took down the receiver. "Hello," she said, "this is the parsonage." And then, a second later, she said, "Yes, this is Prudence." After that she stood silent for some little time, with Fairy crouched beside her, trying to hear. Then spoke Prudence. "Yes, Fairy has been telling me. And it's very kind of you, indeed, and I know I would enjoy it. But as I was telling Fairy, I don't know a thing about bugs, and I don't like them anyhow, so I'm afraid you would find me rather stupid." Fairy was striving to get a hand over her sister's lips to stem the words, but Prudence eluded her. They were both somewhat astounded at the great peal of laughter which came over the telephone. "Good! That's just what I was hoping for! You couldn't have said anything that would give me greater pleasure. Then shall I come around with Babler, for you and your sister, about one o'clock?--Oh, that is very kind of you, Miss Starr. Good-by! Don't cultivate an interest in bugs between now and to-morrow, for my sake!" The girls looked at each other doubtfully when the receiver was once more on its hook. "I'm afraid he's laughing at me," said Prudence questioningly. "I should hope so," cried Fairy. "What in the world did you say that for? Couldn't you have pretended to be interested? Professor likes women to be dignified and intellectual and deep, and----" "Then why on earth did he ask me to go?" demanded Prudence. "Any one could tell to look at me that I'm not dignified and intellectual and deep, and----" "And I know he admired you, for he was so eager when he asked about you. Think how grand it would be to speak of 'my sister, Mrs. Professor Rayburn,' and----" "Don't be silly, Fairy. If I was going to marry anybody, which I am not, I hope you do not think for one minute that I'd marry a buggist! Gracious! Goodness! I've a notion not to go a step! I'll call him up and----" But Fairy only laughed. And after all, Prudence looked forward to the little outing in the glorious October woods with eager anticipation. It was seldom indeed that she indulged in merry-making away from the parsonage. Yet she was fond of gaiety. Long before one o'clock on that eventful day, she was ready. And her face was so bright, and her eyes so starry, that placid self-satisfied Fairy felt a twinge of something like envy. "You look like a creature from another world, Prue," she said. "If Professor Rayburn has any sense in his bones, he will fall dead in love with you,--bugs or no bugs!" "People do not have sense in their bones, Fairy, and--and--shall I say professor, or just plain Mister?" "Professor, I suppose,--every one calls him professor." "Then I shall say Mister," said Prudence. "It will be so hard to enjoy myself if I keep remembering that he teaches bugs! I might as well be at school. I shall say Mister." And she did say "Mister," and she said it so sweetly, and looked up into Professor Rayburn's face so brightly, and with happiness so evident and so girlish, that the staid professor felt a quick unaccountable throbbing down somewhere beneath his coat. He did look eager! There was no doubt of it. And he looked at Prudence, continuously. "Just like ordinary men, isn't he?" whispered Fairy to Eugene Babler,--called "Babbie," for short and for humiliation,--for he enjoyed the reputation of being a "talker" even among college men! The three young couples struck off briskly down the road, creek-ward, and Prudence followed sedately with her professor. "Fairy says it was perfectly disgusting of me to tell you I didn't know anything about bugs," she said comfortably. "But I thought maybe, you were one of those professors who like one thing so much they can't be interested in anything else. And I wanted to warn you. But I guess you aren't that kind, after all?" "Oh, no, indeed," he assured her fervently, looking deep into her blue eyes. "I like bugs, it is true. But really I like other things, one thing at least, much better." "Is it a riddle?" she inquired. "Am I supposed to guess?" "It isn't a riddle, but you may guess. Think hard, now! It's a serious matter. Please don't say 'food.'" "If I get below seventy will I be put down a grade?" she asked. Then with intense solemnity, "I guess girls." They laughed together, youthfully. "You are right," he said. And with a sigh of relief, Prudence answered, "That's the first time I ever got a hundred in anything in my life. I was very much accustomed to eighties when I was in school. I am very common and unbrilliant," she assured him. "Fairy says you are perfectly horribly clever----" She glanced up when she heard his exclamation, and laughed at his rueful face. "Oh, that isn't Fairy's expression. She thinks brilliant and clever people are just adorable. It is only I who think them horrible." Even Prudence could see that this did not help matters. "I--I do not mean that," she stammered. "I am sure you are very nice indeed, and we are going to be good friends, aren't we? But I am such a dunce myself that I am afraid of real clever people. They are so superior. And so uninteresting, and--oh, I do not mean that either." Then Prudence laughed at her predicament. "I may as well give it up. What I really mean is that you are so nice and friendly and interesting, that I can hardly believe you are so clever. You are the nicest smart person I ever saw,--except my own family, I mean." She smiled up at him deliciously. "Does that make it square?" "More than square," he said. "You are too complimentary. But the only thing that really counts to-day is whether we are going to be real good friends, as you suggested. We are, aren't we? The very best and closest of friends?" "Yes," agreed Prudence, dimpling. "I like men to be my friends,--nice men, I mean. But it isn't always safe. So many start out to be good friends, and then want to be silly. So a girl has to be very careful. But it's perfectly safe with you, and so we can be the very best of friends. I won't need to be watchful for bad symptoms." "Do you think me so unmanly that I couldn't fall in love?" he asked, and his voice was curious, as though she had hurt him. "Oh, of course, you'll fall in love," laughed Prudence. "All nice men do.--But not with me,--that was what I meant I couldn't imagine a buggy professor--oh, I beg your pardon! But the twins are so silly and disrespectful, and they thought it was such a joke that I should even look at a professor of biology that they began calling you the buggy professor. But they do not mean any harm by it, not the least in the world. They're such nice sweet girls, but--young, you know. Are your feelings hurt?" she asked anxiously. "Not a bit! I think the twins and I will be tremendously good friends. I'm quite willing to be known as the buggy professor. But you were trying to explain why I couldn't fall in love with you. I suppose you mean that you do not want me to." "Oh, not that at all," she hastened to assure him. Then she stopped. "Yes," she said honestly, "that is true, too. But that isn't what I was trying to say. I was just saying that no one realizes any more than I how perfectly impossible it would be for a clever, grown-up, brilliant professor to fall in love with such an idiot as I am. That's all. I meant it for a compliment," she added, seeing he was not well pleased. He smiled, but it was a sober smile. "You said it was true that you did not wish me to be--fond of you. Why? Don't you like me then, after all?" Now, he realized that this was a perfectly insane conversation, but for the life of him, he couldn't help it. Prudence was so alluring, and the sky was so warmly blue, the sunshine so mild and hazy, and the roadside so gloriously gay with colors! Who could have sense on such a day, with such a girl as this? "Oh, I do like you very much indeed," declared Prudence. "It's a big relief, too, for I didn't expect to--oh, I beg your pardon again, but--well, I was scared when Fairy told me how remarkable you are. I didn't want to disgrace the parsonage, and I knew I would. But--why, the reason I do not want you to fall in love with me,--that's very different from being fond of me, I do want you to be that,--but when people fall in love, they get married. I'm not going to get married, so it would be silly to fall in love, wouldn't it?" He laughed heartily at the matter-of-factness with which this nineteen-year-old girl disposed of love and marriage. "Why aren't you going to be married?" he inquired, foolishly happy, and showing more foolishness than happiness, just as we all do on such occasions. "Well, it will be ten or eleven years before Connie is fairly raised." "Yes, but you won't be a Methuselah, in eleven years," he smiled. "No, but you forget father." "Forget father! Are you raising him, too?" "No, I'm not raising him, but I'm managing him." But when he laughed, she hastened to add, "That is, I take care of him, and keep house for him, and remind him of things he forgets." Then with girlish honesty, she added, "Though I must confess that he has to remind me of things I forget, oftener than I do him. I inherited my forgetfulness from father. I asked him once if he inherited his from grandfather, and he said he forgot whether grandfather was forgetful or not! Father is very clever. So's Fairy. And the twins are the smartest little things you ever saw,--and Connie, too. Connie is the oddest, keenest child. She's wonderful. They all are,--but me. It's kind of humiliating to be the only stupid one in a family of smart folks. I suppose you've no idea how it feels, and I can't explain it. But sometimes I think maybe I ought to go off and die, so the whole family can shine and sparkle together. As it is, there's just a dull glow from my corner, quite pale and ugly compared with the brilliant gleams the others are sending out." Said Professor Rayburn, "Ah, Prudence, the faint, sweet mellow glows are always beautiful. Not sparkling, perhaps, not brilliant! But comforting, and cheering, and--always to be trusted. It's just these little corner-glows, like yours, that make life worth living." This was rather deep for Prudence, but she felt instinctively that he was complimenting her. She thanked him sweetly, and said, "And after all, I do not really mind being the stupid one. I think it's rather fun, for then I can just live along comfortably, and people do not expect much of me. It would wear me all out to be as clever as Fairy, or as witty as Carol, or as studious as Lark. But I am most tremendously proud of them, I assure you." If Professor Rayburn had continued along this interesting and fruitful line of conversation, all would have been well. "But it came just like a clap of thunder in the sunshine," said Prudence to Fairy dramatically, as they sat in their room talking things over that night. "We were having a perfectly grand time, and I was just thinking he was as nice and interesting as if he didn't know one thing to his name, when--Crash! That's how it happened." Fairy wiped her eyes, and lay back weakly on the bed. "Go on," she urged. "What happened?" "He stopped right in the middle of a sentence about me, something real nice, too, that I was awfully interested in, and said, 'Look, Miss Starr!' Then he got down on his knees and began cautiously scraping away the sticks and leaves. Then he fished out the most horrible, woolly, many-legged little animal I ever saw in my life. He said it was a giminythoraticus billyancibus, and he was as tickled over it as though he had just picked up a million-dollar diamond. And what do you suppose the weird creature did with it? He wrapped it in a couple of leaves, and put his handkerchief around it and put it in his pocket!--Do you remember when we were eating by the creek, and I got jam on my fingers? He offered me his handkerchief to wipe it off? Do you remember how I shoved him away, and shuddered? I saw you look reprovingly at me! That's why! Do you suppose I could wipe my fingers with a handkerchief that had been in one of his pockets?" "It wasn't the one that had the giminy billibus, was it?" "No, but goodness only knows what had been in this one,--an alligator, maybe, or a snake. He's very fond of snakes. He says some of them are so useful. I try to be charitable, Fairy, and I believe I would give even Satan credit for any good there was in him,--but it is too much to ask me to be fond of a man who is fond of snakes. But that is not the worst. He put the giminy thing in his pocket,--his left pocket! Then he came on walking with me, on my right side. On my right side, Fairy, do you understand what that means? It means that the giminy billibus, as you call it--oh, I wouldn't swear to the name, Fairy, I do not claim to be smart, but I know how it looked! Well, anyhow, name and all, it was on the side next to me. I stopped to look at a little stick, and switched around on the other side. Then he stooped to look at a bunch of dirt, and got on the wrong side again. Then I stopped, and then he did, and so we kept zig-zagging down the road. A body would have thought we were drunk, I suppose. Four times that man stopped to pick up some wriggling little animal, and four times he deposited his treasure in one of his various pockets. Don't ask why it is impossible for me to be friends with such a being,--spare me that humiliation!" But the fair daughter of the parsonage proved irresistibly attractive to the unfortunate professor, and he was not to be lightly shunted aside. He forsook the Presbyterian church, of which he was a member, and attended the Methodist meetings with commendable assiduity. After each service, he accompanied Prudence home, and never failed to accept her invitations, feebly given, to "come in a minute." He called as often during the week as Propriety, in the voice of Prudence, deemed fitting. It was wholly unnatural for Prudence to cater to Propriety, but Professor Rayburn did not know this. Weeks passed, a month slipped away, and another. Professor Rayburn was considered a fixture in the parsonage household by all except Prudence herself, who chafed under her bondage. "I can't just blurt out that I think he's a nuisance," she mourned to Fairy. "Oh, if he'd just do something disgusting so I could fire him off,--Pop! Just like that. Wouldn't it be glorious?" But the professor did not indulge in disgusting things, and Prudence continued to worry and fret. Then came a blessed evening when the minister and Fairy were away from home, and the twins and Connie were safely in their beds. Professor Rayburn sat with Prudence in the cozy living-room, and Prudence was charming, though quiet, and the professor was only human. Prudence had made tea, and as she rose to relieve him of his empty cup, he also rose to return it to the table. Laughing, they put it down on the tray, each holding one side of the saucer. Then when it was safely disposed of, Prudence turned toward him, still laughing at the silliness of it,--very alluring, very winsome. And Mr. Rayburn, unexpectedly to himself as to her, put his arms around her and kissed her. He was aghast at himself, once it was over, and Prudence,--well, let us say frankly that Prudence was only relieved, for it came to her in a flash that this was the "disgusting thing" for which she had so fervently longed. "Mr. Rayburn!" "That was very stupid and unpardonable of me, Prudence," he said quickly, "I really did not think what I was doing. But you were so sweet, and--I'm awfully fond of you, Prudence, you know that." Prudence looked at him thoughtfully. She felt that this hardly gave her the desired opening. So she waited, hoping he would commit himself further. More humbled by her unnatural silence, he did go on. "You know, Prudence, when a man cares for a girl as I care for you, it isn't always easy for him to be sober and sensible. You shouldn't have been so--so dear." Prudence sighed happily. She was content. This gave her the long-desired cue. "Mr. Rayburn," she said gently but decidedly, "I think you ought not to come here any more." He walked over to her quickly, and stood beside the chair into which she had dropped when he kissed her. "Don't say that, Prudence," he said in a hurried low voice. "It is true," she persisted, feeling somehow sorry, though she did not understand why she should feel so. "I--I--well, you know I--you remember what I told you that first day, don't you? About getting married, and falling in love, and such things. It is true. I don't want to love anybody, and I don't want to get married, and Fairy says--it is--remotely possible--that you might get--very fond of me." He smiled rather grimly. "Yes, I think it is--remotely possible." "Then that settles it," she said comfortably. "And besides, I have such a lot to do that I can't--well, bother--spending so much time outside as I have with you. I've been neglecting my work, and it isn't right. I haven't the time." "Which is your way of saying that you do not like me, isn't it?" Prudence stood up impulsively. "Oh, I like you, but--" she threw out her hands expressively. He took them in his, tenderly, firmly. "But, Prudence," he argued, "that is because the woman in you isn't awake. You may never love me--a dismal possibility, but it is true. But don't you think it only fair that you should give me a chance to try?" "Oh, but that's just the point," she cried. "I do not want you to try. I do not want to run any risk, at all. I wouldn't marry you if I did love you--I told you that right in the beginning." He still held her hands in one of his, caressing them slowly with the other. "What is there about me that you do not like?" he demanded suddenly. "There is something, I know." And with her awful unbelievable honesty. Prudence told him. "Yes," she said, "that is true. I hated to mention it, but there is something! Mr. Rayburn, I just can't stand the bugs!" "Good heavens! The what?" "The bugs! I can't bear for you to be near me, because I keep wondering if there are bugs and things in your pocket. I'm afraid they'll get over on me. Even now it makes me shiver when you hold my hands, because I know you've been handling the horrible little creatures with yours." He dropped her hands abruptly, and stared at her. "And after you leave, I get down on my hands and knees and look over the floor, and examine the chairs, to see if any have crawled off! It's a terrible feeling, Mr. Rayburn. You know I told you I hated bugs.--I'm afraid I've hurt your feelings," she said sadly. "Where in the world did you get such an idea as that?" he demanded rather angrily. "Do you think I have pet bugs to carry around with me for company?" "No,--but don't you remember the picnic,--and how you kept gathering them up in your handkerchiefs and putting them in your pockets? And how I kept squirming around to get on the other side,--I was trying to get away from the bugs!" "But, my heavens, Prudence, those were my field clothes. I don't put bugs in these pockets,--these are my Sunday togs!" He smiled a little. "And I always wash my hands, you know." He found it humorous, and yet it hurt him. Such a little thing to prejudice a girl so strongly,--and one he liked so marvelously well! "You might forget, and put them in these pockets,--it's a kind of habit with you, I suppose. And just plain washing won't take the idea of bugs off your hands." "Prudence, you are only a girl,--a childish girl, but a very sweet one. I want you to like me. When you grow up, you are going to be a wonderfully good and lovely woman. I--I am going to want you then. I know it. Let's just be friends now, can't we--until later--for a long time yet? I'll promise on my word of honor never to put another bug in my pockets, or my handkerchiefs. But I can't promise not to touch them, for I have to do it in class. That's how I earn my living! But I will wash my hands with Ivory soap and sapolio, and rub them with cold cream, and powder them, and perfume them, before I ever come near you again. Won't that do?" Prudence shook her head. "I know you are laughing at me," she said, "but I always told you I was just a silly simpleton. And--it isn't the bugs altogether. I--I like it better to be with my sisters than----" "Than with me? I see. As I said, the woman of you is still sleeping. Well, we are young, and I will wait. I won't bother you any more for a long time, Prudence, but I shan't forget you. And some day I will come back to you again." He stared at her moodily. Then he put his hands beneath her elbows, and looked into her eyes searchingly. "You are a strange girl, Prudence. In some ways, you are so womanly, and in other ways so--pitifully girlish! All the woman in your heart seems to be given to your sisters and your father, and-- But you will waken, and I won't hurry you." Then he put his arms around her again, and whispered in her ear, "But I love you, Prudence, and--if some one else should do the awakening--it would hurt!" Then he kissed her, and went away. But Prudence ran up-stairs, singing happily. "Oh, I feel like a caged-up bird that has broken loose," she cried to her reflection in the mirror jubilantly. "Oh, what fun it will be to come home from church with Fairy and the twins, the way I used to do!" CHAPTER VII LESSONS IN ETIQUETTE Connie was lying flat on her back near the register. The twins were sitting on the floor near her, hearing each other conjugate Latin verbs. And Prudence, with her darning basket, was earnestly trying to solve a domestic problem,--how to get three pairs of wearable stockings out of eleven hosiery remnants. So Fairy found them as she came in, radiant and glowing. "Glorious day," she said, glancing impartially at her sisters. "Just glorious! Why are you all hugging the register, may I ask? It is perfect weather. Connie, you should be out-of-doors this minute, by all means. Twins, aren't you grown-up enough to sit on chairs, or won't your footies reach the floor?--Babbie, Eugene Babler, you know, is coming to spend the evening, Prudence." "What is going on to-night?" queried Prudence. "Nothing is going on. That's why he is coming. It's too cold to meander around outdoors these nights, and so we shall have to amuse ourselves inside as best we can." The whole family came to attention at this. "Oh, goody!" cried Connie. "Let's make taffy, shall we, Fairy?" "Certainly not. This isn't a children's party. You'll go to bed at eight o'clock as usual, Connie mine.--Now, we must have something to eat. The question is, What shall it be?" "Yes," agreed Carol with enthusiasm,--Carol was always enthusiastic on the subject of something to eat. "Yes, indeed, that is the question. What shall we have?" "You will likely have pleasant dreams, Carol," was the cool retort. "Babbie did not invite himself to spend the evening with you, I believe." "Do you mean to suggest," demanded Lark with withering scorn, "that it is your intention to shut yourself up alone with this--this creature, excluding the rest of us?" "Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?" cried Carol. [Illustration: "Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?"] "That is my intention most certainly. The twins and Connie will not put in appearance at all. Prue will serve the refreshments, and will eat with us. Babbie and I shall spend the evening in the front room." "The front room?" echoed Prudence. "This room is much cheerier, and more homelike." "Well, Babbie isn't a member of the family, you know," said Fairy. "You are doing your best," sniffed Carol. "Now, you girls must understand right off, that things are different here from what they were at Exminster. When boys came to the house there they came to have a good time with the whole family. But here it is very different. I've been looking around, and I've got on to the system. The proper thing is to receive callers privately, without the family en masse sitting by and superintending. That's etiquette, you know. And one must always serve refreshments. More etiquette. Men are such greedy animals, they do not care to go places where the eats aren't forthcoming." "Men! Are you referring to this Babbling creature now?" interposed Carol. "Ouch!" said Lark. "But won't it be rather--poky--just sitting in the front room by yourselves all evening?" asked Prudence doubtfully, ignoring the offended twins. "Oh, I dare say it will. But it's the proper thing to do," said Fairy complacently. "What are you going to do all evening?" Connie wanted to know. "Just sit and look at each other and admire yourselves?" The twins thought this very clever of Connie, so they both said "Ouch!" approvingly. "Why, no, baby dear," said Fairy good-naturedly. "We shall talk. Feast our souls with a flow of reason, you know. We shall converse. We shall hold pleasant intercourse." "Wouldn't it be more fun to have the girls in for a little while?" This from Prudence. "Oh, it might,--but it wouldn't be the proper thing at all. College men do not care to be entertained by babies." "No," snapped Lark, "the wisdom of babies is too deep for these--these--these men in embryo." This was so exquisitely said that Lark was quite restored to amiability by it. "In embryo," had been added to her vocabulary that very day in the biology class. It was only the sheerest good fortune which gave her the opportunity of utilizing it so soon. And Carol said "Ouch!" with such whole-souled admiration that Lark's spirit soared among the clouds. She had scored! "And what shall we serve them?" urged Prudence. "I suppose it would hardly do to--pop corn, would it?" "No, indeed. Popping corn is very nice for the twins and the little boys in the neighborhood." Fairy smiled with relish as she saw the twins wince at this thrust. "But Babbie and I-- Oh, never! It wouldn't do at all. Now, oyster stew and crackers,--I mean wafers,----" "Oysters are fearfully expensive, Fairy," objected the frugal Prudence. "Oh, we can stand it for once," said Fairy easily. "This is the first time, and we must do something extra. Babbie is all the rage at school, and the girls are frantic with jealousy because I have cut everybody else out. To be honest about it, I can't understand it myself. Babbie's such a giddy scatter-brained youngster, you'd think he'd prefer----" "Do you like him, Fairy? Don't you think he's tiresome? He talks so much, it seems to me." "To be sure I like him. He's great fun. He's always joking and never has a sensible thought, and hates study. He's an amusing soul, I must say. He's going to attend here a couple of years, and then study pharmacy. His father is a druggist in Ottumwa, and quite well off. The only reason Babbie came here instead of going to a big college in the East is because his father is a trustee. Trustees are in honor bound to send their offspring to the college they trustee,--just as ministers are obliged to trade with the members when possible." "Even if they short-weight and long-charge you," put in Carol. "Carol!" exclaimed Prudence reprovingly. "Well, we'll serve oyster stew then. Will you eat in the dining-room?" "No, we'll eat on the little table in the front room,--informally, you know. You must get it ready, and arrange it nicely on the big tray. Then you must come to the door and say, 'Wouldn't you like a little oyster stew?' Say it carelessly, as if we always have something to eat before going to bed. And I'll say, 'Oh, yes, Prudence, bring it right in.' Then you bring it in, and we'll all eat together.--That's the way to do it! Babbie's had dates with the very swellest girls in school, and he knows about such things. We must do it up brown!" "Swell!" mocked Lark. "Do it up brown! Oh, you'll be a record-breaker of a college professor all right. I'm sure this young Babler is just the type of man to interest the modern college professor! Swell! Do it up brown!" "Ouch!" grinned Carol. "Now, will you twins run down-town for the oysters?" asked Prudence briskly. "Who? Us?" demanded Lark, indignantly and ungrammatically. "Do you think we can carry home oysters for the--the--personal consumption of this Babbling young prince? Not so! Let Fairy go after the oysters! She can carry them home tenderly and appreciatively. Carol and I can't! We don't grasp the beauty of that man's nature." "Oh, yes, twinnies, I think you'll go, all right. Hurry now, for you must be back in time to help me get supper. Fairy'll have to straighten the front room, and we won't have time. Run along, and be quick." For a few seconds the twins gazed at each other studiously. Neither spoke. Without a word, they went up-stairs to prepare for their errand. They whispered softly going through the upper hall. "We'd better make a list," said Carol softly. So with heads close together they wrote out several items on a piece of paper. "It'll cost quite a lot," objected Carol. "Thirty cents, anyhow. And Prudence'll make us pay for the oysters, sure. Remember that." "We'd better let Connie in, too," suggested Lark. Connie was hastily summoned, and the twins whispered explanations in her willing ears. "Good!" she said approvingly. "It'll serve 'em right." "But it'll cost money," said Carol. "How much have you got?" Then Connie understood why she had been consulted. The twins always invited her to join their enterprises when money was required. "A quarter," she faltered. "Well, we'll go shares," said Lark generously. "We'll pay a dime apiece. It may not take that much. But if Prudence makes us pay for the oysters, you'll have to pay a third. Will you do that?" "Yes, indeed." Connie was relieved. She did not always get off so easily! "Twins! You must hurry!" This was Prudence at the bottom of the stairs. And the twins set off quite hurriedly. Their first tall was at the meat market. "A pint of oysters," said Lark briefly. When he brought them to her, she smelled them suspiciously. Then Carol smelled. "Are these rotten oysters?" she demanded hopefully. "No," he answered, laughing. "Certainly not." "Have you got any rotten ones?" "No, we don't keep that kind." He was still laughing. The twins sighed and hurried next door to the grocer's. "A nickel's worth of pepper--the strongest you have." This was quickly settled--and the grave-faced twins betook themselves to the corner drug store. "We--we want something with a perfectly awful smell," Lark explained soberly. "What kind of a smell?" "We don't care what kind, but it must be perfectly sickening. Like something rotten, or dead, if you have it. Something that will stay smelly for several hours,--but it mustn't be dangerous, of course." "What do you want it for?" "We want it to put in a room to give it a horrible smell for an hour or so." Lark winked at him solemnly. "It's a joke," she further elucidated. "I see." His eyes twinkled. "I think I can fix you up." A moment later he handed her a small bottle. "Just sprinkle this over the carpet. It won't do any harm, and it smells like thunder. It costs a quarter." Carol frowned. "I suppose we'll have to take it," she said, "but it's pretty expensive. I hate to have druggists get such a lot of money." He laughed aloud. "I hate to have you get a good licking to-morrow, too,--but you'll get it just the same, or I miss my guess." When the twins arrived home, Fairy was just cutting the candy she had made. "It's delicious," she said to Prudence. "Here's a nice dishful for you and the girls.--Pitch in, twins, and help yourselves. It's very nice." The twins waved her haughtily away. "No, thank you," they said. "We couldn't eat that candy with relish. We are unworthy." "All right," Prudence put in quickly, as Fairy only laughed. "I'll put it in the cupboard, and Fairy and I will eat it to-morrow. It's perfectly fine,--simply delicious." But the twins were not to be tempted. Before they went up-stairs, Lark inquired sarcastically: "I suppose, Fairy, you'll don your best blue silk in honor of this event?" "Oh, no," was the ready answer, "I'll just wear my little green muslin. It's old, but very nice and comfortable--just right for an evening at home." "Yes," scoffed Carol, "and of course you are remembering that every one says it is the most becoming dress you have." "Oh, yes," laughed Fairy, "I'm remembering that, all right." Then the twins went up-stairs, but not to their own room at once. Instead they slipped noiselessly into the front bedroom, and a little later Carol came out into the hall and stood listening at the head of the stairs, as though on guard. "Be sure and leave quite a few stitches in, Lark," she whispered once. "We want it to hang together until Babbie gets here." That was all. Presently Lark emerged, and their own door closed behind them. "It's a good thing father has to go to the trustees' meeting to-night, isn't it?" asked Carol. And Lark agreed, absently. She was thinking of the oysters. As soon as they finished supper, Lark said, "Don't you think we'd better go right to bed, Prue? We don't want to taint the atmosphere of the parsonage. Of course, Fairy will want to wash the dishes herself to make sure they are clean and shining." "Oh, no," disclaimed Fairy, still good-naturedly. "I can give an extra rub to the ones we want to use,--that is enough. I do appreciate the thought, though, thanks very much." So the twins plunged in, carefully keeping Connie beside them. "She has such a full-to-overflowing look," said Carol. "If we don't keep hold of her, she'll let something bubble over." Connie had a dismal propensity for giving things away,--the twins had often suffered from it. To-night, they were determined to forestall such a calamity. Then they all three went to bed. To be sure it was ridiculously early, but they were all determined. "We feel weak under this unusual strain. Our nerves can't stand the tension. We really must retire to rest. Maybe a good night's sleep will restore us to normal," Lark explained gravely. Fairy only laughed. "Good!" she cried. "Do go to bed. The only time I am sure of you is when you are in your beds. Do you mind if I tie you in, to make assurance doubly sure?" But the twins and Connie had disappeared. "You keep your eyes open, Fairy," Prudence whispered melodramatically. "Those girls do not look right. Something is hanging over our heads." And she added anxiously, "Oh, I'll be so disappointed if things go badly. This is the first time we've ever lived up to etiquette, and I feel it is really a crisis." Fairy was a little late getting up-stairs to dress, but she took time to drop into her sisters' room. They were all in bed, breathing heavily. She walked from one to another, and stood above them majestically. "Asleep!" she cried. "Ah, Fortune is kind. They are asleep. How I love these darling little twinnies,--in their sleep!" An audible sniff from beneath the covers, and Fairy, smiling mischievously, went into the front room to prepare for her caller. The bell rang as she was dressing. Prudence went to the door, preternaturally ceremonious, and ushered Mr. Babler into the front room. She turned on the electric switch as she opened the door. She was too much impressed with the solemnity of the occasion to take much note of her surroundings, and she did not observe that the young man sniffed in a peculiar manner as he entered the room. "I'll call Fairy," she said demurely. "Tell her she needn't primp for me," he answered, laughing. "I know just how she looks already." But Prudence was too heavily burdened to laugh. She smiled hospitably, and closed the door upon him. Fairy was tripping down the stairs, very tall, very handsome, very gay. She pinched her sister's arm as she passed, and the front room door swung behind. But she did not greet her friend. She stood erect by the door, her head tilted on one side, sniffing, sniffing. "What in the world?" she wondered. Then she blushed. Perhaps it was something he had used on his hair! Or perhaps he had been having his suit cleaned! "Oh, I guess it's nothing, after all," she stammered. But Eugene Babler was strangely quiet. He looked about the room in a peculiar questioning way. "Shall I raise a window?" he suggested finally. "It's rather--er--hot in here." "Yes, do," she urged. "Raise all of them. It's--do you--do you notice a--a funny smell in here? Or am I imagining it? It--it almost makes me sick!" "Yes, there is a smell," he said, in evident relief. "I thought maybe you'd been cleaning the carpet with something. It's ghastly. Can't we go somewhere else?" "Come on." She opened the door into the sitting-room. "We're coming out here if you do not mind, Prue." And Fairy explained the difficulty. "Why, that's very strange," said Prudence, knitting her brows. "I was in there right after supper, and I didn't notice anything. What does it smell like?" "It's a new smell to me," laughed Fairy, "but something about it is strangely suggestive of our angel-twins." Prudence went to investigate, and Fairy shoved a big chair near the table, waving her hand toward it lightly with a smile at Babbie. Then she sank into a low rocker, and leaned one arm on the table. She wrinkled her forehead thoughtfully. "That smell," she began. "I am very suspicious about it. It was not at all natural----" "Excuse me, Fairy," he said, ill at ease for the first time in her knowledge of him. "Did you know your sleeve was coming out?" Fairy gasped, and raised her arm. "Both arms, apparently," he continued, smiling, but his face was flushed. "Excuse me just a minute, will you?" Fairy was unruffled. She sought her sister. "Look here, Prue,--what do you make of this? I'm coming to pieces! I'm hanging by a single thread, as it were." Her sleeves were undoubtedly ready to drop off at a second's notice! Prudence was shocked. She grew positively white in the face. "Oh, Fairy," she wailed. "We are disgraced." "Not a bit of it," said Fairy coolly. "I remember now that Lark was looking for the scissors before supper. Aren't those twins unique? This is almost bordering on talent, isn't it? Don't look so distressed, Prue. Etiquette itself must be subservient to twins, it seems. Don't forget to bring in the stew at a quarter past nine, and have it as good as possible,--please, dear." "I will," vowed Prudence, "I'll--I'll use cream. Oh, those horrible twins!" "Go in and entertain Babbie till I come down, won't you?" And Fairy ran lightly up the stairs, humming a snatch of song. But Prudence did a poor job of entertaining Babbie during her sister's absence. She felt really dizzy! Such a way to introduce Etiquette into the parsonage life. She was glad to make her escape from the room when Fairy returned, a graceful figure in the fine blue silk! She went back to the dining-room, and painstakingly arranged the big tray for the designated moment of its entrance,--according to etiquette. Fairy and Babbie in the next room talked incessantly, laughing often and long, and Prudence, hearing, smiled in sympathy. She herself thought it would be altogether stupid to be shut up in a room alone with "just a man" for a whole evening,--but etiquette required it. Fairy knew about such things, of course. A little after nine, she called out dismally, "Fairy!" And Fairy, fearing fresh disaster, came running out. "What now? What----" "I forget what you told me to say," whispered Prudence wretchedly, "what was it? The soup is ready, and piping hot,--but what is it you want me to say?" Fairy screamed with laughter. "You goose!" she cried. "Say anything you like. I was just giving you a tip, that was all. It doesn't make any difference what you say." "Oh, I am determined to do my part just right," vowed Prudence fervently, "according to etiquette and all. What was it you said?" Fairy stifled her laughter with difficulty, and said in a low voice, "Wouldn't you like a little nice, hot, oyster stew?" Prudence repeated it after her breathlessly. So Fairy returned once more, and soon after Prudence tapped on the door. Then she opened it, and thrust her curly head inside. "Wouldn't you like a little nice, hot, oyster stew?" she chirped methodically. And Fairy said, "Oh, yes indeed, Prudence,--this is so nice of you." The stew was steaming hot, and the three gathered sociably about the table. Prudence was talking. Fairy was passing the "crackers,"--Prudence kicked her foot gently beneath the table, to remind her that etiquette calls them "wafers." So it happened that Babbie was first to taste the steaming stew. He gasped, and gulped, and swallowed some water with more haste than grace. Then he toyed idly with spoon and wafer until Prudence tasted also. Prudence did not gasp. She did not cry out. She looked up at her sister with wide hurt eyes,--a world of pathos in the glance. But Fairy did not notice. "Now, please do not ask me to talk until I have finished my soup," she was saying brightly, "I simply can not think and appreciate oyster stew at the same time." Then she appreciated it! She dropped her spoon with a great clatter, and jumped up from the table. "Mercy!" she shrieked. "It is poisoned!" Babbie leaned back in his chair and laughed until his eyes were wet. Prudence's eyes were wet, too, but not from laughter! What would etiquette think of her, after this? "What did you do to this soup, Prudence?" demanded Fairy. "I made it,--nothing else," faltered poor Prudence, quite crushed by this blow. And oysters forty cents a pint! "It's pepper, I think," gasped Babbie. "My insides bear startling testimony to the presence of pepper." And he roared again, while Prudence began a critical examination of the oysters. She found them literally stuffed with pepper, there was no doubt of it. The twins had done deadly work! Their patience, at least, was commendable,--it seemed that not one oyster had escaped their attention. The entire pint had been ruined by the pepper. "Revenge, ye gods, how sweet," chanted Fairy. "The twins are getting even with a vengeance,--the same twins you said were adorable, Babbie." It must be said for Fairy that her good nature could stand almost anything. Even this did not seriously disturb her. "Do you suppose you can find us some milk, Prue? And crackers! I'm so fond of crackers and milk, aren't you, Babbie?" "Oh, I adore it. But serve a microscope with it, please. I want to examine it for microbes before I taste." But Prudence did better than that. She made some delicious cocoa, and opened a can of pear preserves, donated to the parsonage by the amiable Mrs. Adams. The twins were very fond of pear preserves, and had been looking forward to eating these on their approaching birthday. They were doomed to disappointment! The three had a merry little feast, after all, and their laughter rang out so often and so unrestrainedly that the twins shook in their beds with rage and disappointment. Mr. Starr came in while they were eating, and joined them genially. But afterward, when Prudence realized that etiquette called for their retirement, her father still sat complacently by the register, talking and laughing. Prudence fastened her eyes upon him. "Well, I must honestly go to bed," she said, gazing hypnotically at her father. "I know you will excuse me. I must store up my strength to deal with the twins in the morning." She got up from her chair, and moved restlessly about the room, still boring her father with her eyes. He did not move. She paused beside him, and slipped her hand under his elbow. "Now, father," she said gaily, "we must put our heads together, and think out a proper punishment for the awful creatures." Her hand was uplifting, and Mr. Starr rose with it. Together they left the room with cordial good nights, and inviting Mr. Babler to "try the parsonage again." Prudence listened outside the twins' door, and heard them breathing loudly. Then she went to her own room, and snuggling down beneath the covers, laughed softly to herself. "Etiquette!" she gurgled. "Etiquette! There's no room for such a thing in a parsonage,--I see that!" It speaks well for the courage of Babbie, and the attractions of Fairy, that he came to the parsonage again and again. In time he became the best of friends with the twins themselves, but he always called them "the adorables," and they never asked him why. The punishment inflicted upon them by Prudence rankled in their memories for many months. Indeed, upon that occasion, Prudence fairly surpassed herself in the ingenuity she displayed. The twins considered themselves very nearly as grown-up as Fairy, and the fact that she was a young lady, and they were children, filled their hearts with bitterness. They never lost an opportunity of showing their independence where she was concerned. And with marvelous insight, Prudence used Fairy as her weapon of punishment,--in fact, the twins called Fairy the "ducking-stool" for many days. "The offense was against Fairy," said Prudence, with a solemnity she did not feel, "and the reparation must be done to her. For three weeks, you must do all of her bedroom work, and run every errand she requires. Moreover, you must keep her shoes well cleaned and nicely polished, and must do every bit of her darning!" The twins would have preferred whipping a thousand times. They felt they had got a whipping's worth of pleasure out of their mischief! But a punishment like this sat heavily upon their proud young shoulders, and from that time on they held Fairy practically immune from their pranks. But Prudence did not bother her head about etiquette after that experience. "I'm strong for comfort," she declared, "and since the two can not live together in our family, I say we do without etiquette." And Fairy nodded in agreement, smiling good-naturedly. CHAPTER VIII THE FIRST DARK SHADOW OF WINTER Prudence and Fairy stood in the bay window of the sitting-room, and looked out at the thickly falling snow. Already the ground was whitely carpeted, and the low-branched peach trees just outside the parsonage windows were beginning to bow down beneath their burdens. "Isn't it beautiful, Prudence?" whispered Fairy. "Isn't it beautiful? Oh, I love it when it snows." "Yes, and you love it when the sun shines, too," said Prudence, "and when it rains, and when the wind is blowing. You have the soul of a poet, that's what is the matter with you. You are a nature-fiend, as Carol would say." Fairy turned abruptly from the window. "Don't talk for a minute, Prue,--I want to write." So Prudence stood quietly in the window, listening to the pencil scratching behind her. "Listen now, Prue,--how is this?" Fairy had a clear expressive voice, "a bright voice," Prudence called it. And as she read her simple lines aloud, the heart of Prudence swelled with pride. To Prudence, Fairy was a wonderful girl. "Good night, little baby earth, going to sleep, Tucked in your blankets, all woolly and deep. Close your tired eyelids, droop your tired head, Nestle down sweetly within your white bed. Kind Mother Sky, bending softly above, Is holding you close in her bosom of love. Closely she draws the white coverlets warm, She will be near you to shield you from harm. Soon she will set all her candles alight, To scatter the darkness, and save you from fright. Then she will leave her cloud-doorway ajar, To watch you, that nothing your slumbers may mar. Rest, little baby earth, rest and sleep tight, The winter has come, and we bid you good night." Fairy laughed, but her face was flushed. "How is that?" she demanded. "Oh, Fairy," cried Prudence, "it is wonderful! How can you think of such sweet little things? May I have it? May I keep it? Oh, I think it is perfectly dear--I wish I could do that! I never in the world would have thought of baby earth going to sleep and Mother Sky tucking her in white blankets.--I think you are just wonderful, Fairy!" Fairy's eyes were bright at the praise, but she laughed as she answered. "You always think me and my scribbles perfection, Prue,--even the love verses that shocked the Ladies' Aid. You are a bad critic. But doesn't the snow make you think--pretty things, Prudence? Come now, as you stood at the window there, what were you thinking?" "I was just wondering if Connie wore her rubbers to school, and if father remembered to take his muffler." Fairy burst into renewed laughter. "Oh, you precious, old, practical Prudence," she gurgled. "Rubbers and mufflers, with such a delicious snowfall as this! Oh, Prudence, shame upon you." Prudence was ashamed. "Oh, I know I am a perfect idiot, Fairy," she said. "I know it better than anybody else. I am so ashamed of myself, all the time." Then she added rather shyly, "Fairy, are you ashamed of me sometimes? When the college girls are here, and you are all talking so brilliantly, aren't you kind of mortified that I am so stupid and dull? I do not care if outsiders do think I am inferior to the rest of you, but--really I do not want you to be ashamed of me! I--oh, I know it myself,--that I do not amount to anything, and never will, but--it would hurt if I thought you and the twins were going to find me--humiliating." Prudence was looking at her sister hungrily, her lips drooping, her eyes dark. For a long instant Fairy stared at her incredulously. Then she sprang to her feet, her face white, her eyes blazing. "Prudence Starr," she cried furiously, "how dare you say such things of us? Do you think we are as despicable as all that? Oh, Prudence, I never was so insulted in all my life! Ashamed of you! Ashamed--Why, we are proud of you, every one of us, daddy, too! We think you are the finest and dearest girl that ever lived. We think--Oh, I think God Himself must be proud of a girl like you, Prudence Starr! Ashamed of you!" And Fairy, bursting into tears, rushed wildly out of the room. For all her poetical nature, Fairy was usually self-restrained and calm. Only twice before in all her life had Prudence seen her so tempest-tossed, and now, greatly disturbed, yet pleased at the passionate avowals, she hurried away in search of her sister. She needed no more assurance of her attitude. So the twins and Connie came into an empty room, and chattered away to themselves abstractedly for an hour. Then Prudence came down. Instantly Connie was asked the all-important question: "Are your feet wet?" Connie solemnly took three steps across the room. "Hear me sqush," she said proudly. She did sqush, too! "Constance Starr, I am ashamed of you! This is positively wicked. You know it is a law of the Medes and Persians that you change your shoes and stockings as soon as you come in when your feet are wet. Do it at once. I'll get some hot water so you can soak your feet, too. And you shall drink some good hot peppermint tea, into the bargain. I'll teach you to sit around in wet clothes! Do you think I want an invalid on my hands?" "Oh, don't be so fussy," said Connie fretfully, "wet feet don't do any harm." But she obligingly soaked her feet, and drank the peppermint. "Are your feet wet, twins?" "No," said Lark, "we have better judgment than to go splashing through the wet old snow.--What's the matter with you, Carol? Why don't you sit still? Are your feet wet?" "No, but it's too hot in this room. My clothes feel sticky. May I open the door, Prudence?" "Mercy, no! The snow is blowing a hurricane now. It isn't very hot in here, Carol. You've been running outdoors in the cold, and that makes it seem hot. You must peel the potatoes now, twins, it's time to get supper. Carol, you run up-stairs and ask papa if he got his feet wet. Between him and Connie, I do not have a minute's peace in the winter time!" "You go, Lark," said Carol. "My head aches." "Do you want me to rub it?" asked Prudence, as Lark skipped up-stairs for her twin. "No, it's just the closeness in here. It doesn't ache very bad. If we don't have more fresh air, we'll all get something and die, Prudence.--I tell you that. This room is perfectly stuffy.--I do not want to talk any more." And Carol got up from her chair and walked restlessly about the room. But Carol was sometimes given to moods, and so, without concern, Prudence went to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. "Papa says his feet are not wet, and that you are a big simpleton, and--Oh, did you make cinnamon rolls to-day, Prue? Oh, goody! Carrie, come on out! Look,--she made cinnamon rolls." Connie, too, hastened out to the kitchen in her bare feet, and was promptly driven back by the watchful Prudence. "I just know you are going to be sick, Connie,--I feel it in my bones. And walking out in that cold kitchen in your bare feet! You can just drink some more peppermint tea for that, now." "Well, give me a cinnamon roll to go with it," urged Connie. "Peppermint is awfully dry, taken by itself." Lark hooted gaily at this sentiment, but joined her sister in pleading for cinnamon rolls. "No, wait until supper is ready. You do not need to help peel the potatoes to-night, Carol. Run back where it is warm, and you must not read if your head aches. You read too much anyhow. I'll help Lark with the potatoes. No, do not take the paper, Carol,--I said you must not read." Then Lark and Prudence, working together, and talking much, prepared the supper for the family. When they gathered about the table, Prudence looked critically at Connie. "Are you beginning to feel sick? Do you feel like sneezing, or any thing?--Connie's awfully naughty, papa. Her feet were just oozing water, and she sat there in her wet shoes and stockings, just like a stupid child.--Aren't you going to eat any supper, Carol? Are you sick? What is the matter? Does your head still ache?" "Oh, it doesn't ache exactly, but I do not feel hungry. No, I am not sick, Prudence, so don't stew about it. I'm just not hungry. The meat is too greasy, and the potatoes are lumpy. I think I'll take a cinnamon roll." But she only picked it to pieces idly. Prudence watched her with the intense suspicious gaze of a frightened mother bird. "There are some canned oysters out there, Carol. If I make you some soup, will you eat it?" This was a great concession, for the canned oysters were kept in anticipation of unexpected company. But Carol shook her head impatiently. "I am not hungry at all," she said. "I'll open some pineapple, or those beautiful pickled peaches Mrs. Adams gave us, or--or anything, if you'll just eat something, Carrie." Still Carol shook her head. "I said I wasn't hungry, Prudence." But her face was growing very red, and her eyes were strangely bright. She moved her hands with unnatural restless motions, and frequently lifted her shoulders in a peculiar manner. "Do your shoulders hurt, Carol?" asked her father, who was also watching her anxiously. "Oh, it feels kind of--well--tight, I guess, in my chest. But it doesn't hurt. It hurts a little when I breathe deep." "Is your throat still sore, Carol?" inquired Lark. "Don't you remember saying you couldn't swallow when we were coming home from school?" "It isn't sore now," said Carol. And as though intolerant of further questioning, she left the dining-room quickly. "Shall I put flannel on her chest and throat, father?" asked Prudence nervously. "Yes, and if she gets worse we will call the doctor. It's probably just a cold, but we must----" "It isn't diphtheria, papa, you know that," cried Prudence passionately. For there were four reported cases of that dread disease in Mount Mark. But the pain in Carol's chest did grow worse, and she became so feverish that she began talking in quick broken sentences. "It was too hot!--Don't go away, Larkie!--Her feet were wet, and it kept squshing out.--I guess I'm kind of sick, Prue.--Don't put that thing on my head, it is strangling me!--Oh, I can't get my breath!" And she flung her hand out sharply, as though to push something away from her face. Then Mr. Starr went to the telephone and hurriedly called the doctor. Prudence meanwhile had undressed Carol, and put on her little pink flannel nightgown. "Go out in the kitchen, girls, and shut the door," she said to her sisters, who stood close around the precious twin, so suddenly stricken. "Fairy!" she cried. "Go at once. It may be catching. Take the others with you. And keep the door shut." But Lark flung herself on her knees beside her twin, and burst into choking sobs. "I won't go," she cried. "I won't leave Carrie. I will not, Prudence!" "Oh, it is too hot," moaned Carol. "Oh, give me a drink! Give me some snow, Prudence. Oh, it hurts!" And she pressed her burning hands against her chest. "Lark," said her father, stepping quickly to her side, "go out to the kitchen at once. Do you want to make Carrie worse?" And Lark, cowed and quivering, rushed into the kitchen and closed the door. "I'll carry her up-stairs to bed, Prue," said her father, striving to render his voice natural for the sake of the suffering oldest daughter, whose tense white face was frightening. Together they carried the child up the stairs. "Put her in our bed," said Prudence. "I'll--I'll--if it's diphtheria, daddy, she and I will stay upstairs here, and the rest of you must stay down. You can bring our food up to the head of the stairs, and I'll come out and get it. They can't take Carol away from the parsonage." "We will get a nurse, Prudence. We couldn't let you run a risk like that. It would not be right. If I could take care of her properly myself, I----" "You couldn't, father, and it would be wicked for you to take such chances. What would the--others do without you? But it would not make any difference about me. I'm not important. He can give me anti-toxin, and I'm such a healthy girl there will be no danger. But she must not be shut alone with a nurse. She would die!" And Carol took up the words, screaming, "I will die! I will die! Don't leave me, Prudence. Don't shut me up alone. Prudence! Prudence!" Down-stairs in the kitchen, three frightened girls clung to one another, crying bitterly as they heard poor Carol's piercing screams. "It is pneumonia," said the doctor, after an examination. And he looked at Prudence critically. "I think we must have a nurse for a few days. It may be a little severe, and you are not quite strong enough." Then, as Prudence remonstrated, "Oh, yes," he granted, "you shall stay with her, but if it is very serious a nurse will be of great service. I will have one come at once." Then he paused, and listened to the indistinct sobbing that floated up from the kitchen. "Can't you send those girls away for the night,--to some of the neighbors? It will be much better." But this the younger girls stubbornly refused to do. "If you send me out of the house when Carol is sick, I will kill myself," said Lark, in such a strange voice that the doctor eyed her sharply. "Well, if you will all stay down-stairs and keep quiet, so as not to annoy your sister," he consented grudgingly. "The least sobbing, or confusion, or excitement, may make her much worse. Fix up a bed on the floor down here, all of you, and go to sleep." "I won't go to bed," said Lark, looking up at the doctor with agonized eyes. "I won't go to bed while Carol is sick." "Give her a cup of something hot to drink," he said to Fairy curtly. "I won't drink anything," said Lark. "I won't drink anything, and I won't eat a bite of anything until Carol is well. I won't sleep, either." The doctor took her hand in his, and deftly pushed the sleeve above the elbow. "You can twist my arm if you like, but I won't eat, and I won't drink, and I won't sleep." The doctor smiled. Swiftly inserting the point of his needle in her arm, he released her. "I won't hurt you, but I am pretty sure you will be sleeping in a few minutes." He turned to Fairy. "Get her ready for bed at once. The little one can wait." An hour later, he came down-stairs again. "Is she sleeping?" he asked of Fairy in a low voice. "That is good. You have your work cut out for you, my girl. The little one here will be all right, but this twin is in nearly as bad shape as the one up-stairs." "Oh! Doctor! Larkie, too!" "Oh, she is not sick. But she is too intense. She is taking this too hard. Her system is not well enough developed to stand such a strain very long. Something would give way,--maybe her brain. She must be watched. She must eat and sleep. There is school to-morrow, isn't there?" "But I am sure Lark will not go, Doctor. She has never been to school a day in her life without Carol. I am sure she will not go!" "Let her stay at home, then. Don't get her excited. But make her work. Keep her doing little tasks about the house, and send her on errands. Talk to her a good deal. Prudence will have her hands full with the other twin, and you'll have all you can do with this one. I'm depending on you, my girl. You mustn't fail me." That was the beginning of an anxious week. For two days Carol was in delirium most of the time, calling out, crying, screaming affrightedly. And Lark crouched at the foot of the stairs, hands clenched passionately, her slender form tense and motionless. It was four in the afternoon, as the doctor was coming down from the sick room, that Fairy called him into the dining-room with a suggestive glance. "She won't eat," she said. "I have done everything possible, and I had the nurse try. But she will not eat a bite. I--I'm sorry, Doctor, but I can't make her." "What has she been doing?" "She's been at the foot of the stairs all day. She won't do a thing I tell her. She won't mind the nurse. Father told her to keep away, too, but she does not pay any attention. When I speak to her, she does not answer. When she hears you coming down, she runs away and hides, but she goes right back again." "Can your father make her eat? If he commands her?" "I do not know. I doubt it. But we can try. Here's some hot soup,--I'll call father." So Lark was brought into the dining-room, and her father came down the stairs. The doctor whispered an explanation to him in the hall. "Lark," said her father, gently but very firmly, "you must eat, or you will be sick, too. We need all of our time to look after Carol to-day. Do you want to keep us away from her to attend to you?" "No, father, of course not. I wish you would all go right straight back to Carrie this minute and leave me alone. I'm all right. But I can't eat until Carol is well." Her father drew a chair to the table and said, "Sit down and eat that soup at once, Larkie." Lark's face quivered, but she turned away. "I can't, father. You don't understand. I can't eat,--I really can't. Carrie's my twin, and--oh, father, don't you see how it is?" He stood for a moment, frowning at her thoughtfully. Then he left the room, signing for the doctor to follow. "I'll send Prudence down," he said. "She'll manage some way." "I must stay here until I see her eat it," said the doctor. "If she won't do it, she must be kept under morphine for a few days. But it's better not. Try Prudence, by all means." So Prudence, white-faced, eyes black-circled, came down from the room where she had served her sister many weary hours. The doctor was standing in the center of the room. Fairy was hovering anxiously near Lark, rigid at the window. "Larkie," whispered Prudence, and with a bitter cry the young girl leaped into her sister's arms. Prudence caressed and soothed her tenderly. "Poor little Larkie," she murmured, "poor little twinnie!--But Carol is resting pretty well now, Lark. She's coming through all right. She was conscious several times to-day. The first time she just looked up at me and smiled and whispered, 'Hard luck, Prue.' Then a little later she said, 'Tell Larkie I'm doing fine, and don't let her worry.' Pretty soon she spoke again, 'You make Lark be sensible, Prue, or she'll be sick, too.' Once again she started to say something about you, but she was too sick to finish. 'Larkie is such a--,' but that was as far as she could go. She was thinking of you all the time, Lark. She is so afraid you'll worry and make yourself sick, too. She would be heartbroken if she was able to see you, and you were too sick to come to her. You must keep up your strength for Carol's sake. If she is conscious to-morrow, we're going to bring you up a while to see her. She can hardly stand being away from you, I know. But you must get out-of-doors, and bring some color to your cheeks, first. It would make her miserable to see you like this." Lark was still sobbing, but more gently now, and she still clung to her sister. "To-morrow, Prudence? Honestly, may I go up to-morrow? You're not just fooling me, are you? You wouldn't do that!" "Of course I wouldn't. Yes, you really may, if you'll be good and make yourself look better. It would be very bad for Carrie to see you so white and wan. She would worry. Have you been eating? You must eat lots, and then take a good run out-of-doors toward bedtime, so you will sleep well. It will be a good tonic for Carol to see you bright and fresh and rosy." "Oh, I can't bear to be fresh and rosy when Carrie is sick!" "It hurts,--but you are willing to be hurt for Carol's sake! You will do it on her account. It will do her so much good. Now sit down and eat your soup, and I'll stay here a while and tell you all about her. I gave her the pansies you bought her,--it was so sweet of you, too, Larkie. It must have taken every cent of your money, didn't it? I suppose you ordered them over the telephone, since you wouldn't leave the house. When I told Carol you got them for her, she took them in her hand and held them under the covers. Of course, they wilted right away, but I knew you would like Carrie to have them close to her.'--Oh, you must eat it all, Lark. It looks very good. I must take a little of it up to Carol,--maybe she can eat some.--And you will do your very best to be strong and bright and rosy--for Carol--won't you?" "Yes, I will,--I'll go and run across the field a few times before I go to bed. Yes, I'll try my very best." Then she looked up at the doctor, and added: "But I wouldn't do it for you, or anybody else, either." But the doctor only smiled oddly, and went away up-stairs again, wondering at the wisdom that God has placed in the hearts of women! Dreary miserable days and nights followed after that. And Prudence, to whom Carol, even in delirium, clung with such wildness that they dare not deny her, grew weary-eyed and wan. But when the doctor, putting his hand on her shoulder, said, "It's all right now, my dear. She'll soon be as well as ever,"--then Prudence dropped limply to the floor, trembling weakly with the great happiness. Good Methodist friends from all over Mount Mark came to the assistance of the parsonage family, and many gifts and delicacies and knick-knacks were sent in to tempt the appetite of the invalid, and the others as well. "You all need toning up," said Mrs. Adams crossly, "you've all gone clear under. A body would think the whole family had been down with something!" Carol's friends at the high school, and the members of the faculty also, took advantage of this opportunity to show their love for her. And Professor Duke sent clear to Burlington for a great basket of violets and lilies-of-the-valley, "For our little high-school song-bird," as he wrote on the card. And Carol dimpled with delight as she read it. "Now you see for yourself, Prudence," she declared. "Isn't he a duck?" When the little parsonage group, entire, gathered once more around the table in the "real dining-room," they were joyful indeed. It was a gala occasion! The very best china and silverware were brought out in Carol's honor. The supper was one that would have gratified the heart of a bishop, at the very least! "Apple pie, with pure cream, Carol," said Lark ecstatically, for apple pie with pure cream was the favorite dessert of the sweet-toothed twins. And Lark added earnestly, "And I don't seem to be very hungry to-night, Carol,--I don't want any pie. You shall have my piece, too!" "I said I felt it in my bones, you remember," said Prudence, smiling at Carol, "but my mental compass indicated Connie when it should have pointed to Carol! And I do hope, Connie dear, that this will be a lesson to you, and impress upon you that you must always change your shoes and stockings when your feet are wet!" And for the first time in many days, clear, happy-hearted laughter rang out in the parsonage. CHAPTER IX PRACTISING ECONOMY It was a dull dreary day early in December. Prudence and Fairy were sewing in the bay window of the sitting-room. "We must be sure to have all the scraps out of the way before Connie gets home," said Prudence, carefully fitting together pieces of a dark, warm, furry material. "It has been so long since father wore this coat, I am sure she will not recognize it." "But she will ask where we got it, and what shall we say?" "We must tell her it is goods we have had in the house for a long time. That is true. And I made this fudge on purpose to distract her attention. If she begins to ask questions, we must urge her to have more candy. Poor child!" she added very sympathetically. "Her heart is just set on a brand-new coat. I know she will be bitterly disappointed. If the members would just pay up we could get her one. November and December are such bad months for parsonage people. Coal to buy, feed for the cow and the horse and the chickens, and Carol's sickness, and Larkie's teeth! Of course, those last are not regular winter expenses, but they took a lot of money this year. Every one is getting ready for Christmas now, and forgets that parsonage people need Christmas money, too. November and December are always my bitter months, Fairy,--bitter months!" Fairy took a pin from her mouth. "The velvet collar and cuffs will brighten it up a good bit. It's really a pretty material. I have honestly been ashamed of Connie the last few Sundays. It was so cold, and she wore only that little thin summer jacket. She must have been half frozen." "Oh, I had her dressed warmly underneath, very warmly indeed," declared Prudence. "But no matter how warm you are underneath, you look cold if you aren't visibly prepared for winter weather. It's a fortunate thing the real cold weather was so slow in coming. I kept hoping enough money would come in to buy her a coat for once in her life." "She has been looking forward to one long enough," put in Fairy. "This will be a bitter blow to her. And yet it is not such a bad-looking coat, after all." And she quickly ran up a seam on the machine. "Here comes Connie!" Prudence hastily swept a pile of scraps out of sight, and turned to greet her little sister with a cheery smile. "Come on in, Connie," she cried, with a brightness she did not feel. "Fairy and I are making you a new coat. Isn't it pretty? And so warm! See the nice velvet collar and cuffs. We want to fit it on you right away, dear." Connie picked up a piece of the goods and examined it intently. "Don't you want some fudge, Connie?" exclaimed Fairy, shoving the dish toward her hurriedly. Connie took a piece from the plate, and thrust it between her teeth. Her eyes were still fastened upon the brown furry cloth. "Where did you get this stuff?" she inquired, as soon as she was able to speak. "Oh, we've had it in the house quite a while," said Prudence, adding swiftly, "Isn't it warm, Connie? Oh, it does look nice, doesn't it, Fairy? Do you want it a little shorter, Connie, or is that about right?" "About right, I guess. Did you ever have a coat like this, Prudence? I don't seem to remember it.'" "Oh, no, it wasn't mine. Take some more candy, Connie. Isn't it good?--Let's put a little more fullness in the sleeves, Fairy. It's more stylish this year.--The collar fits very nicely. The velvet gives it such a rich tone. And brown is so becoming to you." "Thanks," said Connie patiently. "Was this something of yours, Fairy?" "Oh, no, we've just had it in the house quite a while. It comes in very handy right now, doesn't it? It'll make you such a serviceable, stylish coat. Isn't it about time for the twins to get here, Prudence? I'm afraid they are playing along the road. Those girls get more careless every day of their lives." "Well, if this didn't belong to one of you, whose was it?" demanded Connie. "I know the twins never had anything like this. It looks kind of familiar to me. Where did it come from?" "Out of the trunk in the garret, Connie. Don't you want some more fudge? I put a lot of nuts in, especially on your account." "It's good," said Connie, taking another piece. She examined the cloth very closely. "Say, Prudence, isn't this that old brown coat of father's?" Fairy shoved her chair back from the machine, and ran to the window. "Look, Prue," she cried. "Isn't that Mrs. Adams coming this way? I wonder----" "No, it isn't," answered Connie gravely. "It's just Miss Avery getting home from school.--Isn't it, Prudence? Father's coat, I mean?" "Yes, Connie, it is," said Prudence, very, very gently. "But no one here has seen it, and it is such nice cloth,--just exactly what girls are wearing now." "But I wanted a new coat!" Connie did not cry. She stood looking at Prudence with her wide hurt eyes. "Oh, Connie, I'm just as sorry as you are," cried Prudence, with starting tears. "I know just how you feel about it, dearest. But the people didn't pay father up last month, and nothing has come in for this month yet, and we've had so much extra expense.--I will have to wear my old shoes, too, Connie, and you know how they look! The shoemaker says they aren't worth fixing, so I must wear them as they are.--But maybe after Christmas we can get you a coat. They pay up better then." "I think I'd rather wear my summer coat until then," said Connie soberly. "Oh, but you can't, dearest. It is too cold. Won't you be a good girl now, and not make sister feel badly about it? It really is becoming to you, and it is nice and warm. You know parsonage people just have to practise economy, Connie,--it can't be helped. Take some more fudge, dear, and run out-of-doors a while. You'll feel better about it presently, I'm sure." Connie stood solemnly beside the table, her eyes still fastened on the coat, cut down from her father's. "Can I go and take a walk?" she asked finally. "May I, you mean," suggested Fairy. "Yes, may I? Maybe I can reconcile myself to it." "Yes, do go and take a walk," urged Prudence promptly, eager to get the small sober face beyond her range of vision. "If I am not back when the twins get home, go right on and eat without me. I'll come back when I get things straightened out in my mind." When Connie was quite beyond hearing, Prudence dropped her head on the table and wept. "Oh, Fairy, if the members just knew how such things hurt, maybe they'd pay up a little better. How do they expect parsonage people to keep up appearances when they haven't any money?" "Oh, now, Prue, you're worse than Connie! There's no use to cry about it. Parsonage people have to find happiness in spite of financial misery. Money isn't the first thing with folks like us." "No, but they have pledged it," protested Prudence, lifting her tear-stained face. "They must know we are counting on the money. Why don't they keep their pledges? They pay their meat bills, and grocery bills, and house rent! Why don't they pay for their religion?" "Now, Prue, you know how things go. Mrs. Adams is having a lot of Christmas expense, and she thinks her four dollars a month won't really be missed. She thinks she will make it up along in February, when Christmas is over. But she forgets that Mrs. Barnaby with two dollars, and Mrs. Scott with five, and Mr. Walter with seven, and Mr. Holmes with three, and about thirty others with one dollar each, are thinking the same thing! Each member thinks for himself, and takes no account of the others. That's how it happens." Prudence squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. "I wish you wouldn't mention names, Fairy," she begged. "I do not object to lumping them in a body and wondering about them. But I can't feel right about calling them out by name, and criticizing them.--Besides, we do not really know which ones they are who did not pay." "I was just giving names for illustrative purposes," said Fairy quickly. "Like as not, the very ones I named are the ones who did pay." "Well, get this stuff out of the way, and let's set the table. Somehow I can't bear to touch it any more. Poor little Connie! If she had cried about it, I wouldn't have cared so much. But she looked so--heartsick, didn't she, Fairy?" Connie certainly was heartsick. More than that, she was a little disgusted. She felt herself aroused to take action. Things had gone too far! Go to church in her father's coat she could not! But they hadn't the money. If Connie's father had been at home, perhaps they might have reasoned it out together. But he had left town that morning, and would not be home until Saturday evening,--too late to get a coat in time for Sunday, and Prudence had said that Connie must be coated by Sunday! She walked sturdily down the street toward the "city,"--ironically so called. Her face was stony, her hands were clenched. But finally she brightened. Her lagging steps quickened. She skipped along quite cheerfully. She turned westward as she reached the corner of the Square, and walked along that business street with shining eyes. In front of the First National Bank she paused, but after a few seconds she passed by. On the opposite corner was another bank. When she reached it, she walked in without pausing, and the massive door swung behind her. Standing on tiptoe, she confronted the cashier with a grave face. "Is Mr. Harold in?" she asked politely. Mr. Harold was the president of the bank! It was a little unusual. "Yes, he is in," said the cashier doubtfully, "but he is very busy." "Will you tell him that Constance Starr wishes to speak to him, privately, and that it is very important?" The cashier smiled. "The Methodist minister's little girl, isn't it? Yes, I will tell him." Mr. Harold looked up impatiently at the interruption. "It's the Methodist minister's little daughter, and she says it is important for her to speak to you privately." "Oh! Probably a message from her father. Bring her in." Mr. Harold was one of the trustees of the Methodist church, and prominent among them. His keen eyes were intent upon Connie as she walked in, but she did not falter. "How do you do, Mr. Harold?" she said, and shook hands with him in the good old Methodist way. His eyes twinkled, but he spoke briskly. "Did your father send you on an errand?" "No, father is out of town. I came on business,--personal business, Mr. Harold. It is my own affair." "Oh, I see," and he smiled at the earnest little face. "Well, what can I do for you, Miss Constance?" "I want to borrow five dollars from the bank, Mr. Harold?" "You--did Prudence send you?" "Oh, no, it is my own affair as I told you. I came on my own account. I thought of stopping at the other bank as I passed, but then I remembered that parsonage people must always do business with their own members if possible. And of course, I would rather come to you than to a perfect stranger." "Thank you,--thank you very much. Five dollars you say you want?" "I suppose I had better tell you all about it. You see, I need a winter coat, very badly. Oh, very badly, indeed! The girls were ashamed of me last Sunday, I looked so cold outside, though I was dressed plenty warm enough inside. I've been looking forward to a new coat, Mr. Harold. I've never had one yet. There was always something to cut down for me, from Prudence, or Fairy, or the twins. But this time there wasn't anything to hand down, and so I just naturally counted on a new one." Connie paused, and looked embarrassed. "Yes?" His voice was encouraging. "Well, I'll tell you the rest, but I hope you won't say anything about it, for I'd feel pretty cheap if I thought all the Sunday-school folks knew about it.--You see, the members need such a lot of money now just before Christmas, and so they didn't pay us up last month, and they haven't paid anything this month. And we had to get coal, and feed, and Larkie's teeth had to be fixed, and Carol was sick, you remember. Seems to me Lark's teeth might have been put off until after Christmas, but Prudence says not.--And so there isn't any money left, and I can't have a coat. But Prudence and Fairy are making me one,--out of an old coat of father's!" Constance paused dramatically. Mr. Harold never even smiled. He just nodded understandingly. "I don't think I could wear a coat of father's to church,--it's cut down of course, but--there's something painful about the idea. I wouldn't expect father to wear any of my clothes! You can see how it is, Mr. Harold. Just imagine how you would feel wearing your wife's coat!--I don't think I could listen to the sermons. I don't believe I could be thankful for the mercy of wearing father's coat! I don't see anything merciful about it. Do you?" Mr. Harold did not speak. He gazed at Connie sympathetically, and shook his head. "It's too much, that's what it is. And so I thought I'd just have to take things into my own hands and borrow the money. I can get a good coat for five dollars. But if the bank is a little short right now, I can get along with four, or even three. I'd rather have the cheapest coat in town, than one made out of father's. Do you think you can let me have it?" "Yes, indeed we can." He seemed to find his voice with an effort. "Of course we can. We are very glad to lend our money to responsible people. We are proud to have your trade." "But I must tell you, that it may take me quite a while to pay it back. Father gives me a nickel a week, and I generally spend it for candy. There's another nickel, but it has to go in the collection, so I can't really count that. I don't believe father would let me neglect the heathen, even to pay for a winter coat! But I will give you the nickel every week, and at that rate I can pay it back in a couple of years easy enough. But I'd rather give the nickels as fast as I get them. It's so hard to keep money when you can get your hand on it, you know. Sometimes I have quite a lot of money,--as much as a quarter at a time, from doing errands for the neighbors and things like that. I'll pay you as fast as I can. Will that be all right? And the interest, too, of course. How much will the interest be on five dollars?" "Well, that depends on how soon you repay the money, Connie. But I'll figure it out, and tell you later." "All right. I know I can trust you not to cheat me, since you're a trustee. So I won't worry about that." Mr. Harold drew out a bulky book from his pocket, and handed Connie a crisp new bill. Her eyes sparkled as she received it. "But, Connie," he continued, "I feel that I ought to give you this. We Methodists have done a wicked thing in forgetting our November payments, and I will just give you this bill to make up for it." But Connie shook her head decidedly. "Oh, no! I'll have to give it back, then. Father would not stand that,--not for one minute. Of course, parsonage people get things given to them, quite a lot. And it's a good thing, too, I must say! But we don't hint for them, Mr. Harold. That wouldn't be right." She held out the bill toward him, with very manifest reluctance. "Keep it,--we'll call it a loan then, Connie," he said. "And you may pay me back, five cents at a time, just as is most convenient." The four older girls were at the table when Connie arrived. She exhaled quiet satisfaction from every pore. Prudence glanced at her once, and then looked away again. "She has reconciled herself," she thought. Dinner was half over before Constance burst her bomb. She had intended waiting until they were quite through, but it was more than flesh and blood could keep! "Are you going to be busy this afternoon, Prudence?" she asked quietly. "We are going to sew a little," said Prudence. "Why?" "I wanted you to go down-town with me after school." "Well, perhaps I can do that. Fairy will be able to finish the coat alone." "You needn't finish the coat!--I can't wear father's coat to church, Prudence. It's a--it's a--physical impossibility." The twins laughed. Fairy smiled, but Prudence gazed at "the baby" with tender pity. "I'm so sorry, dearest, but we haven't the money to buy one now." "Will five dollars be enough?" inquired Connie, and she placed her crisp new bill beside her plate. The twins gasped! They gazed at Connie with new respect. They were just wishing they could handle five-dollar bills so recklessly. "Will you loan me twenty dollars until after Christmas, Connie?" queried Fairy. But Prudence asked, "Where did you get this money, Connie?" "I borrowed it,--from the bank," Connie replied with proper gravity. "I have two years to pay it back. Mr. Harold says they are proud to have my trade." Prudence was silent for several long seconds. Then she inquired in a low voice, "Did you tell him why you wanted it?" "Yes, I explained the whole situation." "What did he say?" "He said he knew just how I felt, because he knew he couldn't go to church in his wife's coat.--No, I said that myself, but he agreed with me. He did not say very much, but he looked sympathetic. He said he anticipated great pleasure in seeing me in my new coat at church next Sunday." "Go on with your luncheon, twins," said Prudence sternly. "You'll be late to school.--We'll see about going down-town when you get home to-night, Connie. Now, eat your luncheon, and don't talk about coats any more." When Connie had gone back to school, Prudence went straight to Mr. Harold's bank. Flushed and embarrassed, she explained the situation frankly. "My sympathies are all with Connie," she said candidly. "But I am afraid father would not like it. We are dead set against borrowing. After--our mother was taken, we were crowded pretty close for money. So we had to go in debt. It took us two years to get it paid. Father and Fairy and I talked it over then, and decided we would starve rather than borrow again. Even the twins understood it, but Connie was too little. She doesn't know how heartbreaking it is to keep handing over every cent for debt, when one is just yearning for other things.--I do wish she might have the coat, but I'm afraid father would not like it. She gave me the five dollars for safekeeping, and I have brought it back." Mr. Harold shook his head. "No, Connie must have her coat. This will be a good lesson for her. It will teach her the bitterness of living under debt! Besides, Prudence, I think in my heart that she is right this time. This is a case where borrowing is justified. Get her the coat, and I'll square the account with your father." Then he added, "And I'll look after this salary business myself after this. I'll arrange with the trustees that I am to pay your father his full salary the first of every month, and that the church receipts are to be turned in to me. And if they do not pay up, my lawyer can do a little investigating! Little Connie earned that five dollars, for she taught one trustee a sorry lesson. And he will have to pass it on to the others in self-defense! Now, run along and get the coat, and if five dollars isn't enough you can have as much more as you need. Your father will get his salary after this, my dear, if we have to mortgage the parsonage!" CHAPTER X A BURGLAR'S VISIT "Prue!" A small hand gripped Prudence's shoulder, and again came a hoarsely whispered: "Prue!" Prudence sat up in bed with a bounce. "What in the world?" she began, gazing out into the room, half-lighted by the moonshine, and seeing Carol and Lark shivering beside her bed. "Sh! Sh! Hush!" whispered Lark. "There's a burglar in our room!" By this time, even sound-sleeping Fairy was awake. "Oh, there is!" she scoffed. "Yes, there is," declared Carol with some heat. "We heard him, plain as day. He stepped into the closet, didn't he, Lark?" "He certainly did," agreed Lark. "Did you see him?" "No, we heard him. Carol heard him first, and she spoke, and nudged me. Then I heard him, too. He was at our dresser, but he shot across the room and into the closet. He closed the door after him. He's there now." "You've been dreaming," said Fairy, lying down again. "We don't generally dream the same thing at the same minute," said Carol stormily. "I tell you he's in there." "And you two great big girls came off and left poor little Connie in there alone with a burglar, did you? Well, you are nice ones, I must say." And Prudence leaped out of bed and started for the door, followed by Fairy, with the twins creeping fearfully along in the rear. "She was asleep," muttered Carol. "We didn't want to scare her," added Lark. Prudence was careful to turn the switch by the door, so that the room was in full light before she entered. The closet door was wide open. Connie was soundly sleeping. There was no one else in the room. "You see?" said Prudence sternly. "I'll bet he took our ruby rings," declared Lark, and the twins and Fairy ran to the dresser to look. But a sickening realization had come home to Prudence. In the lower hall, under the staircase, was a small dark closet which they called the dungeon. The dungeon door was big and solid, and was equipped with a heavy catch-lock. In this dungeon, Prudence kept the family silverware, and all the money she had on hand, as it could there be safely locked away. But more often than not, Prudence forgot to lock it. Mr. Starr had gone to Burlington that morning to attend special revival services for three days, and Prudence had fifty whole dollars in the house, an unwonted sum in that parsonage! And the dungeon was not locked. Without a word, she slipped softly out of the room, ran down the stairs, making never a sound in her bare feet, and saw, somewhat to her surprise, that the dungeon door was open. Quickly she flung it shut, pushed the tiny key that moved the "catch," and was rushing up the stairs again with never a pause for breath. A strange sight met her eyes in the twins' room. The twins themselves were in each other's arms, sobbing bitterly. Fairy was still looking hurriedly through the dresser drawers. "They are gone," wailed Carol, "our beautiful ruby rings that belonged to grandmother." "Nonsense," cried Prue with nervous anger, "you've left them in the bathroom, or on the kitchen shelves. You're always leaving them somewhere over the place. Come on, and we'll search the house just to convince you." "No, no," shrieked the twins. "Let's lock the door and get under the bed." The rings were really valuable. Their grandmother, their mother's mother, whom they had never seen, had divided her "real jewelry" between her two daughters. And the mother of these parsonage girls, had further divided her portion to make it reach through her own family of girls! Prudence had a small but beautiful chain of tiny pearls. Fairy's share consisted of a handsome brooch, with a "sure-enough diamond" in the center! The twin rubies of another brooch had been reset in rings for Carol and Lark, and were the priceless treasures of their lives! And in the dungeon was a solid gold bracelet, waiting until Connie's arm should be sufficiently developed to do it justice. "Our rings! Our rings!" the twins were wailing, and Connie, awakened by the noise, was crying beneath the covers of her bed. "Maybe we'd better phone for Mr. Allan," suggested Fairy. "The girls are so nervous they will be hysterical by the time we finish searching the house." "Well, let's do the up-stairs then," said Prudence. "Get your slippers and kimonos, and we'll go into daddy's room." But inside the door of daddy's room, with the younger girls clinging to her, and Fairy looking odd and disturbed, Prudence stopped abruptly and stared about the room curiously. "Fairy, didn't father leave his watch hanging on that nail by the table? Seems to me I saw it there this morning. I remember thinking I would tease him for being forgetful." And the watch was not there. "I think it was Sunday he left it," answered Fairy in a low voice. "I remember seeing it on the nail, and thinking he would need it,--but I believe it was Sunday." Prudence looked under the bed, and in the closet, but their father's room was empty. Should they go farther? For a moment, the girls stood looking at one another questioningly. Then--they heard a loud thud down-stairs, as of some one pounding on a door. There was no longer any doubt. Some one was in the house! Connie and the twins screamed again and clung to Prudence frantically. And Fairy said, "I think we'd better lock the door and stay right here until morning, Prue." But Prudence faced them stubbornly. "If you think I'm going to let any one steal that fifty dollars, you are mistaken. Fifty dollars does not come often enough for that, I can tell you." "It's probably stolen already," objected Fairy. "Well, if it is, we'll find out who did it, and have them arrested. I'm going down to telephone to the police. You girls must lock the door after me, and stay right here." The little ones screamed again, and Fairy said: "Don't be silly, Prue, if you go I'm going with you, of course. We'll leave the kiddies here and they can lock the door. They'll be perfectly safe in here." But the children loudly objected to this. If Prue and Fairy went, they would go! So down the stairs they trooped, a timorous trembling crowd. Prudence went at once to the telephone, and called up the residence of the Allans, their neighbors across the street. After a seemingly never-ending wait, the kind-hearted neighbor left his bed to answer the insistent telephone. Falteringly Prudence explained their predicament, and asked him to come and search the house. He promised to be there in five minutes, with his son to help. "Now," said Prudence more cheerfully, "we'll just go out to the kitchen and wait. It's quiet there, and away from the rest of the house, and we'll be perfectly safe." To the kitchen, then, they hurried, and found real comfort in its smallness and secureness. Prudence raked up the dying embers of the fire, and Fairy drew the blinds to their lowest limits. The twins and Connie trailed them fearfully at every step. When the fire was burning brightly, Prudence spoke with great assurance. "I'll just run in to the dungeon and see for sure if the money is there. I do not honestly believe there is a soul in the house, but I can't rest until I know that money is safe." "You'll do nothing of the sort," said Fairy, "you'll stay right here and wait with us. I do not believe there's any one in the house, either, but if there is, you shan't run into him by yourself. You stay right where you are, and don't be silly. Mr. Allan will do the investigating." Every breath of wind against the windows drew startled cries from the younger girls, and both Fairy and Prudence were white with anxiety when they heard the loud voices of the Allans outside the kitchen door. Prudence began crying nervously the moment the two angels of mercy appeared before her, and Fairy told their tale of woe. "Well, there now," Mr. Allan said with rough sympathy, "you just got scared, that's all. Everything's suspicious when folks get scared. I told my wife the other day I bet you girls would get a good fright some time left here alone. Come on, Jim, and we'll go over the house in a jiffy." He was standing near the dining-room door. He lifted his head suddenly, and seemed to sniff a little. There was undoubtedly a faint odor of tobacco in the house. "Been any men in here to-night?" he asked. "Or this afternoon? Think, now!" "No one," answered Prudence. "I was alone all afternoon, and there has been no one in this evening." He passed slowly through the dining-room into the hall, closely followed by his son and the five girls, already much reassured. As he passed the dungeon door he paused for a moment, listening intently, his head bent. "Oh, Mr. Allan," cried Prudence, "let's look in the dungeon first. I want to see if the money is safe." Her hand was already on the lock, but he shoved her away quickly. "Is there any way out of that closet besides this door?" he asked. "No. We call it the dungeon," laughed Prudence, her self-possession quite recovered. "It is right under the stairs, and not even a mouse could gnaw its way out, with this door shut." "Who shut that door?" he inquired, still holding Prudence's hand from the lock. Then without waiting for an answer, he went on, "Let's go back in the other room a minute. Come on, all of you." In the living-room, he hurried to the telephone, and spoke to the operator in a low voice. "Call the police headquarters, and have them send two or three men to the Methodist parsonage, right away. We've got a burglar locked in a closet, and they'll have to get him out. Please hurry." At this, the girls crowded around him again in renewed fear. "Don't be scared," he said calmly, "we're all right. He's in there safe enough and can't get out for a while. Now, tell me about it. How did you get him in the closet? Begin at the beginning, and tell me all about it." Carol began the story with keen relish. "I woke up, and thought I heard some one in the room. I supposed it was Prudence. I said, 'Prudence,' and nobody answered, and everything was quiet.' But I felt there was some one in there. I nudged Lark, and she woke up. He moved then, and we both heard him. He was fumbling at the dresser, and our ruby rings are gone. We heard him step across the room and into the closet. He closed the door after him, didn't he, Lark?" "Yes, he did," agreed Lark. "His hand was on the knob." "So we sneaked out of bed, and went into Prudence's room and woke her and Fairy." She looked at Connie, and blushed. "Connie was asleep, and we didn't waken her because we didn't want to frighten her. We woke the girls,--and you tell the rest, Prudence." "We didn't believe her, of course. We went back into their room and there was no one there. But the rings were gone. While they were looking at the dresser, I remembered that I forgot to lock the dungeon door, where we keep the money and the silverware, and I ran down-stairs and slammed the door and locked it, and went back up. I didn't hear a sound down-stairs." Mr. Allan laughed heartily. "Well, your burglar was in that closet after the money, no doubt, and he didn't hear you coming, and got locked in. Did you make any noise coming down the stairs?" "No. I was in my bare feet, and I tried to be quiet because if there was any one in the house, I did not want him coming at me in the dark. I ran back up-stairs, and we looked in father's room. I thought father had forgotten to take his watch with him, but it wasn't there.--Do you really think it was Sunday he forgot it, Fairy?" "No," said Fairy, "it was there this afternoon. The burglar's got it in the dungeon with him, of course.--I just said it was Sunday to keep from scaring the twins." In a few minutes, they heard footsteps around the house and knew the officers had arrived. Mr. Allan let them into the house, four of them, and led them out to the hall. There could be no doubt whatever that the burglar was in the dungeon. He had been busy with his knife, and the lock was nearly removed. If the officers had been two minutes later, the dungeon would have been empty. The girls were sent up-stairs at once, with the Allan boy as guard,--as guard, without regard for the fact that he was probably more frightened than any one of them. The chief officer rapped briskly on the dungeon door. Then he clicked his revolver. "There are enough of us to overpower three of you," he said curtly. "And we have men outside the house, too. If you make any disturbance, we shall all fire the instant the door is opened. If you put your firearms on the floor, and hold both hands over your head, you'll be well treated. If your hands are not up, we fire on sight. Get your revolvers ready, boys." Then the officer opened the door. Evidently the burglar was wise enough to appreciate the futility of fighting against odds. Perhaps he did not wish to add the charge of manslaughter to that of robbery. Certainly, he did not feel himself called to sudden death. At any rate, his hands were above his head, and in less than a second he was securely manacled. The chief officer had been eying him closely. "Say!" he exclaimed. "Aren't you Limber-Limb Grant?" The burglar grinned, but did not answer. "By jove!" shouted the officer. "It is! Call the girls down here," he ordered, and when they appeared, gazing at the burglar with mingled admiration, pity and fear, he congratulated them with considerable excitement. "It's Limber-Limb Grant," he explained. "There's a reward of five hundred dollars for him. You'll get the money, as sure as you're born." Then he turned again to the burglar. "Say, Grant, what's a fellow like you doing on such a fifth-rate job as this? A Methodist parsonage is not just in your line, is it?" Limber-Limb laughed sheepishly. "Well," he explained good-naturedly, "Chicago got too hot for me. I had to get out in a hurry, and I couldn't get my hands on any money. I had a fine lot of jewels, but I was so pushed I couldn't use them. I came here and loafed around town for a while, because folks said Mount Mark was so fast asleep it did not even wake up long enough to read the daily papers. I heard about this parsonage bunch, and knew the old man had gone off to get more religion. This afternoon at the station I saw a detective from Chicago get off the train, and I knew what that meant. But I needed some cash, and so I wasn't above a little job on the side. I never dreamed of getting done up by a bunch of preacher's kids. I went upstairs to get those family jewels I've heard about, and one of the little ones gave the alarm. I already had some of them, so I came down at once. I stopped in the dungeon to get that money, and first thing I knew the door banged shut. That's all. You're welcome to the five hundred dollars, ladies. Some one was bound to get it sooner or later, and I'm partial to the ladies, every time." Limber-Limb Grant was a modern thief of the new class. At that moment, in Chicago, he had in storage, a hundred thousand dollars' worth of jewels, which he could not dispose of on the pressure of the moment. The law was crowding him close, and he was obliged to choose between meeting the law, or running away from it. He ran. He reached Mount Mark, and trusted to its drowsiness for concealment for a few weeks. But that afternoon the arrival of a detective gave him warning, and he planned his departure promptly. A parsonage occupied by only five girls held no terrors for him, and with fifty dollars and a few fairly good jewels, a man of his talent could accomplish wonders. But Mount Mark had aroused from its lethargy. Limber-Limb Grant was in the hands of the law. Mr. Starr had been greatly interested in the accounts of the evangelistic services being held in Burlington. The workers were meeting with marked success, and Mr. Starr felt he should get in touch with them. So on Thursday morning he took the early east-bound train to Burlington. There he sought out a conveniently located second-class hotel, and took up residence. He attended the services at the tabernacle in the afternoon and evening, and then went to bed at the hotel. He slept late the next morning. When he finally appeared, he noticed casually, without giving it thought, that the clerk behind the desk looked at him with marked interest. Mr. Starr nodded cheerfully, and the clerk came at once from behind the desk to speak to him. Two or three other guests, who had been lounging about, drew near. "We've just been reading about your girls, sir," said the clerk respectfully. "It's a pretty nervy little bunch! You must be proud of them!" "My girls!" ejaculated Mr. Starr. "Haven't you seen the morning paper? You're Mr. Starr, the Methodist minister at Mount Mark, aren't you?" "I am! But what has happened to my girls? Is anything wrong? Give me the paper!" Mr. Starr was greatly agitated. He showed it. But the clerk could not lose this opportunity to create a sensation. It was a chance of a life-time. "Why, a burglar got in the parsonage last night," he began, almost licking his lips with satisfaction. "The twins heard him at their dresser, and when he stepped into the closet they locked him in there, and yelled for the rest of the family. But he broke away from them, and went, down-stairs and climbed down into the dungeon to get the money. Then Prudence, she ran down-stairs alone in the dark, and locked him in the dungeon,--pushed him down-stairs or something like that, I believe,--and then telephoned for the police. And she stayed on guard outside the dungeon until the police got there, so he couldn't get away. And the police got him, and found it was Limber-Limb Grant, a famous gentleman thief, and your girls are going to get five hundred dollars reward for catching him." Five minutes later, Mr. Starr and his suit-case were in a taxicab speeding toward Union Station, and within eight minutes he was en route for Mount Mark,--white in the face, shaky in the knees, but tremendously proud in spirit. Arriving at Mount Mark, he was instantly surrounded by an exclamatory crowd of station loungers. "Ride, sir? Glad to take you home for nothing," urged Harvey Reel. Mount Mark was enjoying more notoriety than ever before in the two hundred years of its existence. The name of Prudence was upon every tongue, and her father heard it with satisfaction. In the parsonage he found at least two-thirds of the Ladies' Aid Society, the trustees and the Sunday-school superintendent, along with a miscellaneous assortment of ordinary members, mixed up with Presbyterians, Baptists and a few unclassified outsiders. And Prudence was the center of attraction. She was telling the "whole story," for perhaps the fifteenth time that morning, but she broke off when her father hurried in and flung her arms about him. "Oh, papa," she cried, "they mustn't praise me. I had no idea there was a burglar in the house when I ran down the stairs, and if I hadn't been careless and left the dungeon unlocked the money would have been in no danger, and if the twins hadn't wakened me I wouldn't have known there was a burglar about the place, and if Fairy hadn't kept me from rushing out to the dungeon to see if the money was safe, he would have got away, and--it took the policemen to get him out. Oh, I know that is not very grammatical, father, but it's just as true as if it were! And I honestly can't see that much credit is due me." But Mount Mark did not take it so calmly. And as for the Methodist church,--well, the Presbyterian people used to say there was "no living with those Methodists, since the girls caught a burglar in the parsonage." Of course, it was important, from the Methodist point of view. Pictures of the parsonage and the church were in all the papers for miles around, and at their very next meeting the trustees decided to get the piano the Sunday-school had been needing for the last hundred years! When the five hundred dollars arrived from Chicago, Prudence felt that personally she had no real right to the money. "We must divide it," she insisted, "for I didn't earn it a bit more than any of the others. But it is perfectly glorious to have five hundred dollars, isn't it? Did you ever have five hundred dollars before? Just take it, father, and use it for whatever we need. It's family money." But he would not hear of this. "No," he said, "put it in the bank, Prudence, for there will come a time when you will want money very badly. Then you will have it." "Let's divide it then,--a hundred for each of us," she urged. Neither the younger girls nor their father would consent to this. But when Prudence stood very firm, and pleaded with them earnestly, they decided to divide it. "I will deposit two hundred and fifty dollars for the four younger ones," he said, "and that will leave you as much." So it was settled, and Prudence was a happy girl when she saw it safely put away in the bank. "We can get it whenever we really need it, you know," she told her father joyfully. "It's such a comfort to know it's there! I feel just like a millionaire, I am sure. Do you think it would be all right to send Limber-Limb Grant a letter of thanks for it? We were horribly scared, but--well, I for one am willing to be horribly scared for such a lot of money as that!" CHAPTER XI ROMANCE COMES Sometimes, Methodists, or Presbyterians or heretics, whatever we may be, we are irresistibly impelled to the conclusion that things were simply bound to happen! However slight the cause,--still that cause was predestined from the beginning of time. A girl may by the sheerest accident, step from the street-car a block ahead of her destination,--an irritating incident. But as she walks that block she may meet an old-time friend, and a stranger. And that stranger,--ah, you can never convince the girl that her stepping from the car too soon was not ordered when the foundations of the world were laid. Even so with Prudence, good Methodist daughter that she was. We ask her, "What if you had not gone out for a ride that morning?" And Prudence, laughing, answers, "Oh, but I had to go, you see." "Well," we continue, "if you had not met him that way, you could have met him some other way, I suppose." "Oh, no," declares Prudence decidedly, "it had to happen just that way." After all, down in plain ink on plain paper, it was very simple. Across the street from the parsonage was a little white cottage set back among tall cedars. In this cottage lived a girl named Mattie Moore,--a common, unlovely, unexciting girl, with whom Romance could not apparently be intimately concerned. Mattie Moore taught a country school five miles out from town, and she rode to and from her school, morning and evening, on a bicycle. Years before, when Prudence was young and bicycles were fashionable, she had been intensely fond of riding. But as she gained in age, and bicycles lost in popularity, she discarded the amusement as unworthy a parsonage damsel. One evening, early in June, when the world was fair to look upon, it was foreordained that Prudence should be turning in at the parsonage gate just as Mattie Moore whirled up, opposite, on her dusty wheel. Prudence stopped to interchange polite inanities with her neighbor, and Mattie, wheeling the bicycle lightly beside her, came across the street and stood beneath the parsonage maples with Prudence. They talked of the weather, of the coming summer, of Mattie's school, rejoicing that one more week would bring freedom from books for Mattie and the younger parsonage girls. Then said Prudence, seemingly of her own free will, but really directed by an all-controlling Providence, "Isn't it great fun to ride a bicycle? I love it. Sometime will you let me ride your wheel?" "Why, certainly. You may ride now if you like." "No," said Prudence slowly, "I am afraid it would not do for me to ride now. Some of the members might see me, and--well, I am very grown up, you know.--Of course," she added hastily, "it is different with you. You ride for business, but it would be nothing but a frolic with me. I want to get up at six o'clock and go early in the morning when the world is fast asleep. Let me take it to-morrow morning, will you? It is Saturday, and you won't be going to school." "Yes, of course you may," was the hearty answer. "You may stay out as long as you like. I'm going to sew to-morrow. You make take it in the parsonage now and keep it until morning. I always sleep late on Saturdays." So Prudence delightedly tripped up the parsonage board walk, wheeling the bicycle by her side. She hid it carefully in the woodshed, for the twins were rash and venturesome. But after she had gone to bed, she confided her plan to Fairy. "I'm going at six o'clock, and I'll be back in time to get breakfast. But as you know, Fairy, my plans do not always work out as I intend, so if I am a little late, you'll get breakfast for papa and the girls, like a dear, won't you?" Fairy promised. And early the next morning, Prudence, in a plain gingham house dress, with the addition of a red sweater jacket and cap for warmth, set out upon her secret ride. It was a magnificent morning, and Prudence sang for pure delight as she rode swiftly along the country roads. The country was simply irresistible. It was almost intoxicating. And Prudence rode farther than she had intended. East and west, north and south, she went, apparently guided only by her own caprice. She knew it was growing late, "but Fairy'll get breakfast," she thought comfortably. Finally she turned in a by-road, leading between two rich hickory groves. Dismounting at the top of a long hill, she gazed anxiously around her. No one was in sight. The nearest house was two miles behind, and the road was long, and smooth, and inviting, and the hill was steep. Prudence yearned for a good, soul-stirring coast, with her feet high up on the framework of the wheel, and the pedals flying around beneath her skirts. This was not the new and modern model of bicycle. The pedals on Mattie Moore's wheel revolved, whether one worked them or not. It seemed safe. The road sloped down gradually at the bottom, with an incline on the other side. What more could one desire. The only living thing in sight besides birds gossiping in the leafy branches and the squirrel scolding to himself, was a sober-eyed serious mule peacefully grazing near the bottom of the hill. Prudence laughed gleefully, like a child. She never laughed again in exactly that way. This was the last appearance of the old irresponsible Prudence. The curtain was just ready to drop. "Here goes!" she cried, and leaping nimbly into the saddle, she pedaled swiftly a few times, and then lifted her feet to the coveted position. The pedals flew around beneath her, just as she had anticipated, and the wind whistled about her in a most exhilarating way. But as she neared the bottom, a disastrous and totally unexpected thing happened. The placid mule, which had been righteously grazing beside the fence, suddenly stalked into the middle of the road. Prudence screamed, jerked the handle-bar to the right, then to the left, and then, with a sickening thud, she landed head first upon some part of the mule's anatomy. She did not linger there, however. She bounced on down to the ground, with a little cry of pain. The bicycle crashed beside her, and the mule, slightly startled, looked around at her with ears raised in silent questioning. Then he ambled slowly across the road, and deliberately continued his grazing. Prudence tried to raise herself, but she felt sharp pain. She heard some one leaping over the fence near her, and wondered, without moving her head, if it could be a tramp bent on highway robbery. The next instant, a man was leaning over her. "It's not a tramp," she thought, before he had time to speak. "Are you hurt?" he cried. "You poor child!" Prudence smiled pluckily. "My ankle is hurt a little, but I am not a child." The young man, in great relief, laughed aloud, and Prudence joined him rather faintly. "I'm afraid I can not walk," she said. "I believe I've broken my ankle, maybe my whole leg, for all I know. It--hurts--pretty badly!" "Lie down like this," he said, helping her to a more comfortable position, "do not move. May I examine your foot?" She shook her head, but he removed the shoe regardless of her head-shake. "I believe it is sprained. I am sure the bone is not broken. But how in the world will you get home? How far is it to Mount Mark? Is that where you live?" "Yes," considering, "yes, I live there, and it must be four miles, anyhow. What shall I do?" In answer, he pulled off his coat, and arranged it carefully by the side of the road on the grass. Then jerking open the bag he had carried, he took out a few towels, and three soft shirts. Hastily rolling them together for a pillow, he added it to the bed pro tem. Then he turned again to Prudence. "I'll carry you over here, and fix you as comfortably as I can. Then I'll go to the nearest house and get a wagon to take you home." Prudence was not shy, and realizing that his plan was the wise one, she made no objections when he came to help her across the road. "I think I can walk if you lift me up." But the first movement sent such a twinge of pain through the wounded ankle that she clutched him frantically, and burst into tears. "It hurts," she cried, "don't touch me." Without speaking, he lifted her as gently as he could and carried her to the place he had prepared for her. "Will you be warm enough?" he asked, after he had stood looking awkwardly down upon the sobbing girl as long as he could endure it. "Yes," nodded Prudence, gulping down the big soft rising in her throat. "I'll run. Do you know which way is nearest to a house? It's been a long time since I passed one coming this way." "The way I came is the nearest, but it's two miles, I think." "I'll go as fast as I can, and you will be all right This confounded cross-cut is so out of the way that no one will pass here for hours, I suppose. Now lie as comfortably as you can, and do not worry. I'm going to run." Off he started, but Prudence, left alone, was suddenly frightened. "Please, oh, please," she called after him, and when he came back she buried her face in shame, deep in the linen towel. "I'm afraid," she whispered, crying again. "I do not wish to be left alone here. A snake might come, or a tramp." He sat down beside her. "You're nervous. I'll stay with you until you feel better. Some one may come this way, but it isn't likely. A man I passed on the road a ways back told me to cut through the hickory grove and I would save a mile of travel. That's how I happened to come through the woods, and find you." He smiled a little, and Prudence, remembering the nature of her accident, flushed. Then, being Prudence, she laughed. "It was my own fault. I had no business to go coasting down like that. But the mule was so stationary. It never occurred to me that he contemplated moving for the next century at least. He was a bitter disappointment." She looked down the roadside where the mule was contentedly grazing, with never so much as a sympathetic glance toward his victim. "I'm afraid your bicycle is rather badly done up." "Oh,--whatever will Mattie Moore say to me? It's borrowed. Oh, I see now, that it was just foolish pride that made me unwilling to ride during decent hours. What a dunce I was,--as usual." He looked at her curiously. This was beyond his comprehension. "The bicycle belongs to Mattie Moore. She lives across the street from the parsonage, and I wanted to ride. She said I could. But I was ashamed to ride in the daytime, for fear some of the members would think it improper for a girl of the parsonage, and so I got up at six o'clock this morning to do it on the sly. Somehow I never can remember that it is just as bad to do things when you aren't seen as when you are. It doesn't seem so bad, does it? But of course it is. But I never think of that when I need to be thinking of it. Maybe I'll remember after this." She was silent a while. "Fairy'll have to get breakfast, and she always gets father's eggs too hard." Silence again. "Maybe papa'll worry. But then, they know by this time that something always does happen to me, so they'll be prepared." She turned gravely to the young man beside her. He was looking down at her, too. And as their eyes met, and clung for an instant, a slow dark color rose in his face. Prudence felt a curious breathlessness,--caused by her hurting ankle, undoubtedly. "My name is Prudence Starr,--I am the Methodist minister's oldest daughter." "And my name is Jerrold Harmer." He was looking away into the hickory grove now. "My home is in Des Moines." "Oh, Des Moines is quite a city, isn't it? I've heard quite a lot about it. It isn't so large as Chicago, though, of course. I know a man who lives in Chicago. We used to be great chums, and he told me all about the city. Some day I must really go there,--when the Methodists get rich enough to pay their ministers just a little more salary." Then she added thoughtfully, "Still, I couldn't go even if I had the money, because I couldn't leave the parsonage. So it's just as well about the money, after all. But Chicago must be very nice. He told me about the White City, and the big parks, and the elevated railways, and all the pretty restaurants and hotels. I love pretty places to eat. You might tell me about Des Moines. Is it very nice? Are there lots of rich people there?--Of course, I do not really care any more about the rich people than the others, but it always makes a city seem grand to have a lot of rich citizens, I think. Don't you?" So he told her about Des Moines, and Prudence lay with her eyes half-closed, listening, and wondering why there was more music in his voice than in most voices. Her ankle did not hurt very badly. She did not mind it at all. In fact, she never gave it a thought. From beneath her lids, she kept her eyes fastened on Jerrold Harmer's long brown hands, clasped loosely about his knees. And whenever she could, she looked up into his face. And always there was that curious catching in her breath, and she looked away again quickly, feeling that to look too long was dangerous. "I have talked my share now," he was saying, "tell me all about yourself, and the parsonage, and your family. And who is Fairy? And do you attend the college at Mount Mark? You look like a college girl." "Oh, I am not," said Prudence, reluctant to make the admission for the first time in her life. "I am too stupid to be a college girl. Our mother is not living, and I left high school five years ago and have been keeping house for my father and sisters since then. I am twenty years old. How old are you?" "I am twenty-seven," and he smiled. "Jerrold Harmer," she said slowly and very musically. "It is such a nice name. Do your friends call you Jerry?" "The boys at school called me Roldie, and sometimes Hammie. But my mother always called me Jerry. She isn't living now, either. You call me Jerry, will you?" "Yes, I will, but it won't be proper. But that never makes any difference to me,--except when it might shock the members! You want me to call you Jerry, don't you?" "Yes, I do. And when we are better acquainted, will you let me call you Prudence?" "Call me that now.--I can't be too particular, you see, when I am lying on your coat and pillowed with your belongings. You might get cross, and take them away from me.--Did you go to college?" "Yes, to Harvard, but I was not much of a student. Then I knocked around a while, looking at the world, and two years ago I went home to Des Moines. I have been there ever since except for little runs once in a while." Prudence sighed. "To Harvard!--I am sorry now that I did not go to college myself." "Why? There doesn't seem to be anything lacking about you. What do you care about college?" "Well, you went to college," she answered argumentatively. "My sister Fairy is going now. She's very clever,--oh, very. You'll like her, I am sure,--much better than you do me, of course." Prudence was strangely downcast. "I am sure I won't," said Jerrold Harmer, with unnecessary vehemence. "I don't care a thing for college girls. I know a lot of them, and--aw, they make a fellow tired. I like home girls,--the kind that stay at home, and keep house, and are sweet, and comfortable, and all that." Jerrold flipped over abruptly, and lay on the grass, his face on his arms turned toward her face. They were quiet for a while, but their glances were clinging. "Your eyes are brown, aren't they?" Prudence smiled, as though she had made a pleasant discovery. "Yes. Yours are blue. I noticed that, first thing." "Did you? Do you like blue eyes? They aren't as--well, as strong and expressive as brown eyes. Fairy's are brown." "I like blue eyes best. They are so much brighter and deeper. You can't see clear to the bottom of blue eyes,--you have to keep looking." And he did keep looking. "Did you play football at college? You are so tall. Fairy's tall, too. Fairy's very grand-looking. I've tried my best to eat lots, and exercise, and make myself bigger, but--I am a fizzle." "Yes, I played football.--But girls do not need to be so tall as men. Don't you remember what Orlando said about Rosalind,--'just as tall as my heart'? I imagine you come about to my shoulder. We'll measure as soon as you are on your feet again." "Are you going to live in Mount Mark now? Are you coming to stay?" Prudence was almost quivering as she asked this. It was of vital importance. "No, I will only be there a few days, but I shall probably be back every week or so. Is your father very strict? Maybe he would object to your writing to me." "Oh, he isn't strict at all. And he will be glad for me to write to you, I know. I write to two or three men when they are away. But they are--oh, I do not know exactly what it is, but I do not really like to write to them. I believe I'll quit. It's such a bother." "Yes, it is, that's so. I think I would quit, if I were you. I was just thinking how silly it is for me to keep on writing to some girls I used to know. Don't care two cents about 'em. I'm going to cut it out as soon as I get home. But you will write to me, won't you?" "Yes, of course." Prudence laughed shyly. "It seems so--well, nice,--to think of getting letters from you." "I'll bet there are a lot of nice fellows in Mount Mark, aren't there?" "Why, no. I can't think of any real nice ones! Oh, they are all right. I have lots of friends here, but they are--I do not know what! They do not seem very nice. I wouldn't care if I never saw them again. But they are good to me." "Yes, I can grasp that," he said with feeling. "Is Des Moines just full of beautiful girls?" "I should say not. I never saw a real beautiful girl in Des Moines in my life. Or any place else, for that matter,--until I came--You know when you come right down to it, there are mighty few girls that look--just the way you want them to look." Prudence nodded. "That's the way with men, too. Of all the men I have seen in my life, I never saw one before that looked just the way I wanted him to." "Before?" he questioned eagerly. "Yes," said Prudence frankly. "You look just as I wish you to." And in the meanwhile, at the parsonage, Fairy was patiently getting breakfast. "Prudence went out for an early bicycle ride,--so the members wouldn't catch her," she explained to the family. "And she isn't back yet. She'll probably stay out until afternoon, and then ride right by the grocery store where the Ladies have their Saturday sale. That's Prudence, all over. Oh, father, I did forget your eggs again, I am afraid they are too hard. Here, twins, you carry in the oatmeal, and we will eat. No use to wait for Prudence,--it would be like waiting for the next comet." Indeed, it was nearly noon when a small, one-horse spring wagon drove into the parsonage yard. Mr. Starr was in his study with a book, but he heard a piercing shriek from Connie, and a shrill "Prudence!" from one of the twins. He was downstairs in three leaps, and rushing wildly out to the little rickety wagon. And there was Prudence! "Don't be frightened, father. I've just sprained my ankle, and it doesn't hurt hardly any. But the bicycle is broken,--we'll have to pay for it. You can use my own money in the bank. Poor Mr. Davis had to walk all the way to town, because there wasn't any room for him in the wagon with me lying down like this. Will you carry me in?" Connie's single bed was hastily brought downstairs, and Prudence deposited upon it. "There's no use to put me up-stairs," she assured them. "I won't stay there. I want to be down here where I can boss the girls." The doctor came in, and bandaged the swollen purple ankle. Then they had dinner,--they tried to remember to call it luncheon, but never succeeded! After that, the whole parsonage family grouped about the little single bed in the cheery sitting-room. "Whose coat is this, Prudence?" asked Connie. "And where in the world did you get these towels and silk shirts?" added Fairy. Prudence blushed most exquisitely. "They are Mr. Harmer's," she said, and glanced nervously at her father. "Whose?" chorused the family. And it was plain to be seen that Lark was ready to take mental notes with an eye to future stories. "If you will sit down and keep still, I will tell you all about it. But you must not interrupt me. What time is it, Fairy?" "Two o'clock." "Oh, two. Then I have plenty of time. Well, when I got to that little cross-cut through the hickory grove, about four miles out from town, I thought I would coast down the long hill. Do you remember that hill, father? There was no one in sight, and no animals, except one hoary old mule, grazing at the bottom. It was irresistible, absolutely irresistible. So I coasted. But you know yourself, father, there is no trusting a mule. They are the most undependable animals." Prudence looked thoughtfully down at the bed for a moment, and added slowly, "Still, I have no hard feelings against the mule. In fact, I kind of like him.--Well, anyway, just as I got to the critical place in the hill, that mule skipped right out in front of me. It looked as though he did it on purpose. I did not have time to get out of his way, and it never occurred to him to get out of mine, and so I went Bang! right into him. And it broke Mattie Moore's wheel, and upset me quite a little. But that mule never budged! Jerry--er Harmer,--Mr. Harmer, you know,--said he believed an earthquake could coast downhill on to that mule without seriously inconveniencing him. I was hurt a little, and couldn't get up. And so he jumped over the fence,--No, Connie, not the mule, of course! Mr. Harmer! He jumped over the fence, and put his coat on the ground, and made a pillow for me with the shirts and towels in his bag, and carried me over. Then he wanted to go for a wagon to bring me home, but I was too nervous and scared, so he stayed with me. Then Mr. Davis came along with his cart, and Jerry--er--Harmer, you know, helped put me in, and the cart was so small they both had to walk." "Where is he now?" "Is he young?" "Is he handsome?" "Did he look rich?" "Don't be silly, girls. He went to the hotel, I suppose. Anyhow, he left us as soon as we reached town. He said he was in a hurry, and had something to look after. His coat was underneath me in the wagon, and he wouldn't take it out for fear of hurting my ankle, so the poor soul is probably wandering around this town in his shirt-sleeves." Already, in the eyes of the girls, this Jerry--er--Harmer, had taken unto himself all the interest of the affair. "He'll have to come for his coat," said Lark. "We're bound to see him." "Where does he live? What was he doing in the hickory grove?" inquired Mr. Starr with a strangely sinking heart, for her eyes were alight with new and wonderful radiance. "He lives in Des Moines. He was just walking into town, and took a short cut through the grove." "Walking! From Des Moines?" Prudence flushed uncomfortably. "I didn't think of that," she said. "But I do not see why he should not walk if he likes. He's strong and athletic, and fond of exercise. I guess he's plenty able to walk if he wants to. I'm sure he's no tramp, father, if that is what you are thinking." "I am not thinking anything of the kind, Prudence," he said with dignity. "But I do think it rather strange that a young man should set out to walk from Des Moines to Mount Mark. And why should he be at it so early in the morning? Doesn't he require sleep, as the rest of us do?" "How should I know? I guess if he likes to be but in the morning when it is fresh and sweet, it is all right. I like the morning myself. He had as much right out early as I had. His clothes were nice, and he is a Harvard graduate, and his shoes were dusty, but not soiled or worn. Anyhow, he is coming at four o'clock. If you want to ask if he is a tramp, you can do it." And Prudence burst into tears. Dramatic silence in the cheerful sitting-room! Then Fairy began bustling about to bathe the face and throat of "poor little Prudence," and her father said sympathetically: "You're all nervous and wrought up, with the pain and excitement, Prudence. I'm glad he is coming so we can thank him for his kindness. It was mighty lucky he happened along, wasn't it? A Harvard graduate! Yes, they are pretty strong on athletics at Harvard. You'd better straighten this room a little and have things looking nice when he gets here," said Father Starr, with great diplomacy. And he was rewarded, and startled, by observing that Prudence brightened wonderfully at his words. "Yes, do," she urged eagerly. "Get some of the roses from the corner bush, and put them on the table there. And when you go up-stairs, Fairy, you'd better bring down that little lace spread in the bottom drawer of our dresser. It'll look very nice on this bed.--Work hard, girls, and get everything looking fine. He'll be here at four, he said. You twins may wear your white dresses, and Connie must put on her blue and wear her blue bows.--Fairy, do you think it would be all right for you to wear your silk dress? Of course, the silk is rather grand for home, but you do look so beautiful in it. Father, will you put on your black suit, or are you too busy? And don't forget to wear the pearl cuff buttons Aunt Grace sent you." He went up-stairs to obey, with despair in his heart. But to the girls, there was nothing strange in this exactness on the part of Prudence. Jerrold Harmer was the hero of the romance, and they must unite to do him honor. He was probably a prince in disguise. Jerrold Harmer was a perfectly thrilling name. It was really a shame that America allows no titles,--Lord Jerrold did sound so noble, and Lady Prudence was very effective, too. He and Prudence were married, and had a family of four children, named for the various Starrs, before one hour had passed. "I'll begin my book right away," Lark was saying. She and Carol were in the dining-room madly polishing their Sunday shoes,--what time they were not performing the marriage ceremony of their sister and The Hero. "Yes, do! But for goodness' sake, don't run her into a mule! Seems to me even Prudence could have done better than that." "I'll have his automobile break down in the middle of the road, and Prudence can run into it. The carbureter came off, and of course the car wouldn't run an inch without it." "Yes, that's good," said Carol approvingly. "It must be a sixty cylinder, eight horsepower--er--Ford, or something real big and costly." "Twins! You won't be ready," warned Prudence, and this dire possibility sent them flying upstairs in a panic. While the girls, bubbling over with excitement, were dressing for the great event, Mr. Starr went down-stairs to sit with Prudence. Carol called to him on his way down, and he paused on the staircase, looking up at her. "Lark and I are going to use some of Fairy's powder, father," she said. "We feel that we simply must on an occasion like this. And for goodness' sake, don't mention it before Him! It doesn't happen very often, you know, but to-day we simply must. Now, don't you say anything about falling in the flour barrel, or turning pale all of a sudden, whatever else you do. We'd be so mortified, father." Mr. Starr was concerned with weightier matters, and went on down to Prudence with never so much as a reproving shake of the head for the worldly-minded young twins. "Father," began Prudence, her eyes on the lace coverlet, "do you think it would be all right for me to wear that silk dressing-gown of mother's? I need something over my nightgown, and my old flannel kimono is so ugly. You know, mother said I was to have it, and--I'm twenty now. Do you think it would be all right? But if you do not want me to wear it----" "I do want you to," was the prompt reply. "Yes, it is quite time you were wearing it. I'll get it out of the trunk myself, and send Fairy down to help you." Then as he turned toward the door, he asked carelessly, "Is he very good-looking, Prudence?" And Prudence, with a crimson face, answered quickly, "Oh, I really didn't notice, father." He went on up-stairs then, and presently Fairy came down with the dainty silk gown trimmed with fine soft lace. "I brought my lavender ribbon for your hair, Prudence. It will match the gown so nicely. Oh, you do look sweet, dearest. I pity Jerrold Harmer, I can tell you that. Now I must hurry and finish my own dressing." But with her foot on the bottom stair, she paused. Her sister was calling after her. "Send father down here, quick, Fairy." Father ran down quickly, and Prudence, catching hold of his hands, whispered wretchedly, "Oh, father, he--he is good-looking. I--I did notice it. I didn't really mean to lie to you." "There, now, Prudence," he said, kissing her tenderly, "you mustn't get excited again. I'm afraid you are too nervous to have callers. You must lie very quietly until he comes. That was no lie, child. You are so upset you do not know what you are saying to-day. Be quiet now, Prudence,--it's nearly time for him to come." "You are a dear good father," she cried, kissing his hands passionately, "but it was a lie. I did know what I was saying. I did it on purpose." And Mr. Starr's heart was heavy, for he knew that his fears were realized. CHAPTER XII ROUSED FROM HER SLUMBER At twenty minutes to four, the parsonage family clustered excitedly in the sitting-room, which the sunshine flooded cheerily. They were waiting for the hero of Prudence's romance. "Oh, Larkie, will you run up-stairs and bring my lace handkerchief? It's on our dresser, in the burnt-wood box." And after Lark had departed, she went on, "The flowers are not quite in the center of the table, Fairy,--a little to the right.--If you would move the curtains the least little bit, those torn places would not show." Then she sighed. "How nice you all look. Oh, Connie, won't you turn the clock a little this way, so I can see it? That's better, thank you, precious. Thank you, Lark,--isn't it a pretty handkerchief? I've only carried it three times, and I have never really used it. Would you keep these pearls on, Fairy, or would you take them off?" "I would keep them on, Prue,--they catch the color of the gown a little, and are just beautiful. You do look so sweet, but your face is very flushed. I am afraid you are feverish. Maybe we had better not let him see Prue to-day, father. Perhaps he can come back to-morrow." "Fairy!" exclaimed Prudence. "Besides, he must come in to get his coat. We can't expect him to go coatless over Sunday. Listen,--listen, girls! Look, Fairy, and see if that is he! Yes, it is, I know,--I can tell by his walk." Warm rich color dyed her face and throat, and she clasped her hands over her heart, wondering if Connie beside her could hear its tumult. "I'll go to the door," said Father Starr, and Prudence looked at him beseechingly. "I--I am sure he is all right, father. I--you will be nice to him, won't you?" Without answering, Mr. Starr left the room. He could not trust his voice. "Listen, girls, I want to hear," whispered Prudence. And she smiled as she heard her father's cordial voice. "You are Mr. Harmer, aren't you? I am Prudence's father. Come right in. The whole family is assembled to do you honor. The girls have already made you a prince in disguise. Come back this way. Prudence is resting very nicely." When the two men stepped into the sitting-room, Prudence, for once, quite overlooked her father. She lifted her eyes to Jerrold Harmer's face, and waited, breathless. Nor was he long in finding her among the bevy of girls. He walked at once to the bed, and took her hand. "My little comrade of the road," he said gaily, but with tenderness, "I am afraid you are not feeling well enough for callers to-day." "Oh, yes, I am," protested Prudence with strange shyness. He turned to the other girls, and greeted them easily. He was entirely self-possessed. "Miss Starr told me so much about you that I know you all to begin with." He smiled at Fairy as he added, "In fact, she predicted that I am to fall in love with you. And so, very likely, I should,--if I hadn't met your sister first." They all laughed at that, and then he walked back and stood by Prudence once more. "Was it a bad sprain? Does it pain you very badly? You look tired. I am afraid it was an imposition for me to come this afternoon." [Illustration: "She predicted I'm to fall in love with you."] "Oh, don't worry about that," put in Connie anxiously. "She wanted you to come. She's been getting us ready for you ever since the doctor left. I think it was kind of silly for me to wear my blue just for one caller." The twins glared at her, realizing that she was discrediting the parsonage, but Jerrold Harmer laughed, and Prudence joined him. "It is quite true," she admitted frankly. "The mule and I disgraced the parsonage this morning, and I wanted the rest of you to redeem it this afternoon." She looked at him inquiringly. "Then you had another coat?" "No, I didn't. I saw this one in a window this morning, and couldn't resist it. Was the ride very hard on your ankle?" Mr. Starr was puzzled. Evidently it was not lack of funds which brought this man on foot from Des Moines to Mount Mark,--half-way across the state! He did not look like a man fleeing from justice. What, then, was the explanation? "You must have found it rather a long walk," he began tentatively, his eyes on the young man's face. "Yes, I think my feet are a little blistered. I have walked farther than that many times, but I am out of practise now. Sometimes, however, walking is a painful necessity." "How long did it take you coming from Des Moines to Mount Mark?" inquired Carol in a subdued and respectful voice,--and curious, withal. "I did not come directly to Mount Mark. I stopped several places on business. I hardly know how long it would take coming straight, through. It would depend on one's luck, I suppose." "Well," said Lark, "taking it a little at a time it might be done, but for myself, I should never dream of undertaking so much exercise." "Could you walk from here to Burlington at one stretch?" asked Connie. He looked rather surprised. "Why, perhaps I could if I was in shape, but--seven miles was all I cared about this morning." "Well, I think it was mighty brave of you to walk that far,--I don't care why you did it," announced Connie with emphasis. "Brave!" he repeated. "I have walked three times seven miles, often, when I was in school." "Oh, I mean the whole thing--clear from Des Moines," explained Connie. "From Des Moines," he gasped. "Good heavens! I did not walk from Des Moines! Did you--" He turned to Prudence questioningly. "Did you think I walked clear from Des Moines?" "Yes." And added hastily, "But I did not care if you did. It did not make any difference how you came." For a moment he was puzzled. Then he burst out laughing. "I am afraid we had too much to talk about this morning. I thought I had explained my situation, but evidently I did not. I drove from Des Moines in the car, and----" "The automobile!" gasped Carol, with a triumphant look at Lark. "Yes, just so. I stopped several places on business as I came through. I drove from Burlington this morning, but I got off the road. The car broke down on me, and I couldn't fix it,--broke an axle. So I had to walk in. That is what I was seeing about to-day,--sending a man out for the car and arranging about the repairs." He smiled again. "What in the world did you think I would walk from Des Moines for?" he asked Prudence, more inquisitive than grammatical. "I did not think anything about it until they asked, and--I did not know about the car. You did not mention it." "No. I remember now. We were talking of other things all the time." He turned frankly to Mr. Starr. "Perhaps you have heard of the Harmer Automobile Company, of Des Moines. My father was Harvey Harmer. Two years ago, when I was running around in Europe, he died. It was his desire that I should personally take charge of the business. So I hurried home, and have had charge of the company since then. We are establishing sales agencies here, and in Burlington, and several other towns. I came out for a little trip, and took advantage of the opportunity to discuss the business with our new men. That's what brought me to Mount Mark." To Connie he added laughingly, "So I must sacrifice myself, and do without your praise. I did not walk until the car broke down and compelled me to do so." For the first time in her life, Prudence distinctly triumphed over her father. She flashed him the glance of a conqueror, and he nodded, understandingly. He liked Jerrold Harmer,--as much as he could like any man who stepped seriously into the life of Prudence. He was glad that things were well. But--they would excuse him, he must look after his Sunday's sermons. A little later the twins and Connie grew restless, and finally Connie blurted out, "Say, Prue, don't you think we've upheld the parsonage long enough? I want to get some fresh air." The twins would never have been guilty of such social indiscretion as this, but they gladly availed themselves of Connie's "break," and followed her out-of-doors. Then Fairy got up, laughing. "I have done my share, too. I think we'll leave the parsonage in your hands now, Prue. I want to write to Aunt Grace. I'll be just at the head of the stairs, and if Prudence wants me, you will call, won't you, Mr. Harmer? And won't you stay for dinner with us? I'm sure to disgrace the parsonage again, for I am no cook, but you can get along for once, surely. We spend more time laughing when the food is bad, and laughter is very healthful. You will stay, won't you?" Jerrold Harmer looked very eager, and yet he looked somewhat doubtfully at Prudence. Her eyes were eloquent with entreaties. Finally he laughed, and said, "I should certainly like to stay, but you see I want to come back to-morrow. Now, will I dare to come back to-morrow if I stay for dinner to-night? Wouldn't Connie say that was disgracing the parsonage?" Fairy laughed delightedly. "That is very good," she said. "Then you will stay. I'll try to fix it up with Connie to save the reputation of the house. Now, do not talk too much, Prue, and--what shall we have for dinner? We only say dinner when we have company, Mr. Harmer. What we have is supper." Prudence contracted her brows in the earnest endeavor to compose a menu suitable for this occasion. "Mashed potatoes, and--use cream, Fairy. You'd better let Lark do the mashing, for you always leave lumps. And breaded veal cutlet," with a significant glance, "and creamed peas, and radishes, and fruit. Will that be enough for you, Mr. Harmer?" "Oceans," he said contentedly. "Well, I'll collect the twins and Connie and we will try to think up a few additions. Where's the money?" "In the dungeon, and the key is on the nail above the door. And the silverware is there, too," with another significant glance. After that, Prudence lay back happily on the pillows and smoothed the lace on her mother's silk dressing gown. "Talk to me," she said, "tell me about where you live, and what you do,--your work, you know, and how you amuse yourself. I want you to amuse me now, Mr. Harmer." "You called me Jerry this morning." "Yes, I know. Do you want me to call you Jerry still?" "Yes, Prudence, I do. Do you mind if I move my chair a little closer?" "No, put it right here. Now, I am ready." "But there's nothing interesting about me. Let's talk of----" "It's interesting to me. Tell me about your business." "You don't care anything about business, I am sure." "I care about your business." "Do you, Prudence?--You look so sweet this afternoon. I nearly blurted it out before the whole family. Wouldn't the twins have laughed? It would have disgraced the parsonage. I think Mr. Starr is awfully lucky to have five girls, and all of them pretty. But isn't it strange that the prettiest and dearest one of them all should be the oldest daughter?" "Oh, but I'm not really--" Prudence began earnestly. Then she stopped, and added honestly, "But I am glad you think so." No, they did not quote poetry, they did not discuss the psychological intricacies of spontaneous attraction, they did not say anything deep, or wise, or learned. But they smiled at each other, with pleased investigating eyes. He put his hand on the coverlet, just near enough to touch the lace on the sleeve of her silk dressing gown. And together they found Paradise in the shabby sitting-room of the old Methodist parsonage that afternoon. "Must you prepare meat for breading half an hour before cooking, or when?" demanded Fairy, from the dining-room door. "What?--Oh!--Fifteen minutes before. Don't forget to salt and pepper the crumbs, Fairy." "Perhaps some time your father will let you and a couple of the others come to Des Moines with me in the car. You would enjoy a few days there, I know. I live with my aunt, a dear, motherly little old soul. She will adore you, Prudence, and you will like her, too. Would your father let you spend a week? We can easily drive back and forth in the car." "Maybe he will,--but who will keep the parsonage while I am away?" "Fairy, to be sure. She must be a good fairy once in a while. We can take the twins with us, Connie, too, if you like, and then Fairy will only have to mother your father. Do you like riding in a car?" "Oh, I love it. But I have not ridden very much. Willard Morley took me quite often when he was here, but he is in Chicago now." "When's he coming back?" suspiciously. "Prudence, shall we have tea or coffee?" This was Lark from the doorway. "Fairy wants to know." "What?--Oh!--Which do you want, Jerry?" "Which does your father prefer?" "He doesn't drink either except for breakfast." "I generally drink coffee, but I do not care much for it, so do not bother----" "Coffee, Lark." "When's that Morley chap coming back?" "I do not know." And then, "He is never coming back as far as I am concerned." Jerrold relented promptly. "You are why he went away, I suppose." "At any rate, he is gone." "Did you ever have a lover, Prudence? A real lover, I mean." "No, I, never did." "I'm awfully glad of that. I'll----" "Prudence, do you use half milk and half water for creamed tomato soup, or all milk?" "What?--Oh!--All milk, Connie, and tell Fairy not to salt it until it is entirely done, or it may curdle." "What in the world would they ever do without you, Prudence? You are the soul of the parsonage, aren't you?" "No, I am just the cook and the chambermaid," she answered, laughing. "But don't you see how hard it will be for me to go away?" "But it isn't fair! Vacation is coming now, and Fairy ought to take a turn. What will they do when you get married?" "I have always said I would not get married." "But don't you want to get married,--some time?" "Oh, that isn't it. I just can't because I must take care of the parsonage, and raise the girls. I can't." "But you will," he whispered, and his hand touched hers for just a second. Prudence did not answer. She lifted her eyes to his face, and caught in her breath once more. A little later he said, "Do you mind if I go upstairs and talk to your father a few minutes? Maybe I'd better." "But do not stay very long," she urged, and she wondered why the brightness and sunshine vanished from the room when he went out. "First door to the right," she called after him. Mr. Starr arose to greet him, and welcomed him to his combination study and bedroom with great friendliness. But Jerrold went straight to the point. "Mr. Starr, it's very kind of you to receive a perfect stranger as you have me. But I understand that with a girl like Prudence, you will want to be careful. I can give you the names of several prominent men in Des Moines, Christians, who know me well, and can tell you all about me." "It isn't necessary. We are parsonage people, and we are accustomed to receiving men and women as worthy of our trust, until we find them different. We are glad to count you among our friends." "Thank you, but--you see, Mr. Starr, this is a little different. Some day, Prudence and I will want to be married, and you will wish to be sure about me." "Does Prudence know about that?" "No," with a smile, "we haven't got that far yet. But I am sure she feels it. She hasn't--well, you know what I mean. She has been asleep, but I believe she is waking up now." "Yes, I think so. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" "No, indeed. Anything you like." "Well, first, are you a Christian?" "Not the kind you are, Mr. Starr. My parents were Christians, but I've never thought much about it myself because I was young and full of fun. I have never been especially directed to religion. I go to church, and I believe the Bible,--though I don't know much about it. I seldom read it. But I'll get busy now, if you like, and really study it and--try to come around your way. I know Prudence would make me do that." And he smiled again. "Do you drink?" "I did a little, but I promised Prudence this morning I would quit it. I never got--drunk, and I have not formed the habit. But sometimes with the boys, I drink a little. But I do not care for it, and I swore off this morning.--I smoke, too,--not cigarettes, of course. Prudence knows it, but she did not make me promise to quit that?" His voice was raised, inquiringly. "Would you have promised, if she had asked it?" This was sheer curiosity. "I suppose I would." He flushed a little. "I know I was pretty hard hit, and it was such a new experience that I would have promised anything she asked. But I like smoking, and--I don't think it is wicked." "Never mind the smoking. I only asked that question out of curiosity. We're not as strait-laced as we might be perhaps. The only things I would really object to, are those things that might seriously menace your happiness, yours and hers, if the time does come. But the next question,--can you pass a strict physical examination?" "Yes, I can. I'll go with you to your physician to-night if you like. I'm all right physically, I know." "Tell me about your relations with your mother when she was living." "She has been dead four years." Jerrold spoke with some emotion. "We were great chums, though her health was always poor. I wrote her three times a week when I was away from home, and she wrote me a note every day. When I was in school, I spent all my vacations at home to be with her. And I never went abroad until after her death because she did not like the idea of my going so far from her." "Jerrold, my boy, I do not want to seem too severe, but--tell me, has there been anything in your life, about women, that could come out and hurt Prudence later on?" Jerrold hesitated. "Mr. Starr, I have been young, and headstrong, and impulsive. I have done some things I wish now I hadn't. But I believe there is nothing that I could not explain to Prudence so she would understand. If I had thought beforehand of a girl like her, there are things I would not have done. But there is nothing, I think, that would really hurt, after I had a chance to talk it over with her." "All right. If you are the man, God bless you. I don't suppose you are worthy of Prudence, for she is a good, pure-hearted, unselfish girl,--there could be none better. But the real point is just whether you will love each other enough!--I like your coming up here like this. I think that was very decent and manly of you. And, do you mind if I just suggest that you go a little slow with Prudence? Remember that she has been sound asleep, until this morning. I do not want her awakened too rudely." "Neither do I," said Jerrold quickly. "Shall I go down now? The girls have invited me to stay for supper, and Prudence says I am to come back to-morrow, too. Is that all right? Remember, I'll be going home on Monday!" "It is all right, certainly. Spend as much time here as you like. You will either get worse, or get cured, and--whichever it is, you've got to have a chance. I like you, Jerrold. Prudence judges by instinct, but it does not often fail her." Prudence heard him running down the stairs boyishly, and when he came in, before she could speak, he whispered, "Shut your eyes tight, Prudence. And do not scold me, for I can't help it." Then he put his hands over hers, and kissed her on the lips. They were both breathless after that. Prudence lifted her lashes slowly, and gazed at him seriously. It was she who spoke first. "I was never really kissed before," she whispered, "not really." Then they sat in silence until Fairy announced that supper was ready. "But I won't promise it is eatable," she assured them, laughing. "I wish I could go to the table, too," said Prudence, looking at her father wistfully, "I could lie on the old lounge out there." "And have your supper on a tray, of course. Can you carry her, father?" "I can!" volunteered Jerrold promptly. "I have done it." "I think between us we can manage. We'll try it." And Prudence heroically endured the pain of being moved, for the sake of seeing Jerrold at the table with her parsonage family. For to her surprise, she realized that she could not bear that even a few minutes should pass, when she could not see the manly young face with the boyish mouth and the tender eyes! Prudence, at last, was aroused from her slumber. CHAPTER XIII SHE ORDERS HER LIFE "Prudence, are you going to Aunt Grace's early in the summer, or late?" demanded Fairy. "Oh, let's not talk of that now. There's plenty of time." "No, there isn't. School will be out in a week, and Babbie wants to give a house party and have our little bunch at his home for a few days this summer. He wants to set the date, and I can't tell him when because I do not know when you are going to auntie's." They sat around the breakfast table, Prudence and Fairy and their father, talking of the summer. The twins and Connie had long since excused themselves, and even now could be heard shouting gaily in the field beyond the old red barn. Prudence looked restlessly from one to the other, when her sister insisted upon an answer. "Why," she began, "I've about decided not to go to Aunt Grace's this summer." Fairy rapped on the table with the spoon she held in her hand. "Don't be silly! You have to go. You've never had a vacation in your life, and father promised Aunt Grace on his reputation as a minister, didn't you, papa?" "Yes, I promised all right." "But, papa! I do not have to go, do I? A whole month,--oh, honestly, I do not want to." "Why don't you? Last fall you were wild about it. Don't you remember dreaming----" "Oh, but that was last fall," said Prudence, smiling softly, and unconsciously she lifted one hand to where a bulky letter nestled inside her dress. "I didn't know I was going to sprain my ankle, and be so useless. It may be two weeks yet before I can walk on it." "What has that got to do with it?" "Do you really prefer to stay at home, Prudence?" queried her father. "The whole summer?" Prudence blushed most gloriously. "Oh, well," she began slowly. Then she took the plunge recklessly. "Why, you see, father, Jerry lives with his aunt in Des Moines,--he told you that, didn't he? And they have quite a big house, and--he wants to take me and the twinnies to Des Moines in the car for a week or ten days. And Fairy will take care of you and Connie. And--if I can do that--I do not want any more vacation. I couldn't bear to stay at auntie's a whole month, away from you and the parsonage." She felt very guilty, for she did not add, as she was thinking, "Besides, Jerry is coming every two weeks, and if I were away, we would miss a visit!" Fairy laughed in an irritating, suggestive way, but Mr. Starr only nodded. "I am sure you will not mind that, will you father? His aunt must be a perfectly good and nice woman, and--such a long drive in the auto, and--to see all over Des Moines." But Prudence paused guiltily, for she did not add, "With Jerry!" although the words were singing in her heart. "That will be very nice indeed, and of course I do not object. It will be a forty years' delight and wonder to the twins! Yes, I will be glad to have you go. But you can still have your month at Grace's if you wish." "But I do not wish," protested Prudence promptly. "Honestly, father, I'll write her the sweetest kind of a letter, but--oh, please do not make me go!" "Of course, we won't make you go, you goose," said Fairy, "but I think you are very foolish." "And you can go, Fairy," cried Prudence hospitably. "Aunt Grace loves you so, and you've worked so hard all year, and,--oh, yes, it will be just the thing for you." Prudence wished she might add, "And that will let me out," but she hardly dare say it. "Well, when does your Des Moines tour come off? I must know, so I can tell Babbie about the house party." "Let Babbie choose his own date. Jerry says we shall go whenever I say--I mean whenever you say, father,--and we can decide later on. Give Babbie first choice, by all means." That was the beginning of Prudence's golden summer. She was not given to self-analysis. She did what seemed good to her always,--she did not delve down below the surface for reasons why and wherefore. She hadn't the time. She took things as they came. She could not bear the thought of sharing with the parsonage family even the least ardent and most prosaic of Jerrold's letters. But she never asked herself the reason. It seemed a positive sacrilege to leave his warm, life-pulsing letters up-stairs in a bureau drawer. It was only natural and right to carry them in her dress, and to sleep with them under her pillow. But Prudence did not wonder why. The days when Jerry came were tremulously happy ones for her,--she was all aquiver when she heard him swinging briskly up the ramshackle parsonage walk, and her breath was suffocatingly hot. But she took it as a matter of course. The nights when Jerry slept in the little spare bedroom at the head of the stairs, Prudence lay awake, staring joyously into the darkness, hoping Jerry was sound asleep and comfortable. But she never asked herself why she could not sleep! She knew that Jerry's voice was the sweetest voice in the world. She knew that his eyes were the softest and brightest and the most tender. She knew that his hands had a thrilling touch quite different from the touch of ordinary, less dear hands. She knew that his smile lifted her into a delirium of delight, and that even the thought of sorrow coming to him brought stinging tears to her eyes. But why? Ah, Prudence never thought of that. She just lived in the sweet ecstatic dream of the summer, and was well and richly content. So the vacation passed, and Indian summer came. And the girls went back to their studies once more, reluctantly, yet unaccountably glad even in their reluctance. It is always that way with students,--real students. They regret the passing of vacation days, but the thought of "going back to school" has its own tingling joys of anticipation. It was Saturday evening. The early supper at the parsonage was over, the twins had washed the dishes, and still the daylight lingered. Prudence and Jerry sat side by side, and closely, on the front porch, talking in whispers. Fairy had gone for a stroll with the still faithful Babbie. Connie and the twins had evidently vanished. Ah--not quite that! Carol and Lark came swiftly around the corner of the parsonage. "Good evening," said Lark politely, and Prudence sat up abruptly. The twins never wasted politeness! They wanted something. "Do you mind if we take Jerry around by the woodshed for a few minutes, Prue?" "I'll come along," said Prudence, rising. "Oh, no," protested Lark, "we do not want you,--just Jerry, and only for a little while." Prudence sniffed suspiciously. "What are you going to do to him?" she demanded. "We won't hurt him," grinned Carol impishly. "We had intended to tie him to a stake and burn him alive. But since you have interceded on his behalf, we'll let him off with a simple scalping." "Maybe he's afraid to come," said Lark, "for there are two of us, and we are mighty men of valor." "That's all right," Prudence answered defensively. "I'd sooner face a tribe of wild Indians any day than you twins when you are mischief-bent." "Oh, we just want to use him a few minutes," said Carol impatiently. "Upon our honor, as Christian gentlemen, we promise not to hurt a hair of his head." "Oh, come along, and cut out the comedy," Jerry broke in, laughing. "I'll be back in two minutes, Prue. They probably want me to shoo a chicken out of their way. Or maybe the cat has been chasing them." Once safely around the corner, the twins changed their tactics. "We knew you weren't afraid," said Lark artistically, "we were just teasing Prudence. We know we couldn't hurt you." "Of course," emphasized Carol. "We want to ask a favor of you, that's all. It's something we can't do ourselves, but we knew you could do it, all right." Jerry perceived the drift of this argument. "I see! I'm paid in advance for my service. What's the job?" Then the twins led him to the woodshed. This woodshed stood about twenty feet from the back door of the parsonage, and was nine feet high in front, the roof sloping down at the back. Close beside the shed grew a tall and luxuriant maple. The lower limbs had been chopped off, and the trunk rose clear to a height of nearly twelve feet before the massive limbs branched out. The twins had discovered that by climbing gingerly on the rotten roof of the woodshed, followed by almost superhuman scrambling and scratching, they could get up into the leafy secrecy of the grand old maple. More than this, up high in the tree they found a delightful arrangement of branches that seemed positively made for them. These branches must be utilized, and it was in the act of utilizing them that they called upon their sister's friend for help. "Do you see this board?" began Lark, exhibiting with some pride a solid board about two feet in length. "My eyesight is quite unimpaired," answered Jerry, for he knew his twins. "Well, we found this over by the Avery barn. They have a big scrap pile out there. We couldn't find anything around here that would suit, so we looked, over there. It's just a pile of rubbish, and we knew they wouldn't mind." "Else you would not have taken it, eh? Anything like apples, for instance, is quite under the ban." "Yes, indeed," smiled Lark. "We're too old to steal apples." "Of course," added Carol. "When we need our neighbor's apples, we send Connie. And get nicely punished for it, too, I promise you." "Quite so! And this exquisite board?" "Well, we've found a perfectly gorgeous place up in the old tree where we can make a seat. It's quite a ways out from the trunk, and when the wind blows it swings splendidly. But it isn't very comfortable sitting on a thin limb, and so we want a seat. It's a fine place, I tell you. We thought you could nail this securely on to the limbs,--there are two right near each other, evidently put there on purpose for us. See what dandy big nails we have!" "From the Avery's woodshed, I suppose," he suggested, smiling again. "Oh, they are quite rusty. We found them in a sack in an old barrel. It was in the scrap heap. We're very good friends with the Averys, very good, indeed," she continued hastily. "They allow us to rummage around at will--in the barn." "And see this rope," cried Carol. "Isn't it a dandy?" "Ah! The Avery barn must be inexhaustible in its resources." "How suspicious you are, Jerry," mourned Lark. "I wish we were that way, instead of innocent and bland and trustful. Maybe we would get rich, too. This is the first time I ever really understood how you came to be a success in business." "But you are quite wrong this time," said Lark seriously. "Old Mr. Avery gave me this rope." "Yes, he did! Lark told him she was looking for a rope just exactly like this one, and then he gave it to her. He caught the idea of philanthropy right away. He's a very nice old gentleman, I tell you. He's so trusting and unsuspicious. I'm very fond of people like that." "We thought when you had the board nicely nailed on, you might rope it securely to the limbs above. They are in very good position, and that will make it absolutely safe. Do you suppose you can do that, Jerry? Do you get seasick when you climb high?" "Oh, no, high altitudes never make me seasick. I've a very good head for such purposes." "Then suppose you get busy before it grows dark. We're in a great hurry. And we do not want Connie to catch us putting it up. It'll be such fun to sit up there and swing when the wind blows, and have poor Connie down beneath wondering how we manage to stick on. She can't see the seat from the ground. Won't it be a good joke on her?" "Oh, very,---yes, indeed.--Well, let's begin.--Now, observe! I will just loop this end of the rope lightly about my--er--middle. The other end will dangle on the ground to be drawn up at will. Observe also that I bestow the good but rusty nails in this pocket, and the hammer here. Then with the admirable board beneath my arm, I mount to the heights of--Say, twins, didn't I see an old buggy seat out in the barn to-day? Seems to me----" "Oh, Jerry!" The twins fairly smothered him. "Oh, you darling. You are the nicest old thing.--Now we can understand why Prudence seems to like you. We never once thought of the old buggy seat! Oh, Jerry!" Then they hastily brought the discarded seat from the barn, and with the help of Jerry it was shoved up on the woodshed. From there, he lifted it to the lowest limb of the old maple, and a second later he was up himself. Then it was lifted again, and again he followed,--up, and up, and up,--the loose end of the donated rope trailing loose on the ground below. The twins promptly,--as promptly as possible, that is,--followed him into the tree. "Oh, yes, we'll come along. We're used to climbing and we're very agile. And you will need us to hold things steady while you hammer." And Jerry smiled as he heard the faithful twins, with much grunting and an occasional groan, following in his wake. It was a delightful location, as they had said. So heavy was the leafy screen that only by lifting a branch here or there, could they see through it. The big seat fitted nicely on the two limbs, and Jerry fastened it with the rusty nails. The twins were jubilant, and loud in their praises of his skill and courage. "Oh, Jerry," exclaimed Carol, with deep satisfaction, "it's such a blessing to discover something really nice about you after all these months!" "Now, we'll just----" "Hush!" hissed Lark. "Here comes Connie. Hold your breath, Jerry, and don't budge." "Isn't she in on this?" he whispered. He could hear Connie making weird noises as she came around the house from the front. She was learning to whistle, and the effect was ghastly in the extreme. Connie's mouth had not been designed for whistling. "Sh! She's the band of dark-browed gypsies trying to steal my lovely wife." "I'm the lovely wife," interrupted Carol complacently. "But Connie does not know about it. She is so religious she won't be any of the villain parts. When we want her to be anything real low-down, we have to do it on the sly. She would no more consent to a band of dark-browed gypsies than she would----" Connie came around the corner of the parsonage, out the back walk beneath the maple. Then she gave a gleeful scream. Right before her lay a beautiful heavy rope. Connie had been yearning for a good rope to make a swing. Here it lay, at her very feet, plainly a gift of the gods. She did not wait to see where the other end of the rope was. She just grabbed what she saw before her, and started violently back around the house with it yelling, "Prudence! Look at my rope!" Prudence rushed around the parsonage. The twins shrieked wildly, as there was a terrific tug and heave of the limb beside them, and then--a crashing of branches and leaves. Jerry was gone! It did look horrible, from above as well as below. But Jerry, when he felt the first light twinge as Connie lifted the rope, foresaw what was coming and was ready for it. As he went down, he grabbed a firm hold on the branch on which he had stood, then he dropped to the next, and held again. On the lowest limb he really clung for fifteen seconds, and took in his bearings. Connie had dropped the rope when the twins screamed, so he had nothing more to fear from her. He saw Prudence, white, with wild eyes, both arms stretched out toward him. "O. K., Prue," he called, and then he dropped. He landed on his feet, a little jolted, but none the worse for his fall. He ran at once to Prudence. "I'm all right," he cried, really alarmed by the white horror in her face. "Prudence! Prudence!" Then her arms dropped, and with a brave but feeble smile, she swayed a little. Jerry took her in his arms. "Sweetheart!" he whispered. "Little sweetheart! Do--do you love me so much, my dearest?" Prudence raised her hands to his face, and looked intensely into his eyes, all the sweet loving soul of her shining in her own. And Jerry kissed her. The twins scrambled down from the maple, speechless and cold with terror,--and saw Prudence and Jerry! Then they saw Connie, staring at them with interest and amusement. "I think we'd better go to bed, all three of us," declared Lark sturdily. And they set off heroically around the house. But at the corner Carol turned. "Take my advice and go into the woodshed," she said, "for all the Averys are looking out of their windows." Prudence did not hear, but he drew her swiftly into the woodshed. Now a woodshed is a hideously unromantic sort of place. And there was nothing for Prudence to sit on, that Jerry might kneel at her feet. So they dispensed with formalities, and he held her in his arms for a long time, and kissed her often, and whispered sweet meaningless words that thrilled her as she listened. It may not have been comfortable, but it was evidently endurable, for it is a fact that they did not leave that woodshed for over an hour. Then they betook themselves to the darkest corner of the side porch,--and history repeated itself once more! At twelve, Jerry went up-stairs to bed, his lips tingling with the fervent tenderness of her parting kiss. At one o'clock, he stood at his window, looking soberly out into the moonlit parsonage yard. "She is an angel, a pure, sweet, unselfish little angel," he whispered, and his voice was broken, and his eyes were wet, "and she is going to be my wife! Oh, God, teach me how to be good to her, and help me make her as happy as she deserves." At two o'clock he lay on his bed, staring into the darkness, thinking again the soft shy words she had whispered to him. And he flung his arms out toward his closed door, wanting her. At three o'clock he dropped lightly asleep and dreamed of her. With the first pale streaks of daylight stealing into his room, he awoke. It was after four o'clock. A little later,--just a few minutes later,--he heard a light tap on his door. It came again, and he bounded out of bed. "Prudence! Is anything wrong?" "Hush, Jerry, not so loud!" And what a strange and weary voice. "Come down-stairs, will you? I want to tell you something. I'll wait at the foot of the stairs. Be quiet,--do not wake father and the girls. Will you be down soon?" "In two minutes!" And in two minutes he was flown, agonizingly anxious, knowing that something was wrong. Prudence was waiting for him, and as he reached the bottom step she clutched his hands desperately. "Jerry," she whispered, "I--forgive me--I honestly-- Oh, I didn't think what I was saying last night. You were so dear, and I was so happy, and for a while I really believed we could belong to each other. But I can't, you know. I've promised papa and the girls a dozen times that I would never marry. Don't you see how it is? I must take it back." Jerry smiled a little, it must be admitted. This was so like his conscientious little Prudence! "Dearest," he said gently, "you have said that because you were not awake. You did not love. But you are awake now. You love me. Your father would never allow you to sacrifice yourself like that. The girls would not hear of it. They want you to be happy. And you can't be happy without me, can you?" Suddenly she crushed close to him. "Oh, Jerry," she sobbed, "I will never be happy again, I know. But--it is right for me to stay here, and be the mother in the parsonage. It is wicked of me to want you more than all of them. Don't you see it is? They haven't any mother. They haven't any one but me. Of course, they would not allow it, but they will not know anything about it. I must do it myself. And father especially must never know. I want you to go away this morning before breakfast, and--never come again." She clung to him as she said this, but her voice did not falter. "And you must not write to me any more. For, oh, Jerry, if I see you again I can never let you go, I know it. Will you do this for me?" "You've been up all night, haven't you, dearest?" "Yes,--I remembered, and then I couldn't sleep." "What have you been doing all night? It is morning now." "I walked up and down the floor, and pounded my hands together," she admitted, with a mournful smile. "You are nervous and excited," he said tenderly. "Let's wait until after breakfast. Then we'll talk it all over with your father, and it shall be as he says. Won't that be better?" "Oh, no. For father will say whatever he thinks will make me happy. He must not know a thing about it. Promise, Jerry, that you will never tell him one word." "I promise, of course, Prudence. I will let you tell him." But she shook her head. "He will never know. Oh, Jerry! I can't bear to think of never seeing you again, and never getting letters from you, and-- It seems to kill me inside, just the thought of it." "Sit down here in my lap. Put your head on my shoulder, like that. Let me rub your face a little. You're feverish. You are sick. Go to bed, won't you, sweetheart? We can settle this later on." "You must go right away, or I can not let you go at all!" "Do you mean you want me to get my things, and go right now?" "Yes." She buried her face in his shoulder. "If--if you stay in your room until breakfast time, I will lock you in, so you can not leave me again. I know it. I am crazy to-day." "Don't you think you owe me something, as well as your father and sisters? Didn't God bring us together, and make us love each other? Don't you think He intended us for each other? Do you wish you had never met me?" "Jerry!" "Then, sweetheart, be reasonable. Your father loved your mother, and married her. That is God's plan for all of us. You have been a wonderfully brave and sweet daughter and sister, I know. But surely Fairy is old enough to take your place now." "Fairy's going to be a professor, and--the girls do not mind her very well. And she isn't as much comfort to father as I am.--It's just because I am most like mother, you see. But anyhow, I promised. I can't leave them." "Your father expects you to marry, and to marry me. I told him about it myself, long ago. And he was perfectly willing. He didn't say a word against it." "Of course he wouldn't. That's just like father. But still, I promised. And what would the girls say if I should go back on them? They have trusted me, always. If I fail them, will they ever trust anybody else? If you love me, Jerry, please go, and stay away." But her arm tightened about his neck. "I'll wait here until you get your things, and we can--say good-by. And don't forget your promise." "Oh, very well, Prudence," he answered, half irritably, "if you insist on ordering me away from the house like this, I can only go. But----" "Let's not talk any more about it, Jerry. Please. I'll wait until you come down." When he came down a little later, with his suitcase, his face was white and strained. She put her arms around his neck. "Jerry," she whispered, "I want to tell you that I love you so much that--I could go away with you, and never see any of them any more, or papa, or the parsonage, and still feel rich, if I just had you! You--everything in me seems to be all yours. I--love you." Her tremulous lips were pressed against his. "Oh, sweetheart, this is folly, all folly. But I can't make you see it. It is wrong, it is wickedly wrong, but----" "But I am all they have, Jerry, and--I promised." "Whenever you want me, Prudence, just send. I'll never change. I'll always be just the same. God intended you for me, I know, and--I'll be waiting." "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" she whispered passionately, sobbing, quivering in his arms. It was he who drew away. "Good-by, sweetheart," he said quietly, great pity in his heart for the girl who in her desire to do right was doing such horrible wrong. "Good-by, sweetheart. Remember, I will be waiting. Whenever you send, I will come." He stepped outside, and closed the door. Prudence stood motionless, her hands clenched, until she could no longer hear his footsteps. Then she dropped on the floor, and lay there, face downward, until she heard Fairy moving in her room up-stairs. Then she went into the kitchen and built the fire for breakfast. CHAPTER XIV SHE COMES TO GRIEF Fairy was one of those buoyant, warm-blooded girls to whom sleep is indeed the great restorer. She slept soundly, sweetly, dreamlessly. And every morning she ran down-stairs so full of animation and life that she seemed all atingle to her finger-tips. Now she stood in the kitchen door, tall, cheeks glowing, eyes sparkling, and smiled at her sister's solemn back. "You are the little mousey, Prue," she said, in her full rich voice. "I didn't hear you come to bed last night, and I didn't hear you getting out this morning. I am an abominably solid sleeper, am I not? Shall I get the maple sirup for the pancakes? I wonder if Jerry knows we only use maple sirup when he is here. I'm constantly expecting Connie to give it away. Why am I always so ravenously hungry in the morning? Goodness knows I eat enough--Why, what is the matter?" For Prudence had turned her face toward her sister, and it was so white and so unnatural that Fairy was shocked. "Prudence! You are sick! Go to bed and let me get breakfast. Why didn't you call me? I'm real angry at you, Prudence Starr! Here, get out of this, and I will----" "There's nothing the matter with me. I had a headache, and did not sleep, but I am all right now. Yes, bring the sirup, Fairy. Are the girls up yet?" Fairy eyed her suspiciously. "Jerry is out unusually early, too, isn't he? His door is open. I didn't hear him coming down so he must have quite outdone himself to-day. He generally has to be called twice." "Jerry has gone, Fairy." Prudence's back was presented to view once more, and Prudence was stirring the oatmeal with vicious energy. "He left early this morning,--I suppose he is half-way to Des Moines by now." "Oh!" Fairy's voice was non-committal. "Will you get the sirup now?" "Yes, of course.--When is he coming back?" "He isn't coming back. Please hurry, Fairy, and then call the others. The oatmeal is ready." Fairy went soberly down cellar, and brought up the golden sirup. Then, ostensibly to call her sisters, she hurried up the stairs. "Girls," she began, carefully closing the door of their room behind her. "Jerry has gone, and isn't coming back any more. And for goodness' sake, don't keep asking questions about it. Just eat your breakfast as usual, and have a little tact." "Gone!" "Yes." "A lovers' quarrel," suggested Lark, and her eyes glittered greedily. "Nothing of the sort. And don't keep staring at Prue, either. And do not keep talking about Jerry all the time. You mind me, or I will tell papa." "That's funny," said Carol thoughtfully. "We left them kissing each other like mad in the back yard last night,--and this morning he has gone to return no more. They are crazy." "Kissing! In the back yard! What are you talking about?" Carol explained, and Fairy looked still more thoughtful and perturbed. She opened the door, and called out to them in a loud and breezy voice, "Hurry, girls, for breakfast is ready, and there's no time to waste in a parsonage on Sunday morning." Then she added in a whisper, "And don't you mention Jerry, and don't ask Prudence what makes her so pale, or you'll catch it!" Then she went to her father's door. "Breakfast is ready, papa," she called clearly. She turned the knob softly, and peeped in. "May I come in a minute?" Standing close beside him, she told him all she knew of what had happened. "Prudence is ghastly, father, just ghastly. And she can't talk about it yet, so be careful what you say, will you?" And it was due to Fairy's kindly admonitions that the parsonage family took the departure of Jerry so calmly. "Fairy says Jerry took the morning train," said Mr. Starr, as they were passing the cream and sugar for the oatmeal. "That is too bad! But it is just the worst of being a business man,--one never knows when one must be up and away. And of course, one can not neglect business interests.--The oatmeal is unusually good this morning, Prudence." This was nothing short of heroic on his part, for her eyes upon her father's face were so wide and dark that the lump in his throat would not stay down. That was the beginning of Prudence's bitter winter, when the brightest sunshine was cheerless and dreary, and when even the laughter of her sisters smote harshly upon her ears. She tried to be as always, but in her eyes the wounded look lingered, and her face grew so pale and thin that her father and Fairy, anxiously watching, were filled with grave concern. She remained almost constantly in the parsonage, reading very little, sitting most of her leisure time staring out the windows. Fairy had tried to win her confidence, and had failed. "You are a darling, Fairy, but I really do not want to talk about it.--Oh, no, indeed, it is all my own fault. I told him to go, and not come again.--No, you are wrong, Fairy, I do not regret it. I do not want him to come any more." And Fairy worried. What in the world had happened to separate in the morning these two who had been kissing so frankly in the back yard the evening before? Mr. Starr, too, had tried. "Prudence," he said gently, "you know very often men do things that to women seem wrong and wicked. And maybe they are! But men and women are different by nature, my dear, and we must remember that. I have satisfied myself that Jerry is good, and clean, and manly. I do not think you should let any foolishness of his in the past, come between you now." "You are mistaken, father. Jerry is all right, and always was, I am sure. It is nothing like that. I told him to go, and not to come again. That is all." "But if he should come back now----" "It would be just the same. Don't worry about it, father. It's all right." "Prudence," he said, more tenderly, "we have been the closest of friends and companions, you and I, from the very beginning. Always you have come to me with your troubles and worries. Have I ever failed you? Why, then, do you go back on me now, when you really need me?" Prudence patted his shoulder affectionately, but her eyes did not meet his. "I do not really need you now, father. It is all settled, and I am quite satisfied. Things are all right with me just as they are." Then he took a serious step, without her knowledge. He went to Des Moines, and had a visit with Jerry. He found him thinner, his face sterner, his eyes darker. When the office boy announced "Mr. Starr," Jerry ran quickly out to greet him. "Is she all right?" he cried eagerly, almost before he was within hailing distance. Mr. Starr did not mince matters. "Jerry," he said abruptly, "did you and Prudence have a quarrel? She declines to tell me anything about it, and after the conversations you and I have had, I think I have a right to know what has happened." "Does she miss me? Does she seem sorry that I am away? Does----" His voice was so boyish and so eager there was no mistaking his attitude toward Prudence. "Look here, Jerry, I want to know. Why are you staying away?" "Won't Prudence tell you?" "No." "Then I can not. She made me promise not to tell you a word. But it is not my fault, Mr. Starr. I can tell you that. It is nothing I have done or said. She sent me away because she thinks it was right for her to do so, and--you know Prudence! It is wrong, I know. I knew it all the time. But I couldn't make her see it. And she made me promise not to tell." In the end Mr. Starr went back to the parsonage no wiser than he left, save that he now knew that Jerry was really not to blame, and that he held himself ready to return to her on a moment's notice. The Ladies of the Methodist church were puzzled and exasperated. They went to the parsonage, determined to "find out what's what." But when they sat with Prudence, and looked at the frail, pathetic little figure, with the mournful eyes,---they could only sigh with her and go their ways. The twins continued to play in the great maple, even when the leaves were fallen, "It's a dandy place, I tell you, Prudence," cried Carol. "Jerry didn't have time to put up the rope before Connie pulled him down, but we've fixed it ourselves, and it is simply grand. You can go up and swing any time you like,--unless your joints are too stiff! It's a very serious matter getting up there,---for stiff joints, of course, I mean. Lark and I get up easy enough." For a moment, Prudence sat silent with quivering lips. Then she burst out with unusual passion, "Don't you ever dare climb up in that tree again as long as you live, twins! Mind what I say!" Lark looked thoughtfully out of the window, and Carol swallowed hard. It was she who said gently, "Why, of course, Prue,--just as you say." For the first time, Prudence had dealt with them harshly and unfairly. They knew it. There was neither sense nor justice in her command. But they did not argue the point. They kept their eyes considerately away from her, and buried themselves in _Julius Caesar_,--it must be remembered the twins are sophomores now. Five minutes later Prudence spoke again, humbly. "I beg you pardon, twins,--that was a perfectly idiotic thing for me to say. Of course, you may play in the maple whenever you like. But be careful. You couldn't save yourselves in falling as--as men can." "We won't play there if you want us not to," said Carol kindly. "I do want you to play there," she answered. "It's a very nice place, and great fun, I know. I might try it myself if--my joints weren't so stiff! Now, go on with your Latin." But Prudence did not pass under the maple for many weeks without clenching her hands, and shuddering. The twins were not satisfied. They marveled, and wondered, and pondered over the subject of Jerry's disappearance. Finally they felt it was more than human flesh could stand. They would approach Prudence on the subject themselves. But they bided their time. They must wait until Fairy was safely out of the house. Fairy these days had an infuriating way of saying, "That will do, twins. You'd better go and play now." It enraged and distracted the twins almost to the point of committing crime. They had made several artistic moves already. Professor Duke, of their freshman biology class, had written Carol a gay long letter. And Carol was enthusiastic about it. She and Lark talked of "dear old Duck" for two weeks, almost without pausing for sleep. "I'm sure you would fall in love with him on the spot," Carol had said to Prudence suggestively. Prudence had only smiled, evidently in sarcasm! "Jerry was very nice,--oh, very nice,--but you ought to see our little Duck!" Carol rattled rashly. "I'm sure you wouldn't regret Jerry any more if you could just get hold of Duckie. Of course, his being in New York is an obstacle, but I could introduce you by mail." "I do not care for Ducks," said Prudence. "Of course, they look very nice swimming around on the water, but when it comes to eating,--I'll take spring chicken every time." Carol did not mention "Duck" again for three days. But there came a day when Fairy was out in the country. Connie had gone driving with her father. The moment had arrived. The twins had their plan of campaign memorized, and they sauntered in to Prudence with a nonchalance that was all assumed. "Prudence," Lark began, "we're writing a book." "That's nice," said Prudence. Conversation languished. The subject seemed exhausted. Carol came to the rescue. "It's a very nice book. It's a love-story, and perfectly thrilling. Larkie does the writing, but I criticize and offer suggestions." "That's kind of you." A pause. "I'm going to dedicate it to Carol,--To my beloved sister, to whose kindness and sympathy, I owe all that I am,--or something like that," Lark explained hopefully. "How proud Carol will be!" A long pause. "We're in a very critical place just now, though," Lark seemed to be commencing at the beginning once more. "We have our heroine in a very peculiar situation, and we can't think what to do with her next." "How sad." Another pause. "We thought maybe you could help us out." "I'm afraid not," Prudence smiled a little. "I haven't any imagination. Ask Fairy. She's strong on love-stories." "Maybe if we explain the situation to you, you could give us a suggestion. It is like this: The young people have had all kinds of thrilling experiences, but they are not yet betrothed. But they are just on the point of getting there,--and something crops up all of a sudden! The hero goes dashing away, and returns no more. The heroine lies upon her silken couch, weeping, weeping. And no one knows what to do about it, because no one knows what has happened. What do you suppose could have sent the lover away like that?" "Maybe he hasn't enough money for the heroine." "Oh, yes,--he's very rich." "Maybe he is already married." "No, indeed. He's a bachelor." "Maybe he didn't love her, after all." Here Carol chimed in helpfully. "Oh, yes, he did, for we left him kissing her all over the back yard, and he wouldn't have done that if he hadn't loved her, you know." Prudence's eyes twinkled a little, but her smile was sad. "Now, what would you advise us to do?" inquired Lark briskly, feeling instinctively that Carol had explained too much. Prudence rose slowly. "I think," she said very gently, "I think I would burn the book if I were you, and pay a little more attention to my studies." Then she went up-stairs, and Carol told Lark sympathetically that they did not deserve an authoress in the parsonage when they didn't give her any more encouragement than that! On the day before Christmas, an insured package was delivered at the parsonage for Prudence. A letter was with it, and she read that first. "My dearest little sweetheart: I chose this gift for you long before I had the right to do it. I was keeping it until the proper moment. But the moment came, and went again. Still I want you to have the gift. Please wear it, for my sake, for I shall be happy knowing it is where it ought to be, even though I myself am banished. I love you, Prudence. Whenever you send for me, I am ready to come. Entirely and always yours. Jerry." With trembling fingers she opened the little package. It contained a ring, with a brilliant diamond flashing myriad colors before her eyes. And Prudence kissed it passionately, many times. Two hours later, she went quietly down-stairs to where the rest of the family were decorating a Christmas tree. She showed the ring to them gravely. "Jerry sent it to me," she said. "Do you think it is all right for me to wear it, father?" A thrill of hopeful expectancy ran through the little group. "Yes, indeed," declared her father. "How beautiful it is! Is Jerry coming to spend Christmas with us?" "Why, no, father,--he is not coming at all any more. I thought you understood that." An awkward silence, and Carol came brightly to the rescue. "It certainly is a beauty! I thought it was very kind of Professor Duckie to send Lark and me a five-pound box of chocolates, but of course this is ever so much nicer. Jerry's a bird, I say." "A bird!" mocked Fairy. "Such language." Lark came to her twin's defense. "Yes, a bird,--that's just what he is." Carol smiled. "We saw him use his wings when Connie yanked him out of the big maple, didn't we, Lark?" Then, "Did you send him anything, Prue?" Prudence hesitated, and answered without the slightest accession of color, "Yes, Carol. I had my picture taken when I was in Burlington, and sent it to him." "Your picture! Oh, Prudence! Where are they? Aren't you going to give us one?" "No, Carol. I had only one made,--for Jerry. There aren't any more." "Well," sighed Lark resignedly, "it's a pretty idea for my book, anyhow." From that day on, Prudence always wore the sparkling ring,--and the women of the Methodist church nearly had mental paralysis marveling over a man who gave a diamond ring, and never came a-wooing! And a girl who accepted and wore his offering, with nothing to say for the man! And it was the consensus of opinion in Mount Mark that modern lovers were mostly crazy, anyhow! And springtime came again. Now the twins were always original in their amusements. They never followed blindly after the dictates of custom. When other girls were playing dolls, the twins were a tribe of wild Indians. When other girls were jumping the rope, the twins were conducting a circus. And when other girls played "catch" with dainty rubber balls, the twins took unto themselves a big and heavy croquet ball,--found in the Avery woodshed. To be sure, it stung and bruised their hands. What matter? At any rate, they continued endangering their lives and beauties by reckless pitching of the ungainly plaything. One Friday evening after school, they were amusing themselves on the parsonage lawn with this huge ball. When their father turned in, they ran up to him with a sporting proposition. "Bet you a nickel, papa," cried Carol, "that you can't throw this ball as far as the schoolhouse woodshed!--By the way, will you lend me a nickel, papa?" He took the ball, and weighed it lightly in his hand. "I'm an anti-betting society," he declared, laughing, "but I very strongly believe it will carry to the schoolhouse woodshed. If it does not, I'll give you five cents' worth of candy to-morrow. And if it does, you shall put an extra nickel in the collection next Sunday." Then he drew back his arm, and carefully sighted across the lawn. "I'll send it right between the corner of the house and that little cedar," he said, and then, bending low, it whizzed from his hand. Lark screamed, and Carol sank fainting to the ground. For an instant, Mr. Starr himself stood swaying. Then he rushed across the lawn. For Prudence had opened the front door, and stepped quickly out on the walk by the corner of the house. The heavy ball struck her on the forehead, and she fell heavily, without a moan. CHAPTER XV FATE TAKES CHARGE Four hours Prudence lay unconscious, with two doctors in close attendance. Fairy, alert but calm, was at hand to give them service. It is a significant thing that in bitter anguish and grief, Christians find comfort and peace in prayer. Outsiders, as well as Christians, pray in times of danger and mental stress. But here is the big difference between the prayers of Christians and the prayers of "others." "Others" pray, and pray, and pray again, and continue still in the agony and passion of grief and fear. And yet they pray. But Christians pray, and find confidence and serenity. Sorrow may remain, but anguish is stilled. Mount Mark considered this a unique parsonage family. Their liveliness, their gaiety, their love of fun, seemed a little inapropos in the setting of a Methodist parsonage. "They ain't sanctimonious enough by half," declared old Harvey Reel, the bus driver, "but, by Jings! I tell you they are dandies!" But as a matter of fact, every one of the family, from Connie up, had a characteristic parsonage heart. When they were worried, or frightened, or grieved, they prayed. Fairy passing up the stairs with hot water for the doctors, whispered to her father as he turned in to his own room, "Keep on praying, father. I can't stop now, because they need me. But I'm praying every minute between errands!" And Mr. Starr, kneeling beside his bed, did pray,--and the stony despair in his eyes died out, and he came from the little room quiet, and confident, and calm. Connie had been unfortunate. In seeking a secluded corner to "pray for Prudence," she had passed the door of the dungeon, and paused. A fitting place! So she turned in at once, drawing the door after her, but leaving it a couple of inches ajar. Then in the farthest and darkest corner, she knelt on the hard floor, and prayed, and sobbed herself to sleep. Fairy passing through the hall, observed the door ajar, and gave it a slight push. The lock snapped into place, but Connie did not waken. Lark remained loyally with Carol until consciousness returned to her. As soon as she was able to walk, the two went silently to the barn, and climbed into the much-loved haymow. There they lay flat on the hay, faces downward, each with an arm across the other's shoulder, praying fervently. After a time they rose and crept into the house, where they waited patiently until Fairy came down on one of her numerous errands. "Is she better?" they whispered. And Fairy answered gently, "I think she is a little better." Then the twins, in no way deceived, went back to the haymow again. Fairy prepared a hasty supper, and arranged it on the kitchen table. She drank a cup of hot coffee, and went in search of her father. "Go and eat, dadsie," she urged. But he shook his head. "I am not hungry, but send the girls to the table at once." On their next trip into the house, Fairy stopped the twins. "Get Connie, and eat your supper. It's just a cold lunch, and is already on the kitchen table. You must help yourselves,--I can't come now." The twins did not speak, and Fairy went hurriedly up the stairs once more. "I do not think I can eat," said Carol. "I know I can't," was Lark's reply. "Won't Fairy make us? She'll tell papa." "We'd better take away about half of this food, and hide it. Then she will think we have already eaten." This novel plan was acted upon with promptitude. "Where's Connie? She ought to eat something. We must make her do it." "She probably cried herself to sleep somewhere. We'd better let her alone. She'll feel much better asleep and hungry, than awake and sorry for Prue." So the twins went back to the haymow. When it grew dark, they slipped into the kitchen, and huddled together on, the woodbox beside the stove. And down to them presently came Fairy, smiling, her eyes tear-brightened. "She is better!" cried Carol, springing to her feet. "Yes," said Fairy, dropping on her knees and burying her face in Lark's lap, as she still sat on the woodbox. "She's better. She is better." Lark patted the heaving shoulders in a motherly way, and when Fairy lifted her face again it was all serene, though her lashes were wet. "She is conscious," said Fairy, still on her knees, but with her head thrown back, and smiling. "She regained consciousness a little while ago. There is nothing really serious the matter. It was a hard knock, but it missed the temple. When she became conscious, she looked up at father and smiled. Father looked perfectly awful, twins, so pale, and his lips were trembling. And Prudence said, 'Now, father, on your word of honor, did you knock me down with that ball on purpose?' She spoke very low, and weak, but--just like Prudence! Father couldn't say a word, he just nodded, and gulped. She has a little fever, and the doctors say we may need to work with her part of the night. Father said to ask if you would go to bed now, so you can get up early in the morning and help us. I am to stay with Prudence to-night, but you may have to take turns in the morning. And you'll have to get breakfast, too. So father thinks you would better go to bed. Will you do that, twinnies?" "Will we!" And Carol added, "Will you kiss Prudence good night for us, and tell her we kept praying all the time? Prudence is such a great hand for praying, you know." Fairy promised, and the twins crept up-stairs. It was dark in their room. "We'll undress in the dark so as not to awake poor little Connie," whispered Lark. "It's nice she can sleep like that, isn't it?" And the twins went to bed, and fell asleep after a while, never doubting that Connie, in her corner of the room, was already safe and happy in the oblivion of slumber. But poor Connie! She had not wakened when Fairy closed the dungeon door. It was long afterward when she sat up and began rubbing her eyes. She did not know where she was. Then she remembered! She wondered if Prudence-- She scrambled to her feet, and trotted over to the dungeon door. It was locked, she could not turn the knob. At first, she thought of screaming and pounding on the door. "But that will arouse Prudence, and frighten her, and maybe kill her," she thought wretchedly. "I'll just keep still until some one passes." But no one passed for a long time, and Connie stretched her aching little body and sobbed, worrying about Prudence, fearful on her own account. She had no idea of the time. She supposed it was still early. And the parsonage was deathly quiet. Maybe Prudence had died! Connie writhed in agony on the hard floor, and sobbed bitterly. Still she would not risk pounding on the dungeon door. Up-stairs, in the front room, Prudence was at that time wrestling with fever. Higher and higher it rose, until the doctors looked very anxious. They held a brief consultation in the corner of the room. Then they beckoned to Mr. Starr. "Has Prudence been worrying about something this winter?" "Yes." "Has she been grieving, and fretting for something?" "Yes, she has." "It is that young man, isn't it?" inquired the family doctor,--a Methodist "member." "Yes." "Can you bring him here?" "Yes,--as soon as he can get here from Des Moines." "You'd better do it. She has worn herself down nearly to the point of prostration. We think we can break this fever without serious consequences, but get the young man as soon as possible. She can not relax and rest, until she gets relief." So he went down-stairs and over the telephone dictated a short message to Jerry. "Please come,--Prudence." When he entered the front bedroom again, Prudence was muttering unintelligible words under her breath. He kneeled down beside the bed, and put his arms around her. She clung to him with sudden passion. "Jerry! Jerry!" she cried. Her father caressed and petted her, but did not speak. "Oh, I can't," she cried again. "I can't, Jerry, I can't!" Again her voice fell to low mumbling. "Yes, go. Go at once. I promised, you know.--They haven't any mother.--I promised. Jerry! Jerry!" Her voice rang out so wildly that Connie, down in the dungeon, heard her cries and sobbed anew, relieved that Prudence was living, frightened at the wildness of her voice. "Oh, I do want you--more than anybody. Don't go!--Oh, yes, go at once. I promised.--Father needs me." And then a piercing shriek, "He is falling! Connie, drop that rope!" She struggled up in the bed, and gazed wildly about her,--then, panting, she fell back on the pillows. But Mr. Starr smiled gently to himself. So that was the answer! Oh, foolish little Prudence! Oh, sweet-hearted little martyr girl! Hours later the fever broke, and Prudence drifted into a deep sleep. Then the doctors went downstairs with Mr. Starr, talking in quiet ordinary tones. "Oh, she is all right now, no danger at all. She'll do fine. Let her sleep. Send Fairy to bed, too. Keep Prudence quiet a few days,--that's all. She's all right." They did not hear the timid knock at the dungeon door. But after they had gone out, Mr. Starr locked the door behind them, and started back through the hall to see if the kitchen doors were locked. He distinctly heard a soft tapping, and he smiled. "Mice!" he thought. Then he heard something else,--a faintly whispered "Father!" With a sharp exclamation he unlocked and opened the dungeon door, and Connie fell into his arms, sobbing piteously. And he did the only wise thing to do under such circumstances. He sat down on the hall floor and cuddled the child against his breast. He talked to her soothingly until the sobs quieted, and her voice was under control. "Now, tell father," he urged, "how did you get in the dungeon? The twins----" "Oh, no, father, of course not, the twins wouldn't do such a thing as that. I went into the dungeon to pray that Prudence would get well. And I prayed myself to sleep. When I woke up the door was locked." "But you precious child," he whispered, "why didn't you call out, or pound on the door?" "I was afraid it would excite Prue and make her worse," she answered simply. And her father's kiss was unwontedly tender as he carried her upstairs to bed. Prudence slept late the next morning, and when she opened her eyes her father was sitting beside her. "All right this morning, father," she said, smiling. "Are the girls at school?" "No,--this is Saturday." "Oh, of course. Well, bring them up, I want to see them." Just then the distant whistle of a locomotive sounded through the open window, but she did not notice her father's sudden start. She nodded up at him again, and repeated, "I want to see my girls." Her father sent them up to her at once, and they stood at the foot of the bed with sorry faces, and smiled at her. "Say something," whispered Carol, kicking Lark suggestively on the foot. But Lark was dumb. It was Carol who broke the silence. "Oh, Prudence, do you suppose the doctors will let me come in and watch them bandage your head? I want to begin practising up, so as to be ready for the next war." Then they laughed, and the girls realized that Prudence was really alive and quite as always. They told her of Connie's sad experience, and Prudence comforted her sweetly. "It just proves all over again," she declared, smiling, but with a sigh close following, "that you can't get along without me to look after you. Would I ever go to bed without making sure that Connie was safe and sound?" Down-stairs, meanwhile, Mr. Starr was plotting with Fairy, a willing assistant. "He'll surely be in on this train, and you must keep him down here until I get through with Prudence. I want to tell her a few things before she sees him. Bring him in quietly, and don't let him speak loudly. I do not want her to know he is on hand for a few minutes. Explain it to the girls, will you?" After sending the younger girls down-stairs again, he closed the door of Prudence's room, and sat down beside her. "Prudence, I can't tell you how bitterly disappointed I am in you." "Father!" "Yes, I thought you loved us,--the girls and me. It never occurred to me that you considered us a bunch of selfish, heartless, ungrateful animals!" "Father!" "Is that your idea of love? Is that----" "Oh, father!" "It really did hurt me, Prudence. My dear little girl, how could you send Jerry away, breaking your heart and his, and ours, too,--just because you thought us such a selfish lot that we would begrudge you any happiness of your own? Don't you think our love for you is big enough to make us happy in seeing you happy? You used to say you would never marry. We did not expect you to marry, then. But we knew the time would come when marriage would seem beautiful and desirable to you. We were waiting for that time. We were hoping for it. We were happy when you loved Jerry, because we knew he was good and kind and loving, and that he could give you all the beautiful things of life--that I can never give my children. But you thought we were too selfish to let you go, and you sent him away." "But father! Who would raise the girls? Who would keep the parsonage? Who would look after you?" "Aunt Grace, to be sure. We talked it over two years ago, when her husband died. Before that, she was not free to come to us. But she said then that whenever we were ready for her, she would come. We both felt that since you were getting along so magnificently with the girls, it was better that way for a while. But she said that when your flitting-time came, she would come to us gladly. We had it all arranged. You won't want to marry for a year or so, yet. You'll want to have some happy sweetheart days first. And you'll want to make a lot of those pretty, useless, nonsensical things other girls make when they marry. That's why I advised you to save your burglar money,--so you would have it for this. We'll have Aunt Grace come right away, so you can take a little freedom to be happy, and to make your plans. And you can initiate Aunt Grace into the mysteries of parsonage housekeeping." A bright strange light had flashed over Prudence's face. But her eyes clouded a little as she asked, "Do you think they would rather have Aunt Grace than me?" "Of course not. But what has that to do with it? We love you so dearly that we can only be happy when you are happy. We love you so dearly that we can be happy with you away from us,--just knowing that you are happy. But you--you thought our love was such a hideous, selfish, little make-believe that----" "Oh, father, I didn't! You know I didn't!--But--maybe Jerry won't forgive me now?" "Why didn't you talk it over with me, Prudence?" "I knew you too well, father. I knew it would be useless. But--doesn't it seem wrong, father, that--a girl--that I--should love Jerry more than--you and the girls? That he should come first? Doesn't it seem--wicked?" "No, Prudence, it is not wicked. After all, perhaps it is not a stronger and deeper love. You were willing to sacrifice him and yourself, for our sakes! But it is a different love. It is the love of woman for man,--that is very different from sister-love and father-love. And it is right. And it is beautiful." "I am sure Jerry will forgive me. Maybe if you will send me a paper and pencil--I can write him a note now? There's no use waiting, is there? Fairy will bring it, I am sure." But when a few minutes later, she heard a step in the hall outside, she laid her arm across her face. Somehow she felt that the wonderful joy and love shining in her eyes should be kept hidden until Jerry was there to see. She heard the door open, and close again. "Put them on the table, Fairy dearest, and--leave me for a little while, will you? Thank you." And her face was still hidden. Then the table by the bedside was swiftly drawn away, and Jerry kneeled beside her, and drew the arm from her face. "Jerry!" she whispered, half unbelievingly. Then joyously, "Oh, Jerry!" She gazed anxiously into his face. "Have you been sick? How thin you are, and so pale! Jerry Harmer, you need me to take care of you, don't you?" But Jerry did not speak. He looked earnestly and steadily into the joyful eyes for a moment, and then he pressed his face to hers. 
42220	----	History of Linn County Iowa [Illustration: Luther A. Brewer] History of Linn County Iowa From Its Earliest Settlement to the Present Time BY LUTHER A. BREWER AND BARTHINIUS L. WICK _Members Historical Society of Linn County, Iowa_ [Illustration] CEDAR RAPIDS THE TORCH PRESS 1911 COPYRIGHT 1911 BY LUTHER A. BREWER THE TORCH PRESS CEDAR RAPIDS IOWA TO THE MEMORY OF OUR HONORED PIONEERS INTRODUCTION The history of Linn county is covered by the events of only a few years, if compared with the history of communities east of the Mississippi. The space of one life-time embraces all that has happened here since the first white man looked upon our goodly heritage. True, that life has been prolonged beyond the scriptural three score and ten years. Robert Ellis, who came to this community more than seventy years ago, and who was one of the very early settlers, yet lives in a hale and vigorous age on land he "claimed" at that time. But if the history of the county does not cover many years, it yet is a history crowded with happenings of interest, some of the incidents being more or less stirring. History is defined as a record of the past. It does not concern itself with the present. It has been the purpose of the editors of this volume to treat somewhat at length of the early days in the county. Those conversant with events occurring prior to the Civil war are rapidly moving on, and it is high time that their recollections of beginnings here were gathered and put in permanent form. This has been attempted--how imperfectly done no one realizes more keenly than we realize it. But like little Mary Wood of the story, we have done the best we could in the few months given us to prepare the pages which follow. We have done some things which need not be done again by any one who follows us. We have made definite some things in our history as a county that heretofore have been matters of uncertainty. It is felt that the present volume will make an excellent starting point for some future chronicler. The task of the historian has been an arduous one--far more arduous than can be imagined by any save those who have done similar work. Withal the task has been one of pleasure and of inspiration. The pursuit of knowledge in this instance has really been a delight. We have been taught many things by our work that add to the sum of the pleasures of living in a day crowded with all the conveniences of the twentieth century. Our respect for the courageous pioneer men and the equally courageous and self-sacrificing pioneer women of our county has been placed high. Nobly did they suffer, enduring privations now undreamed of, and never complaining that theirs was a hard lot. We stand with uncovered heads and with a reverent feeling in their presence. It is not possible to make due acknowledgments to all those who aided in gathering the material in this volume. Many who came here in the early years of the county have been consulted, and always with profit. The drudgery of the work of making this book has been greatly lessened by their courtesy and their help. We thank them all. Some of them have been credited with their assistance in the narrative itself. In addition to the names mentioned in the text we desire to give thanks for aid and counsel to N. E. Brown, perhaps the best posted man in Cedar Rapids on the early history of the city; to Ed. M. Scott, for most valuable aid in the preparation of the chapter on banks and banking; to Capt. J. O. Stewart and Col. W. G. Dows for appreciated assistance in the writing of the chapter on our military history; to Carle D. Brown, of the Commercial Art Press, who gathered most of the illustrations for the volume; to W. F. Stahl, for aid in giving the history of the United Brethren church in the county. Robert Ellis, Mrs. Susan Mekeel, Mrs. Susan Shields, Mrs. Elizabeth Hrdlicka, Augustus Abbe, J. H. Preston, C. G. Greene, J. S. Ely, Wm. Smyth, C. F. Butler, L. W. Mansfield, and many others have assisted in gathering much valuable material concerning the lives of the pioneers. Much that has been gathered concerning times far removed from the present, is from "hearsay," hence it has been difficult to be certain as to the correct facts in some instances. Inaccuracies may be found, but these are due to unavoidable omissions, largely on the part of those who have related these happenings and not from any sense of bias or prejudice. All prior county histories have been consulted as well as the early state gazetteers, Andreas' _Atlas_, Carroll's _History_, _History of Crescent Lodge_, _History of the Bench and Bar of Iowa_, _History of the Courts and Legal Profession_, _Proceedings_ of the Linn County Historical Society; and the files of the newspapers published in the county in an early day. It is needless to add that the early city directories have been largely used with reference to the business men of Cedar Rapids in the early days. References to persons have been confined to mere statements of facts and have been free from undue flattery on the one hand and from anything derogatory on the other. The members of the legal and medical professions have been referred to at some length for the reason that the lawyers and doctors were important factors in pioneer days, both in the organization of the county and in the promotion of the various enterprises in our towns. Trusting that this history may be of some value in preserving material which ere long would pass beyond reach of preservation, this work is respectfully dedicated to the early pioneers of the county, whose lives and careers the authors have attempted to describe in the following pages. LUTHER A. BREWER BARTHINIUS L. WICK CONTENTS CHAPTER I THE BIRTH OF IOWA 1 CHAPTER II THE FIRST INHABITANTS 3 CHAPTER III IOWA HISTORICALLY 13 CHAPTER IV IOWA AND HER PEOPLE 17 CHAPTER V THE GEOLOGY OF LINN COUNTY 24 CHAPTER VI BEGINNINGS IN LINN COUNTY 31 CHAPTER VII WILLIAM ABBE, FIRST SETTLER 51 CHAPTER VIII COUNTY SEAT CONTESTS--FIRST RAILROAD IN COUNTY 57 CHAPTER IX THE OLD SETTLERS' ASSOCIATION 66 CHAPTER X POSTOFFICES AND POLITICS 82 CHAPTER XI THE PHYSICIANS OF THE COUNTY 86 CHAPTER XII THE MATERIAL GROWTH OF THE COUNTY 92 CHAPTER XIII RURAL LIFE 98 CHAPTER XIV A HERO OF THE CANADIAN REBELLION 101 CHAPTER XV THE NEWSPAPERS OF THE COUNTY 106 CHAPTER XVI THE BOHEMIAN ELEMENT IN THE COUNTY 121 CHAPTER XVII THE EARLY MARRIAGE RECORD 127 CHAPTER XVIII HISTORIC ROADS AND OTHER MONUMENTS 142 CHAPTER XIX SOME OF THE OLD SETTLERS 145 CHAPTER XX EARLY LINN COUNTY LAWYERS AND COURTS 169 CHAPTER XXI CHATTY MENTION OF BENCH AND BAR 177 CHAPTER XXII THE SCHOOLS OF THE COUNTY 194 CHAPTER XXIII HISTORICAL SKETCH OF CORNELL COLLEGE 201 CHAPTER XXIV HISTORY OF COE COLLEGE 215 CHAPTER XXV THE OLD BLAIR BUILDING 232 CHAPTER XXVI SOME OF THE OLD CEMETERIES 242 CHAPTER XXVII EARLY EXPERIENCES IN STAGE AND EXPRESS 244 CHAPTER XXVIII LINN COUNTY LIBRARIES 248 CHAPTER XXIX WAGES AND PRICES IN COUNTY FROM 1846 TO 1856 253 CHAPTER XXX SOME OF THE FIRST THINGS IN CEDAR RAPIDS AND LINN COUNTY 256 CHAPTER XXXI SOCIETY IN THE EARLY DAYS 261 CHAPTER XXXII SOUTHERN INFLUENCE 267 CHAPTER XXXIII SOME TOWNSHIP HISTORY 270 CHAPTER XXXIV LISBON AND THE UNITED BRETHREN CHURCH 291 CHAPTER XXXV COUNTY AND DISTRICT POLITICS 298 CHAPTER XXXVI CEDAR RAPIDS 307 CHAPTER XXXVII BEGINNINGS OF CHURCHES AND FRATERNITIES IN CEDAR RAPIDS 395 CHAPTER XXXVIII CATHOLICISM IN LINN COUNTY 401 CHAPTER XXXIX LINN COUNTY STATISTICS 416 CHAPTER XL THE BRIDGES ACROSS THE CEDAR AT CEDAR RAPIDS AND EARLY STEAMBOATING ON THE CEDAR RIVER 420 CHAPTER XLI BANKS AND BANKING IN LINN COUNTY 435 CHAPTER XLII ROSTER OF COUNTY OFFICERS 451 CHAPTER XLIII HISTORY OF MARION, THE COUNTY SEAT 460 CHAPTER XLIV LINN COUNTY IN WAR 470 CHAPTER XLV ODDS AND ENDS OF HISTORY AND REMINISCENCE 479 FOOTNOTES End of document ILLUSTRATIONS LUTHER A. BREWER _Frontispiece_ B. L. WICK 4 LEWIS FIELD LINN 8 A SCENE ON THE CEDAR RIVER AT CEDAR RAPIDS IN THE FIFTIES 12 RESIDENCE OF ISAAC CARROLL IN 1839 12 AN EARLY LAND DEED 16 SHEPHERD'S TAVERN 20 GEOLOGICAL ILLUSTRATIONS 24 THE ASTOR HOUSE 28 DOUBLE LOG CABIN BUILT BY WILLIAM ABBE 32 FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH IN CEDAR RAPIDS IN 1851 36 RESIDENCE OF WILLISTON JONES 36 DANIEL SEWARD HAHN 40 LINN COUNTY SCENES 44 GOING SHOPPING 48 INDIAN SCENES 48 FORMER PASTORS UNITED BRETHREN CHURCH, LISBON 52 SAMUEL W. DURHAM 56 SOME EARLY MEMBERS UNITED BRETHREN CHURCH, LISBON 60 PRESENT DAY SCENE 64 AN OLD LAND RECEIPT 64 STEAMBOAT ON CEDAR, 1887 64 DR. JOHN F. ELY 68 JOHN A. KEARNS 72 A. J. REID 72 C. S. HOWARD 72 WILLIAM STICK 72 THE VARDY HOUSE, CEDAR RAPIDS 76 FRANKLIN BLOCK AND RESIDENCE OF P. W. EARLE 76 THE LISTEBARGER CABIN, CEDAR RAPIDS 76 MR. AND MRS. GODFREY QUASS 80 MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM GIDDINGS 80 MR. AND MRS. ISAAC MILLBURN 80 MR. AND MRS. W. A. LACOCK 80 J. P. GLASS 80 F. A. HELBIG 80 PROF. H. H. FREER 84 REV. GEO. B. BOWMAN 84 JOSEPH MEKOTA 84 W. F. SEVERA 84 DR. J. S. LOVE 88 J. H. VOSMEK 92 FR. T. J. SULLIVAN 92 DR. E. L. MANSFIELD 92 HON. JAMES URE 96 JUDGE J. H. ROTHROCK 96 J. J. DANIELS 96 L. J. PALDA 96 BRIDGE AT THE PALISADES 101 THE PALISADES OF THE CEDAR 101 BARNEY MCSHANE CABIN 104 CABIN IN "CRACKER SETTLEMENT" 104 UNITED BRETHREN CHURCH, LISBON 108 MAIN STREET, MOUNT VERNON 108 ALEXANDER LAURANCE 112 OLD M. E. CHURCH, MOUNT VERNON 116 STREET SCENE IN LISBON 116 SCHOOL AT FAIRFAX 120 METHODIST CHURCH AT FAIRFAX 120 THE CHAPEL, CORNELL COLLEGE 124 CARNEGIE LIBRARY, MOUNT VERNON 124 UNITED PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH AT SCOTCH GROVE 128 WOOD-BURNING ENGINE, 1879 128 MAIN BUILDING, CORNELL COLLEGE 132 SOUTH-HALL, CORNELL COLLEGE 132 HENRY BRUCE HOUSE, SPRINGVILLE 136 FIRST SPRINGVILLE BAND 136 THE "OLD SEM" CORNELL COLLEGE 140 BOWMAN HALL, CORNELL COLLEGE 140 BUTLER PARK AT SPRINGVILLE 144 BUSINESS DISTRICT AT SPRINGVILLE 144 PICNIC AT HOME OF GEO. L. DURNO, SPRINGVILLE, IN 1884 148 ILLINOIS CENTRAL DEPOT, CENTRAL CITY 148 METHODIST CHURCH, CENTER POINT 152 SOUTH MAIN STREET, TROY MILLS 152 M. E. CHURCH, TROY MILLS 156 MILL AT PRAIRIEBURG 156 AT OLD SETTLERS' REUNION, MARION 160 A PARK SCENE IN MARION 160 COURT HOUSE, MARION 164 WAPSIE RIVER AND MILL AT CENTRAL CITY 164 ISAAC BUTLER 168 PUBLIC SCHOOL AT SPRINGVILLE 172 METHODIST CHURCH, SPRINGVILLE 176 HOME OF J. F. BUTLER, SPRINGVILLE 176 METHODIST CHURCH AT PALO 180 SCENE AT SPRINGVILLE 180 EARLY VIEW OF SPRINGVILLE 184 FIRST STORE IN SPRINGVILLE 184 LUTHERAN CHURCH, LISBON 188 MAIN STREET, LISBON 188 PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH AT SPRINGVILLE 192 THE BUTLER FARM AT SPRINGVILLE 192 CORNELL COLLEGE IN 1865 200 A STREET SCENE IN MARION 204 THE DANIELS HOTEL, MARION 204 REV. SAMUEL M. FELLOWS, A. M. 208 COMMERCIAL HOTEL, CENTER POINT 212 BRIDGE OVER THE CEDAR AT CENTER POINT 212 W. F. KING, LL. D. 216 MAIN STREET FROM THE NORTH, FAIRFAX 220 MAIN STREET LOOKING WEST, CENTRAL CITY 220 AN OLD GRAVE AT SPRINGVILLE 224 REV. J. B. ALBROOK, D. D. 224 PROF. HARRIETTE J. COOK 224 MRS. MARGARET MCKELL KING 224 BAPTIST CHURCH, CENTRAL CITY 228 OLD BARN AT CENTRAL CITY 228 JAMES E. HARLAN, LL. D. 232 CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH, CENTRAL CITY 236 CHRISTIAN CHURCH, CENTRAL CITY 236 SCENE AT TROY MILLS 240 MILL AND DAM AT COGGON 240 HIGH SCHOOL, CENTRAL CITY 244 BRIDGE OVER WAPSIE AT CENTRAL CITY 244 T. S. PARVIN 248 WEST ROWLEY STREET, WALKER 253 MAIN STREET, PRAIRIEBURG 253 MAIN STREET, SPRINGVILLE 256 QUAKER MEETING HOUSE AT WHITTIER 256 WHITTIER 256 MAIN STREET, CENTRAL CITY, FROM THE SOUTH 261 GENERAL STORE AT COVINGTON 261 UPPER WAGON BRIDGE, CENTRAL CITY 264 HENDERSON BRIDGE, CENTRAL CITY 264 BAPTIST CHURCH, PRAIRIEBURG 268 MILWAUKEE BRIDGE, COVINGTON 268 THE "OLD SCHOOL," COGGON 272 SOUTH SIDE MAIN STREET, COGGON 272 SCENE ON THE CEDAR AT CEDAR RAPIDS 276 BIRDSEYE VIEW LOOKING EAST, CEDAR RAPIDS 276 CEDAR RIVER DAM, CEDAR RAPIDS 276 QUAKER OATS PLANT, CEDAR RAPIDS 280 STREET RAILWAY STATION AT BEVER PARK, CEDAR RAPIDS 280 VIEW OF CEDAR RAPIDS FROM THE ISLAND 288 RAILROAD YARDS AT CEDAR RAPIDS 288 FATHER FLYNN, CEDAR RAPIDS 296 PUBLIC AND COMMERCIAL BUILDINGS IN CEDAR RAPIDS, 1910 300 BIRDSEYE VIEW OF CEDAR RAPIDS IN 1868 304 FATHER SVRDLIK, CEDAR RAPIDS 307 BIRDSEYE VIEW OF CEDAR RAPIDS IN 1889 312 FEDERAL BUILDING, CEDAR RAPIDS 320 AUDITORIUM, CEDAR RAPIDS 320 PART OF ZOO IN BEVER PARK, CEDAR RAPIDS 328 A SCENE IN BEVER PARK, CEDAR RAPIDS 328 SIXTEENTH AVENUE BRIDGE, CEDAR RAPIDS 336 FIRST STREET, CORNER SECOND AVENUE, IN 1869 336 FIRST U. B. CHURCH WEST OF MISSISSIPPI RIVER 344 COE COLLEGE BUILDINGS 352 SINCLAIR PACKING PLANT, CEDAR RAPIDS 360 BLACK HAWK 366 A WINNEBAGO INDIAN 366 THE SLAVE DANCE OF THE SAC AND FOX 366 CEDAR RAPIDS COUNTRY CLUB HOUSE 368 GEORGE GREENE SQUARE 368 RIVERSIDE PARK, CEDAR RAPIDS 368 CEDAR RAPIDS IN 1856 369 THE OLD BLAIR BUILDING 371 MONTROSE HOTEL, CEDAR RAPIDS 376 S. C. BEVER 384 THOMAS GAINER 384 E. D. WALN 384 REV. ELIAS SKINNER 384 J. M. MAY 392 CAPT. A. BOWMAN 392 E. M. CROW 392 FATHER LOWRY 401 ST. WENCESLAUS CHURCH, CEDAR RAPIDS 404 ST. WENCESLAUS SCHOOL, CEDAR RAPIDS 404 THE LATE VERY REVEREND DEAN GUNN 408 QUAKER OATS TRAIN 412 SCENE ON CEDAR RIVER 412 ST. PATRICK'S CHURCH, CEDAR RAPIDS 412 MERCY HOSPITAL, CEDAR RAPIDS 416 JUDGE N. M. HUBBARD 422 VIEWS ALONG THE CEDAR RIVER 424 PARK VIEWS IN CEDAR RAPIDS 432 IN AND AROUND MT. VERNON 436 R. D. STEPHENS 440 ADDISON DANIELS 440 J. B. YOUNG 440 I. M. PRESTON 440 S. S. JOHNSON 444 THOS. J. MCKEAN 448 N. W. ISBELL 448 WILLIAM GREENE 448 O. S. BOWLING 448 INDEPENDENT HOSE COMPANY, CEDAR RAPIDS, 1875 452 CITY RESIDENCES, CEDAR RAPIDS 456 VIEW OF MARION, 1868 460 JAMES E. BROMWELL, SR. 464 T. M. SINCLAIR 468 J. O. STEWART 468 COL. T. Z. COOK 472 SOME EARLY CURRENCY 476 STREET VIEWS IN CEDAR RAPIDS, IN 1910 480 MAPS LINN COUNTY 1 SHOWING BLACK HAWK PURCHASE 184 SHOWING DES MOINES COUNTY SUBDIVIDED 185 AFTER THE SAC AND FOX CESSIONS OF 1837 190 LATE DIVISION OF BLACK HAWK PURCHASE 191 SHOWING THE TWO CESSIONS AS AT PRESENT DIVIDED 197 REPRODUCTION OF THE FIRST MAP OF CEDAR RAPIDS (Part 1) 316 REPRODUCTION OF THE FIRST MAP OF CEDAR RAPIDS (Part 2) 316 [Illustration: MAP OF LINN COUNTY] CHAPTER I _The Birth of Iowa_ Iowa is known as a prairie state. Prairie is a French word and signifies meadow. It was the name first applied to the great treeless plains of North America by the French missionaries who were the first white men to explore these regions. As yet scientists have not been able to explain the origin of the prairies. Different theories have been advanced, but the interesting problem is without satisfactory and conclusive solution. Agassiz, the scientist, maintained that America is not the "new world." "Hers was the first dry land lifted out of the waters," he wrote; "hers the first shores washed by the ocean that enveloped all the earth besides; and while Europe was represented only by islands rising here and there above the sea, America already stretched one unbroken line of land from Nova Scotia to the far West." Iowa, also, was born, had a beginning sometime. Just how many years ago this interesting event took place it is difficult to approximate. Prof. Samuel Calvin, state geologist, says that "geological records, untampered with, and unimpeachable, declare that for uncounted years Iowa, together with the great valley of the Mississippi, lay beneath the level of the sea. So far as it was inhabited at all, marine forms of animals and plants were its only occupants." The soils of the state were produced by the action of the ice in what is known as the glacial period. We are told how by Professor Calvin: "Glaciers and glacial action have contributed in a very large degree to the making of our magnificent State. What Iowa would have been had it never suffered from the effects of the ponderous ice sheets that successively overflowed its surface, is illustrated, but not perfectly, in the driftless area. Here we have an area that was not invaded by glaciers. Allamakee, parts of Jackson, Dubuque, Clayton, Fayette, and Winneshiek counties belong to the driftless area. During the last two decades deep wells have been bored through the loose surface deposit, and down into the underlying rocks. The record of these wells shows that the rock surface is very uneven. Before the glacial drift which now mantles nearly the whole of Iowa was deposited, the surface had been carved into an intricate system of hills and valleys. There were narrow gorges hundreds of feet in depth, and there were rugged, rocky cliffs, and isolated buttes corresponding in height with the depth of the valleys. "To a person passing from the drift-covered to the driftless part of the state, the topography presents a series of surprises. The principal drainage streams flow in valleys that measure, from the summits of the divides, six hundred or more in depth. The Oneota, or Upper Iowa River, in Allamakee county, for example, flows between picturesque cliffs that rise almost vertically from three to four hundred feet, while from the summit of the cliffs the land rises gradually to the crest of the divide, three, four or five miles back from the stream. Tributary streams cut the lateral slopes and canyon walls at intervals. These again have tributaries of the second order. In such a region a quarter section of level land would be a curiosity. This is a fair sample of what Iowa would have been had it not been planed down by the leveling effects of the glaciers. Soils of uniform excellence would have been impossible in a non-glacial Iowa. The soils of Iowa have a value equal to all of the silver and gold mines of the world combined. "And for this rich heritage of soils we are indebted to great rivers of ice that overflowed Iowa from the north and northwest. The glaciers in their long journey ground up the rocks over which they moved and mingled the fresh rock flour from granites of British America and northern Minnesota with pulverized limestones and shales of more southern regions, and used these rich materials in covering up the bald rocks and leveling the irregular surface of preglacial Iowa. The materials are in places hundreds of feet in depth. They are not oxidized or leached, but retain the carbonates and other soluble constituents that contribute so largely to the growth of plants. The physical condition of the materials is ideal, rendering the soil porous, facilitating the distribution of moisture, and offering unmatched opportunities for the employment of improved machinery in all of the processes connected with cultivation. Even the driftless area received great benefit from the action of glaciers, for although the area was not invaded by ice, it was yet to a large extent covered by a peculiar deposit called loess, which is generally connected with one of the later sheets of drift. The loess is a porous clay, rich in carbonate of lime. Throughout the driftless area it has covered up many spots that would otherwise have been bare rocks. It covered the stiff intractable clays that would otherwise have been the only soils of the region. It in itself constitutes a soil of great fertility. Every part of Iowa is debtor in some way to the great ice sheets of the glacial period. * * * * * "Soils are everywhere the product of rock disintegration, and so the quality of the soils in a given locality must necessarily be determined in large measure by the kind of rock from which they were derived. "From this point of view, therefore, the history of Iowa's superb soils begins with first steps in rock making. The very oldest rocks of the Mississippi Valley have contributed something to making our soils what they are, and every later formation laid down over the surface of Iowa, or regions north of it, has furnished its quota of materials to the same end. The history of Iowa's soils, therefore, embraces the whole sweep of geologic times. "The chief agents concerned in modifying the surface throughout most of Iowa since the disappearance of the latest glaciers have been organic, although the physical and chemical influences of air and water have not been without marked effect. The growth and decay of a long series of generations of plants have contributed certain organic constituents to the soil. Earth worms bring up fine material from considerable depths and place it in position to be spread out upon the surface. They drag leaves and any manageable portion of plants into their burrows, and much of the material so taken down into the ground decays and enriches the ground to a depth of several inches. The pocket gopher has done much to furnish a surface layer of loose, mellow, easily cultivated and highly productive soil. Like the earth worm, the gopher for century after century has been bringing up to the surface fine material, to the amount of several tons annually to the acre, avoiding necessarily the pebbles, cobbles and coarser constituents. The burrows collapse, the undermined boulders and large fragments sink downwards, rains and winds spread out the gopher hills and worm castings, and the next year, and the next, the process is repeated; and so it has been for all the years making up the centuries since the close of the glacial epoch. Organic agents in the form of plants and burrowing animals have worked unremittingly through many centuries, and accomplished a work of incalculable value in pulverizing, mellowing and enriching the superficial stratum, and bringing it to the ideal condition in which it was found by the explorers and pioneers from whose advent dates the historical period of our matchless Iowa." The last invasion, we are informed, was from 100,000 to 170,000 years ago--somewhat prior to the recollection of the "oldest inhabitant." CHAPTER II _The First Inhabitants_ Who were Iowa's first inhabitants is a question of some interest. Archeologists tell us that there have been found in the Mississippi Valley the remains of two distinct prehistoric races. The first human skulls discovered resemble those of the gorilla. These skulls indicate a low degree of intelligence. The first inhabitants were but a grade above the lower animals. They were small in body, and brute-like in appearance. Next came the "mound builders." There are evidences that these had some degree of intelligence. Copper and stone implements have been found in the mounds. Whether they built towns and cities or tilled the soil is not known. Pieces of cloth discovered in the mounds would indicate some knowledge of the arts. Their number, their size, color, customs--all are lost to us. We know they existed, and that is all. Several of these mounds have been explored in Iowa. They are found in the eastern parts of the state from Dubuque to Burlington. Many interesting articles have been found in them--sea shells, copper axes and spools, stone knives, pottery, pipes carved with effigies of animals and birds. Skeletons and altars of stone were unearthed a few years ago in some of these mounds, and in one were discovered hieroglyphics representing letters and figures of trees, people and animals. These mounds have also been discovered in the central part of the state, the valley of the Des Moines river being especially rich in them. Sometimes they are in groups, as though built for defense. It has been suggested that probably the conquerors of the mound builders were the immediate ancestors of the Indians. When on June 25, 1673, Marquette and Joliet fastened their frail craft to the west bank of the Mississippi river where the Iowa enters it in Louisa county,[A] the only people living in what is now Iowa were the American Indians. When these venturesome explorers came ashore and ascended a slight eminence they beheld a scene of rare beauty. As far as the eye could carry they looked over an expanse covered with green grass waving in the gentle wind like the billows of the sea, with here and there a grove of oak, elm, walnut, maple, and sycamore. All was peaceful, calm, and restful; the stillness of the desert prevailed. That the country was inhabited was indicated by a thin column of smoke which arose some few miles inland from a small grove. The travelers soon reached the spot. There they found a small company of Indians in a village on the banks of the stream. The Indians were probably the more astonished of the two parties. They looked with wonder upon the strange beings who had come among them so unceremoniously and unannounced. It was probably their first view of the white man. Recovering somewhat from their astonishment, they made overtures of friendship by offering the pipe of peace. It was soon discovered that the band was a portion of the Illinois tribe. Marquette had enough acquaintance with the language of this tribe to enable him to hold an intelligent conversation with his hosts. He told the Indians who their visitors were, and why they were there. He expressed the great pleasure he and his companions took at meeting some of the inhabitants of that beautiful country. They in turn were given a cordial welcome by the Indians, one of the chiefs thus addressing them: "I thank the Black Gown Chief [Marquette] and his friend [Joliet] for taking so much pains to come and visit us. Never before has the earth been so beautiful, nor the sun so bright as now. Never has the river been so calm or free from rocks which your canoes have removed as they passed down. Never has the tobacco had so fine a flavor, nor our corn appeared so beautiful as we behold it today. Ask the Great Spirit to give us life and health, and come ye and dwell with us." This was an eloquent speech and demonstrated the sincerity of the welcome. Marquette and Joliet were then invited to a feast which meanwhile had been made ready by the squaws. Afterwards Marquette wrote a description of this banquet, and it is of interest to reproduce it here: "It consisted of four courses. First there was a large wooden bowl filled with a preparation of corn meal boiled in water and seasoned with oil. The Indian conducting the ceremonies had a large wooden spoon with which he dipped up the mixture (called by the Indians _tagamity_), passing it in turn into the mouths of the different members of the party. The second course consisted of fish nicely cooked, which was separated from the bones and placed in the mouths of the guests. The third course was a roasted dog, which our explorers declined with thanks, when it was at once removed from sight. The last course was a roast of buffalo, the fattest pieces of which were passed the Frenchmen, who found it to be most excellent meat." The Frenchmen were so delighted with the beauty of the country and the hospitality of the Indians that they remained with their friends six days. They explored the valleys, hunted and fished and feasted on the choice game they captured. The natives did all they could to make their stay one gay round of pleasure. They welcomed the coming guests with genuine hospitality, and when they could keep them no longer speeded them on their way in the true spirit. Six hundred of them escorted Marquette and Joliet to their boats and wished them bon voyage. This discovery attracted but little attention at the time in Europe, and many years passed before what is now known as Iowa appears in history. THE MOUND BUILDERS The Mound Builders, from what information we have been able to obtain, must have lived in the Mississippi valley and at one time or another way back in some remote age they must have resided on what later became Iowa. Chronology is not definite as to when or how the Mound Builders arrived in the new world. It is merely speculation when one says that traditions point to a time two or three thousand years ago when the Mound Builders resided in the Mississippi valley and lived in villages and towns. It is true, that in various parts of the old world records have been found of other races which have preceded the races of which history has any definite record. As the North American Indians had no written language prior to the arrival of the Europeans, their traditions, consequently, go back but a short time at best. It is true that there have been found on the American continent various bones of animals which no longer exist, and there have been found relics of a race of men who were far different from the Indians as the whites found them on their arrival. In North America these pre-historic races have been called Mound Builders, and they have been the first inhabitants of the vast plains of what later became the United States. Still, it may be possible that the Mound Builders may have driven out or exterminated some other preceding race of people, who had dwelt in this country for ages before the Mound Builders made their entrance into what is known as the New World. Who knows? [Illustration: B. L. WICK] In Johnson's _Encyclopedia_, Vol. 1, page 125, one finds the following: "Remains of the Mound Builders are spread over a vast extent of country. They are found on the sources of the Alleghany, in the western part of the state of New York, and in nearly all the western states, including Michigan and Iowa. They were observed by Lewis and Clark on the Missouri a thousand miles above its junction with the Mississippi. They lined the shores of the Gulf of Mexico from Texas to Florida, whence they extended through Alabama and Georgia into South Carolina. They are especially numerous in Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Missouri, Arkansas, Kentucky, Tennessee, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Florida, and Texas. Many of these remnants were evidently designed as works of defense or as large towers in war. No inconsiderable number appear to have been formed as sepulchre monuments or as places of burial for the dead, while others seemed obviously to have been constructed as temples or places of worship or sacrifice." While Linn county and Iowa have not as many mounds of as much interest as, for example, the Circle Mound in Ohio, still there are a number of mounds found in eastern Iowa and a number in Linn county which would appear to have been constructed by Mound Builders, or, at least, by some pre-historic race long since extinct. Some mounds found near Palo would indicate that they must have been constructed a long time ago, for even trees of large dimensions have been found growing on top and around these mounds. The remnants certainly give evidence in places as though they had been constructed for religious purposes, which evidently is true of nearly all such remnants which have recently been discovered in Yucatan and Mexico. Some stone implements and ornaments have been found in some of these mounds. These implements are all flint spear and arrow heads and have been worked with much care and skill. Some pottery has also been discovered, at times ornamented and at other times very coarse. Some copper implements have been found of a kind and quality as discovered in the copper region of Lake Superior, which, undoubtedly, have been worked by the Indians and perhaps by the Mound Builders. No bones have so far been discovered to indicate that the Mound Builders had the use of any domestic animals. Very seldom have human skeletons been found, which might attest to the fact that these had been dug ages and ages ago. No tablets of any kind have been discovered, which might indicate that the Mound Builders had at no time a written language. Science has held that the Mound Builders were an agricultural people and compared with the Indians much more civilized, and that the Mississippi valley was densely populated until the arrival of the Indians. Whether the Indians exterminated them or they were driven away, or they voluntarily removed from this part of the country is still a debatable question. "If it is really true that there were pre-historic peoples, then the oldest continent would be, in all probability, the first inhabited; and as this is the oldest continent in the formations of the geological period, and as there are found relics of man in England in identically the same strata as are shown in Linn county, why may we not reasonably expect to find relics of man--relics as old as any--in Linn county? If man once existed here, why may he not have always existed here? It is certainly unreasonable to think young Europe should alone have early relics of man. "What place the Mound Builders are entitled to in the world's history, since they have left no relics but mounds of earth, which mounds are probably funeral pyres or places of sepulchre, we can simply conjecture. We believe some rude carvings on slabs have been exhumed at Grand Traverse, Michigan, Davenport, Iowa, and Rockford, Illinois. These carvings may have reference to the sun, moon and stars; we believe the savants favor such an interpretation. As to where he lived, careful geological study of his mound may some day determine. He was a link in the chain of man's existence; tracing it to its source we may discover some hitherto unknown facts regarding man's origin, or the ancient history of America. This continent may have been more intimately connected with Asia than is at present considered.... "Compare the average life of these nations with the age of the Cedar valley; compare historic age with Cedar valley, whose channel has been cut down through the rocks between one and two hundred feet. Look at these old Devonian rocks, with their fossils as fresh as of yesterday. Look at the clay soil that overlies the rocks. Has it been changed in fourteen hundred or in six thousand years? Now look at those mounds that are on the crests of so many ridges, and say how old they are! Forests of giant trees have come and gone over them, how many times? Those mounds were built by the people known as the Mound Builders. What of their life? What of their age? What of their history? We have the mounds, and substantially the mounds only. But these mounds are an interesting study of themselves. We have not observed these mounds only in the valley of the Cedar river, above and below Cedar Rapids; our observations find them in positions as follows: "LOCATION OF MOUNDS NEAR CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA Number of No. Location Sec. Twp. Range Mounds 1 N. W. 1/4 S. W. 1/4 35 83 7 11 2 S. 1/2 S. E. 1/4 16 83 7 14 3 S. 1/2 N. W. 1/4 16 83 7 11 4 N. W. 1/4 N. E. 1/4 17 83 7 3 5 N. 1/2 N. W. 1/4 20 83 7 11 6 E. 1/2 18 83 7 11 7 W. 1/2 18 83 7 11 8 N. W. 1/4 N. W. 1/4 24 83 7 12 ------ Total 84 "No. 1 has eleven mounds, situated on the crest of a divide. The general direction of locations is from north to south, or south to north. The correct location, I believe, is from south to north; that is, they point to the north. These mounds are now raised about three feet above the level, and are uniformly thirty feet in diameter. Counting from the south, the sixth and seventh are generally within a few feet--come very near touching each other; the others are as near as, may be, two diameters apart. These remarks will apply to No. 2, No. 3, No. 5 and No. 6. No. 2 has eleven in a line (as No. 1,) and then three mounds to the east appear to be parallel, and may have had the remaining eight removed by cultivation. No. 4 is on the bottom--second bench land; are a little larger in size; the others, to make out the eleven, may have been destroyed by cultivation. No. 7 has eight in position, and then a valley intervenes, and the three additional, making the eleven, are on the ridge next to the north. No. 8 has twelve. They are on the crest of a divide which passes around the head of a deep ravine, and follow the divide at the angle. Most of these mounds (No. 8) have been lately opened, but we think no relics were found. We have been careful to find the place that the earth composing the mounds was taken from. Generally, the banks of a near ravine indicate, by their shape, the place. Under the strongest sunlight, in a mound cut through the center, we could detect no indication or difference in the clay to show that it had been removed or disturbed, or that there had been any remains in it to discolor the clay in their decomposition. "Let it be observed that the mounds are substantially north and south in line of location. They are eleven in number, uniform in size, and, I believe, cover every ridge in the vicinity of the rapids of the Cedar having the direction sufficient in length on which the mounds could be placed. They are built in the locality the least likely to be disturbed, and in the shape and of the material the most enduring. There certainly was intelligence displayed in their location and in the selection of the material of which they are constructed, as well as in the design of their form and positions. There may have been more mounds than these, but these are all that are left--all that are left of that race which might have sent from their number emigrants to people the new land, to the far west, the last continent, fresh and vigorous from the ocean, the newest born, the best then adapted for man's material and mental development."--_History of Linn County_, 1878, p. 319. J. S. Newberry, in Johnson's _Cyclopedia_, says: "From all the facts before us, we can at present say little more than this, that the valley of the Mississippi and the Atlantic coast were once densely populated by a sedentary, agricultural and partially civilized race, quite different from the modern nomadic Indians, though, possibly, the progenitors of some of the Indian tribes; and that, after many centuries of occupation, they disappeared from our country at least one thousand, perhaps many thousands of years, before the advent of the Europeans. The pre-historic remains found so abundantly in Arizona appear to be related to the civilization of Mexico; and the remains of semi-civilized Indian tribes now found there are, perhaps, descendants of the ancient builders of the great houses and cities whose ruins are found there." Researches concerning ancient mounds have been carried on in a most scientific manner by Dr. Cyrus Thomas. His chief work and research have been embodied in a monograph of over 700 pages and found the 12th Report of the government publications. Major J. W. Powell, whose studies of this subject have been considered authoritative, in his _Pre-historic Man in America_ has the following to say: "Widely scattered throughout the United States ... artificial mounds are discovered which may be enumerated by thousands and hundreds of thousands. They vary greatly in size. Some are small so that half a dozen laborers with shovels might construct one of them in a day, while others cover acres and are scores of feet in height. These mounds were observed by the early explorers and pioneers of the country.... Pseud-archeologists descanted on the Mound Builders, that once inhabited the land, and they told of swarming populations who had reached a high condition of culture, erecting temples, practicing arts in metals and using hieroglyphics.... It is enough to say that the Mound Builders were the Indian tribes discovered by the white men. It may well be that some of the mounds were erected by tribes extinct when Columbus first saw the shores, but they were kindred in culture to the peoples that still existed.... Pre-Columbian culture was indigenous, it began at the lowest stage of savagery and developed to the highest and was in many places passing into barbarism when the good queen sold her jewels."--J. W. Powell, quoted in _Larned_, Vol. I, p. 45. Thus scientists do not agree whether or not the Mound Builders were closely akin to the Indians. However recent investigators seem to agree with Thomas and Powell that the early inhabitants were much like the later denizens of the American prairies in their mode of life and means of subsistence, in their weapons, arts, usages, and customs, in their institutions and physical characteristics, they were the same people in different stages of advancement. John Fiske, one of the scholarly writers on American history, has the following to say on the early races in the United States: "Whether the Indians are descended from this ancient population or not, is a question with which we have as yet no satisfactory method of dealing. It is not unlikely that these glacial men may have perished from off the face of the earth, having been crushed and supplanted by stronger races. There may have been several successive waves of migration of which the Indians were the latest."--Fiske's _Discovery of America_, Vol. I, p. 15. "The aboriginal American, as we know him with his language and legends, his physical and mental peculiarities, his social observance and customs, is most emphatically a native and not an imported article. He belongs to the American continent as strictly as its opossums and armadillo, its maize and its golden rods, or any number of its aboriginal fauna and flora belong to it."--_Ibid._, p. 20. An Iowa investigator, C. L. Webster, some years ago examined several mounds on the banks of the Cedar river near Charles City and "found the skulls small which would show an extremely low grade of mental intelligence."--_American Naturalist_, Vol. 23, p. 1888. This may go to show that the early inhabitants were different from the nomadic Indians that the first whites saw as they landed on the bleak shores of New England in the eleventh century. Most writers on this subject are led to believe that we have conclusive evidence that man existed before the time of the glaciers and that from primitive conditions he has lived here and developed through the same stages which may correspond to the development of primitive man in Europe and Asia. Whether the first settlers in Iowa then, were Mound Builders, or Indians, or some other race may never be known, for a certainty. It is enough to say, that man existed and lived on what has become known as Iowa many, many centuries ago, and he left few if any remains which can testify to his stage of development or to his mode of living. This is no doubt true, that man existed in Linn county countless ages ago, but whether it was a different race, or simply the Indian race at a different stage of development may never be known and thus will always remain a mystery. INDIANS When the first white settlers located in Linn county the Red Men still occupied the land, and even after treaties had been fully ratified, Indians were slow to give up these choice hunting places along the Red Cedar and the Wapsie. It is needless to say that the rights of Indians were not protected and they invariably were set aside and driven away as fast as possible. Still nearly all of the early settlers were very friendly toward the Red Men, and in return received many favors from their hands. Of course, the Red Men were jealous of the whites, who gradually kept coming in and drove the Indians away. The Indians who most frequented this part of Iowa after the settlement by whites were the Sac and Fox and Winnebagoes. The Winnebagoes were a remnant of a warlike tribe, and at one time in Wisconsin were very powerful. These joined with the Sac and Fox in the Black Hawk war and were driven across the Mississippi river after the signing of the treaty of peace. [Illustration: LEWIS FIELD LINN] The pioneers in this county from necessity had to be friendly with the Indians. Many of the early settlers were able to speak the Winnebago language, such as the family of William Abbe, the Edgertons, the Usher family, the Crows, and many others. The Winnebagoes lingered around in this part of Iowa in the thirties and forties, when they were finally removed to Minnesota, much against their own wishes. But the Indians, rightly in this respect as in many others, were not considered, for the white men ruled and looked out for their own selfish interests and did not consider the side of mercy, justice or the rights of the weak as against those of the strong. The Winnebagoes were considered a hardy race and respected by the whites, who showed them many favors. While the Winnebagoes had fought in the war of 1812 under Tecumseh and had sided with Black Hawk, perhaps reluctantly, in the war of 1832, they were rather friendly toward the whites, although they very much objected to disposing of all their lands east of the Mississippi river by the treaties of 1825 and 1837, when they were removed to Iowa. In Linn county they remained for a longer or shorter period of time along the rivers such as the Cedar and the Wapsie, and especially around Cedar Lake, along the Palisades, in Linn Grove, Scotch Grove west of Cedar Rapids, and in other places where there was much timber. While they were at times heartless and cruel, their relations on the whole with the early settlers in Linn county were those of friendship, and they showed the whites many favors in the early days when the scattered pioneer families were unable to acquire sufficient food during the winter months to subsist upon. The Indians always helped the whites, and frequently went out hunting, bringing back a deer, fowls, or prairie chickens, which they divided among their own people and the whites. They early became fond of the dishes made by the white women, such as hominy, honey cakes, johnny cakes, and other delicious dishes found in the homes of the early settlers on the frontier. In no instance has it been reported that any white woman was ever assaulted by any Indian in this county. In many of the cabins of the early settlers there could be found only women and children, the husbands having left for the river towns to bring back provisions, and this fact was frequently known to the Indians. The early pioneer women used to say that they feared the rough border ruffian more than they did these traveling bands of Indians, who never assaulted anyone or ever carried away property by stealth, as the border ruffians were frequently accused of doing. The story of the Winnebago tribe of Indians can not be passed without some notice. The name Winnebago is said to mean "the turbid water people," and they are closely related to the Iowas, Otoes, and the Missouri tribes. They used to call themselves the Hochangara, meaning "the people using the parent tongue," thus, perhaps, intending to convey that they were the original people from whom others sprang. They are first mentioned in the Jesuit Relations of 1636 and 1640. It is said that they were nearly annihilated by the Illinois tribes in early days and that the survivors fled back to Green Bay in 1737 and that they resided on the banks of Lake Superior but once more drifted back to Green Bay and towards Lake Winnebago, stretching southwest towards the Mississippi river. On one of the islands in the lake which bears their name they made their abiding place for a number of years and here they buried their dead and dwelt in peace around their fire places. In 1825 the population was estimated to be 6,000. By the treaties of 1825 and 1832 they were compelled to cede their lands to the government, certain tracts of land being reserved on the Mississippi river near what is now known as La Crosse. Here they suffered from several visitations of smallpox, which plague is said to have carried off nearly one-fourth of their number. From 1834-35 they were removed to Iowa and lived along the many rivers in the northeastern part of the Territory as far as the banks of the Cedar and the Wapsie rivers. White settlers came in, driving the Red Men out: hunting became poor and the Indians could not subsist and they were again removed to the Blue Earth reservation in Minnesota in 1848. On account of the Indian outbreaks in 1863, committed by the Sioux tribe, and in which the Winnebagoes took no part, they were again removed to the Dakotas, where several hundred perished from cold and hunger. There are now only about 1,200 under the Omaha and Winnebago agency in Nebraska, and about 1,500 in the state of Wisconsin. The Sac and Fox were also the early neighbors of the whites in this county. The Fox was an Algonkian tribe, first found on the lakes, and who were driven south by the Ojibwa where, for self protection, they united with the Sacs and have been since known as Sacs and Foxes. They were always friendly to the British, joining them in the Revolution as well as in the war of 1812. After the Black Hawk war they were removed to Iowa and from here removed again to the Indian Territory from 1842-46. Many of the tribes kept coming back to their old hunting ground and finally they were permitted to remain on the Iowa river and provision for them was made by the legislature. About 400, known as the Muskwaki, are still found, survivors of some of the early wanderers in eastern Iowa in the early thirties. The Sacs and Foxes and the Winnebagoes were always on friendly terms with the whites and were sworn enemies of the Sioux. Mrs. Susan Shields, a daughter of William Abbe, was on intimate terms with the Winnebago Indians, who used to gather at her father's home on Abbe's creek frequently. She learned to speak the Winnebago language, and remembered seeing many wigwams, or tepees as they were called, at the lower end of what is now Cedar Rapids. She speaks of the Indians as being kind to her and that her first playmates were Indian girls of her own age. Her brothers also played with the Indian boys and they learned to ride Indian ponies and to shoot with bows and arrows. No trouble ever arose among the young of both races in these days; rather the white boys were envious to see the liberties granted the Indian boys and how they were permitted to roam any place at pleasure, never having any chores to do. Robert Ellis understood more or less of the Indian jargon, and still speaks of his many escapades among the Sioux, the Winnebago, and the Sac and Fox. At one time, about 1839, some 300 Winnebagoes were camped on what is known as McCloud's Run. It was late in the fall and very cold; word came in the night that the Sioux were coming to exterminate the tribe. At once they broke camp and forded the river near the mill dam, first getting the women and children across. The white settlers were frightened. By nine o'clock the next morning the camps were up on the west side of the river and the gay young bucks had brought in thirty-eight deer which had been shot during the early morning, which were served to the hungry lot who had worked all night. While the Sioux had been in the neighborhood no attack was made upon the Winnebagoes at this time. Mr. Ellis also relates that he and two friends camped one night on the Cedar above Waterloo, where they were hunting. One morning in mid-winter a party of Sioux came to the cabin. They could do nothing but invite the Red Men in and offer them provisions and anything they had. While the Indians kicked against the whites killing their game, the friendliness of the whites seemed to satisfy them, and they left their new found friends in possession of their camps. After this discovery by the Sioux Mr. Ellis and his friends made a hasty retreat, not wanting to meet their dusky companions again when they might return in larger numbers. Mr. Ellis relates another incident of his life among the Indians. He came to an Indian camp near Quasqueton on his way to Ft. Atkinson and had to spend the night in the camp. Unfortunately nearly all of the Indians were drunk and insisted on killing every one. The squaws, who were sober, and a few of the old men, got Mr. Ellis to help, and all the drunken bucks were tied so they could scarcely move. Mr. Ellis then retired, and in the morning all were sober and untied, and then the squaws and the old men who had been sober started in to get gloriously drunk. Mr. Ellis wanted to hire an Indian to show him the way to West Union, but the Indian shrugged his shoulders and replied, "wolf eaty you." Mr. Ellis started out alone afoot over the snow covered prairie on a cold winter day and finally reached a cabin late at night, nearly overcome from cold. He still believes he would have perished if it had not been for the words of the old Indian which kept ringing in his ears all day and which added courage to his exhausted spirits. At one time a large number of Muskwaki Indians were camping near Indian creek, and as the winter was severe and snow deep the Indians were out of food. They came to the home of Susan Doty, who gave them the best and only thing she had--hominy--which she warmed on the fire and gave to the Red Men, who expressed their thanks by grunting and continually asking for more, till the entire supply was exhausted. From that time, when the Indians returned from the hunt with a deer or two Mrs. Doty was always remembered with a good share of game. When the Indians lost ponies they would go to the old settlers like Usher, N. B. Brown, the Hunters, Oxleys, or Dotys, asking them to assist in catching the thieves. One day Usher and Brown came to Doty's with an Indian chief who had lost his pony. Hunter was also called in, and off the party started in pursuit of the horsethief, who was caught near Viola and who made himself scarce at once, for he was branded as an outlaw by the Indians, who would shoot him at sight. The Indian was more than happy in getting back his pony. These men who were willing to help the Indians were sure to get anything they cared for which could be procured by the red brother. A white man who would help an Indian to recover stolen property was forever a friend of the Indians of the tribe. The Indians in Linn county during the thirties and forties dressed in skins, lived in tepees, and owned ponies; all wore government blankets and had guns, also procured from the government. The men and women dressed much the same. The women carried home the game, looked after the tepee, made maple sugar, which was traded to the whites for sugar, flour, and woolen goods. Flour especially was much relished by the Indians. The localities much frequented by the Indians were along the Red Cedar and Wapsie rivers, Cedar lake, Indian creek, the Palisades, Linn Grove, Scotch Grove, and Prairie creek. In these places they would remain for weeks at a time, when they would all pull up and leave on some hunting trip, not returning till in the fall or spring of the year. Where they went to no one knew, and where they came from no one inquired. But the Red Men in early days in this county were all treated with due courtesy by the whites, who, in turn, were spared by the Indians. The best of feeling always existed among the whites and Indians. The Sioux very seldom came into this part of Iowa. William Abbe and Robert Ellis were the agents for the government in supplying the Winnebago Indians at Ft. Atkinson with food, thus these men were well acquainted with the Winnebagoes, who, in turn, were on terms of friendship with the Sacs and Foxes. The Winnebagoes, like the other tribes, became addicted to the use of fire water to such an extent that they would sell their guns and ammunition for whiskey. One of the early experiences of W. H. Merritt as a young store keeper at Ivanhoe was to clean out the store single-handed of a crowd of drunken Indians who intended to take possession of the store for a sufficient length of time at least till they could consume the large quantity of whiskey stored therein, but they had not figured on the courage of the young man who later distinguished himself during the Civil war. Young Mr. Merritt drove out the intruders and saved the store, as well as the property of the company for which he worked. Many of the old settlers tell stories of the quantity and variety of food these wandering tribes of Indians were capable of consuming, which seemed to be beyond the comprehension of the white man. Mr. Ellis relates how he and William Abbe were notified to forthwith procure beef cattle for an Indian conference at Ft. Atkinson. These men promptly drove a large number of young cattle to Ft. Atkinson from Linn county, and the Indians consumed in a very short time rations which were expected to have lasted for several weeks. Others have left records of straggling bands of Indians who were fed at some pioneer cabin and consumed quantities of food at a sitting several times more than the ordinary white man could eat in a week. But then it must be remembered that these Indians did not have their regular meals three times a day, by any means. They seemed to go for days and for a week without eating much of anything, and when a feast was set before them they did full justice to the repast. The Indians had an abnormal fondness for sweets. The making of maple sugar, especially in Wisconsin, had been one of the industries of the aborigines; a little was always made in Iowa. The season for sugar making came when the first crow appeared; this occurred about the first of March, while there was yet snow on the ground. As a substitute for sugar the Indians were very fond of honey, and it was said by the early settlers that the squaws could smell a bee tree further than anyone else. These bee trees were claimed by the Indians, and woe to the white man's son who by stealth or otherwise would encroach upon the Indian's rights in this regard. While the Indians were called cruel and merciless during the Black Hawk war and later, the pioneers of Linn county found them friendly, hospitable, devoted and loyal friends. Many instances have been cited how the Red Men risked their own lives even to assist their white friends. While they never forgave an injury, they never forgot a deed of kindness. [Illustration: A SCENE ON THE CEDAR RIVER AT CEDAR RAPIDS IN THE FIFTIES] [Illustration: RESIDENCE OF ISAAC CARROLL IN 1839] CHAPTER III _Iowa Historically_ We take the liberty of quoting here a chapter from "The Louisiana Purchase," by C. M. Geer, in _The History of North America_, Vol. VIII, edited by Guy Carleton Lee, and published by George Barrie & Sons, Philadelphia, 1904. It gives in brief space the more important historical facts connected with the formation of the State. "The governmental experiences of Iowa before its admission into the Union as a State were many and varied. Its discoverers were the missionary priest Jacques Marquette and the explorer Louis Joliet, who were living at St. Mary's, the oldest settlement in the present State of Michigan. On May 13, 1673, with five Canadian boatmen, these two men left on an exploring expedition, and on June 25, 1673, landed near the mouth of Des Moines River.[B] By right of discovery France claimed jurisdiction over the country thus visited until 1763, when the Territory was ceded to Spain. On October 1, 1800, it was ceded with the rest of Louisiana Territory from Spain back to France. On the 30th of April, 1803, it was in turn ceded to the United States by France as a part of the Louisiana Purchase. "These changes of government had little effect upon what was to constitute the future State of Iowa, because the Indians remained in almost undisputed possession. Although discovered and claimed by France in 1673, no attempt at settlement was made until 1788, when Julian Dubuque, a Canadian, obtained from Blondeau and two other Indian chiefs a grant of lands. This claim was twenty-one miles long and extended from the Mississippi westward nine miles. The grant was confirmed, in a qualified way, by Carondelet, Spanish governor at New Orleans. Dubuque engaged in mining and trading with the Indians, making his headquarters at the place which now bears his name. The question of the validity of his claim to this great tract of land came before the United States Supreme Court in 1854, and the decision of that body was that his grant was only a temporary license to dig ore. "In 1799, a trading post was established on the Mississippi within the present territory of Iowa. This settlement and the one at Dubuque were abandoned, so that Iowa was practically an unknown and undesired country at the time when it came under the control of the United States in 1803. It was at that time Indian territory, occupied by the Sacs, Foxes, and Iowas, with the still more warlike Sioux on the north and east. "On the 31st of October, 1803, a temporary government was authorized for the recently acquired territory. By Act of Congress, approved March 26, 1803, Louisiana was erected into two Territories and provision made for the administration of each. The upper part was known as the District of Louisiana and included Arkansas, Missouri, and Iowa. This was placed temporarily under the jurisdiction of the Territory of Indiana. On July 4, 1805, all this northern district became the Territory of Louisiana, with a separate Territorial government. The legislative power was vested in the governor and three judges to be appointed by the President and Senate. This condition continued until December 7, 1812, when the Territory of Louisiana became the Territory of Missouri. In 1821, Missouri was admitted into the Union, and this admission of Missouri carried with it the abolition of the government of Missouri Territory, so that for a time Iowa was without any government. It is a question how much law remained in force in Iowa after the admission of Missouri. It is probable that the only civil law in force was the proviso of the Missouri bill, which prohibited slavery north of thirty-six degrees thirty minutes north latitude. No provision was made for that portion of the Territory of Missouri until June 28, 1834, when Congress attached the present State of Iowa, together with other territory, to the Territory of Michigan. "On July 3, 1836, it was included in the newly organized Territory of Wisconsin. On June 12, 1838, the Territory of Iowa was constituted by Act of Congress. This Territory included 'all that part of the present Territory of Wisconsin which lies west of Mississippi River and west of a line due north from the sources or headwaters of the Mississippi to the territorial line.' "From the time of the purchase in 1803 up to the date of the organization of the Territory in 1838 there had been a gradual increase in the knowledge of this land and a growing appreciation of its value. There had been parties of hunters and trappers who made temporary settlements on the banks of the Mississippi in the period from 1820 to 1830. It was not till steam navigation was established on the Mississippi that there grew up a demand for Iowa lands. Southeastern Illinois and northwestern Missouri were settled and the pioneers naturally looked to the equally desirable lands in Iowa. Various exploring expeditions also contributed to a desire to settle in the territory. Lewis and Clark added to the knowledge of its western borders by their expedition in 1805. Pike in the same year traversed another part of the Territory, and these explorers brought back accounts of its great fertility and of its desirability for settlement. "The government established a broad strip of neutral ground between the Sioux in the north and the Sacs and Foxes in the south to keep these tribes at peace, and in 1830 acquired lands on the Missouri to be used as Indian reservations. Here and there in the Iowa Territory were white men who had gained the friendship of the Indians and lived with them. There were trading posts of the American Fur Company and miners at Dubuque, who were licensed by the government to work at that point. Iowa remained the home of the Indians until the close of the Black Hawk War, when General Winfield Scott, on September 15, 1832, concluded a treaty of peace with the Sacs and Foxes, by which the Indian title was extinguished to that part of land known as the Black Hawk Purchase. This was the eastern part of Iowa and extended along the Mississippi, from Missouri on the south to the 'Neutral Grounds' on the north, and westward a distance of fifty miles. It contained about six million acres and was to be surrendered by the Indians on June 1, 1833. This gave the first opportunity for the legal settlement of Iowa by citizens of the United States. "June 1, 1833, was fixed as the day on which the Indians were to be removed from the Black Hawk Purchase and the lands opened for settlement. The would-be settlers came in large numbers to the banks of the Mississippi, ready to cross and get the choice of the land. United States troops kept guard on the western shore of the river and prevented any persons from entering the Purchase before the appointed time. At precisely twelve o'clock, midnight, June 1st, there was a wild rush of settlers from East and South and the settlement of Iowa was begun. "There was a rapid increase in population until the separate Territorial government was established, June 12, 1838. The first capital was Burlington, and the place of meeting of the legislature was in a church. Robert Lucas was appointed Territorial Governor, and William B. Conway, Secretary. The Territorial Legislature met on November 12, 1838. Burlington continued to be the seat of Territorial government till 1841, when Iowa City became the capital. "The Territory of Iowa had a heated dispute with the State of Missouri over the boundary line between the two. Missouri's northern boundary was the parallel of latitude passing through the rapids of the river Des Moines. There were two rapids, eight or ten miles apart, and the dispute was as to which of these was meant, Missouri insisting upon the northern and Iowa on the southern one. Each government tried to enforce its authority. In the attempt to do this, Governor Boggs, of Missouri, called out the militia; then Governor Lucas, of Iowa, called out his soldiers. Five hundred men were under arms. On the petitions of Iowa and Missouri, Congress authorized a suit to settle the controversy, which resulted in a decision favorable to Iowa. "Further treaties were made with the Indians by which additional land was gained for settlement. A large tract of land was opened to settlers on May 1, 1843, and on the preceding night there was a rush of land seekers similar to that which had occurred ten years before; over a thousand families settled in the newly opened lands within twelve hours. "The very rapid increase in population led to a demand for statehood. On July 31, 1840, the Territorial Legislature passed an Act by which it called for a vote of the people on the question of assembling a constitutional convention. In August the vote was taken, resulting in the defeat of the proposition by a vote of two thousand nine hundred and seven to nine hundred and thirty-seven. Another vote was taken in 1842, resulting in the same way, but on February 12, 1844, the suggestion of a constitutional convention met the approval of the majority of the electors, and without waiting for a Federal Enabling Act a Constitution was adopted by a convention which met at Iowa City, October 7, 1844, and finished its work November 1st of the same year. This Constitution was submitted to Congress by the Territorial delegate. "Here again there was the effort to balance a northern and southern State. Maine had been admitted into the Union in 1820, and Missouri in 1821; Arkansas in 1836, and Michigan in the next year. Now, it was proposed to admit Florida with Iowa. At this time Florida was much below the required population. The Congressional debate on the subject was a long and interesting one and brought out clearly the growing jealousy between North and South. This feeling was especially strong at this time because of the probability that several southern slaveholding States might be formed from Texas. "There was furthermore a dispute of considerable importance over the general boundary of Iowa. The Constitution submitted to Congress by the Territorial delegate provided that the boundary should be as follows: 'Beginning in the middle of the main channel of Mississippi River opposite the mouth of Des Moines River; thence up the said River Des Moines in the middle of the main channel thereof, to a point where it is intersected by the old Indian boundary line, or line run by John C. Sullivan in the year 1816; thence westwardly along said line to the old northwest corner of Missouri; thence due west to the middle of the main channel of Missouri River; thence up in the middle of the main channel of the river last mentioned to the mouth of Sioux or Calumet River; thence in a direct line to the middle of the main channel of St. Peter's River, where Watonwan River (according to Nicollet's map) enters the same; thence down the middle of the main channel of said river to the middle to the main channel of Mississippi River; thence down the middle of the main channel of said river to the place of beginning.' "An amendment was proposed in Congress which substituted the following in place of the boundary as given above: 'Beginning in the middle of St. Peter's River, at the junction of Watonwan or Blue Earth River; with the said River St. Peter's running thence due east to the boundary line of the Territory of Wisconsin in the middle of Mississippi River; thence down the middle of the last-named river with the boundary line of the Territory of Wisconsin and state of Illinois to the northeast corner of the state of Missouri in the said River Mississippi; thence westwardly with the boundary line of said State of Missouri to a point due south from the place of beginning; thence due north to the place of beginning in said St. Peter's River.' "Of especial interest was the attitude taken by Samuel F. Vinton, representative from Ohio, in regard to the admission of Iowa. He believed that the Western States should be small in area in order that the West might not be deprived of its share in the government of the nation. It seemed to him that the policy so far pursued in the West had been wrong because the States were so large that they were sure to contain two or three times as large a population as the Atlantic States. There was at the time a provision under consideration that Florida might be divided, when either East or West Florida should contain a population of thirty-five thousand. Vinton contended that if Florida was to be divided, there should be a provision for dividing Iowa, because it was safer to give political power to the West than to the Atlantic States, for the West was the great conservative power of the Union. He stated that though the spirit of disunion might exist in the North and in the South, it could not live in the West, because the interests of the West were inseparably connected with both, and it would hold the two sections together, because it had no prejudice against either North or South and, what was of greater importance, the West was a grain growing country, and so must look equally to the manufacturing North and the cotton growing South for its market. Therefore the West must be conservative whether it wished to be or not. Vinton believed that instead of five there should have been at least twelve States in the old Northwest, and that to partly offset this injustice, small States should be formed west of the Mississippi. After considerable debate in the House, the bill for the admission of Iowa passed that body and was transmitted to the Senate, which it passed March 3, 1845. "After a vote for admission, the constitution was submitted to the people of Iowa, who made serious objections to it. One objection was directed against the small salaries to be paid, which, it was feared, would result in getting only inferior men for official positions. The restrictions on banks and corporations proved an unpopular feature. The limitation placed upon the extent of territory claimed by Iowa was unsatisfactory to many, though the State would still have an area of forty-four thousand three hundred square miles. This reduction of area was the greatest objection, so that when the vote was taken many who were in favor of statehood voted against forming a state of such reduced area, and the Constitution was rejected by a vote of seven thousand and nineteen to six thousand and twenty-three. "The governor called a special session of the legislature, and a bill for the re-submission of the constitution was passed over his veto. This was defeated by the people in August, 1845. On January 17, 1846, an Act was passed which provided for a new constitutional convention. This body came together in May and adopted a new constitution which did not differ greatly from the earlier instrument. The boundaries given in it were a compromise between those originally asked by the people and those granted by Congress. The matter was actively discussed in Congress when the new constitution with the changed boundaries came before that body, but the arguments were essentially the same as those previously advanced. An exciting campaign followed in Iowa, and the constitution was adopted, August 3, 1846, by a small majority. On the 4th of August the president signed the bill which settled the boundary question in accordance with the second constitution, and an Act was passed December 28, 1846, by which Iowa was admitted into the Union." [Illustration: AN EARLY LAND DEED FROM THE U. S. GOVERNMENT] CHAPTER IV _Iowa and Her People_ "In all that is good Iowa affords the best." Thus a few years ago wrote one of our state's most distinguished citizens.[C] And his utterance found a ready response in the hearts of the men and women of our fair land, so that today the expression is an axiom. Every Iowan believes firmly in its truth. There is no fairer land under the benevolent sun. Here plenty reigns, and prosperity has her home. Cheerful industry has redeemed the land that once was the home of wild animals and untamed savages. Iowa's waving corn fields; her meadows of luxuriant grass; her hills dotted with magnificent houses and barns; her landscape made more picturesque by the presence of fattening herds; her school houses and higher centers of learning on almost every hill; the smoke from the busy industries of her thriving cities and villages; her soil the most fertile of any known; her waste land less than that of any other equal area; her percentage of illiteracy the lowest; her mineral resources abundant; her numerous streams affording water power inferior to none--all these things and more rightly tend to make Iowans proud of their State. Now, as a half century ago, Iowa offers "to the lawloving and the temperate; to the enterprising, the vigorous, the ambitious, a home and a field worthy of their noblest efforts."[D] She throws open to the world her exhaustless stores of wealth, her golden opportunities, and says: "Behold your reward." N. H. Parker, writing more than a half century ago, drew this glowing picture of the future Iowa: "As the immigrant mother leads her sons and daughters into the undeveloped paths of wealth--as civilization elevates a race out of the sloughs of semi-barbarism--as national prosperity exalts a land--or as science raises the human intellect from darkness into dazzling light--thus Iowa, with rapid strides, ascends the precipitious sides of prosperity's mountain range, bearing her sons and daughters to loftier, and still loftier peaks, and revealing to their gaze still wider and richer vistas. And the summit of this range she will never reach; for her onward progress cannot be stayed, until her arterial streams are dry--until the agricultural life-blood in her veins has ceased to flow, until her great metallic heart has been emptied. Upon the topmost summit, then, Iowa will never stand, for through countless ages yet to come, her progress--that must be forever onward--must be upward also."[E] The people of Iowa do not stand still. Not satisfied with present achievements, they go forward, doing well to-day the tasks that are theirs, and striving earnestly to make the future better and more glorious than the past. We can not do better here than by quoting a toast to the future of Iowa given some years ago by O. J. Laylander, a loyal son of the state: "In the few minutes allotted to this toast scant justice may be awarded so worthy a theme. We love you, O Iowa, lusty child, resting in the mighty arms of the Missouri and the Father of Waters, laughing beneath the warm kisses and the love tears of gentle May; crying aloud to all the world: 'See how I grow! How strong I am! How happy and healthy and beautiful!' "Iowa is glorious now. The great, green carpets, fresh from the springtime cleaning, shimmer in the glorious sun. The broad, black belts of loam await with open pockets the hiding of the golden grain. Living, glowing mines of gold stud the prairies' endless velvet folds. The countless castles of the farm are bound into great bundles by the sounding wire. Above every door that opens upon honest toil is inscribed in letters of gold the motto, 'Rich, rich, rich.' "Such is Iowa today in its wealth of land and stock. Each year the unfailing field fills the bins to bursting and grows the meat for millions. "Material Iowa, with great leaps, has gone forward in the world's race. Manifest destiny was misread by even the wisest of our grandfathers. Even thirty years ago no prophet dared choose the gorgeous hues necessary to a true picture of the Iowa of to-day. "Yet not alone in industrial lines has Iowa set the pace for the states. In politics she has crowded New England off the stage, and bold Ohio sits quietly at her feet. In literature and in arts she stands unashamed. Comfort and culture walk hand in hand, and happiness is a perennial contagion. "Some fifty years ago there came to Iowa a sturdy boy. Today he calls his own one thousand billowy acres which have risen in value in steps of ten until one hundred thousand dollars would not tempt him to yield his title. One June afternoon he sat on his piazza in sweet reverie. He reviewed the wonderful development of the grand old state, and sent his imagination in search of greater possibilities. From the hedge the thrush poured forth a song of love. The humming bees thrust their honeyed tongues into the flowers on the trellis at his side. The south wind was heavy with fragrance brushed from the blooming bushes. All nature conspired to steal the old man's senses and soon reverie gave way to sleep and dreams, and this, they say, was the dream: He dreamed that it was the year nineteen hundred and forty-one, and he was celebrating his hundredth birthday. He had seen comfort and culture become as common as the summer sun. Literature and art had countless country devotees. People had ceased to hurry, and worry was unknown: and then he dreamed that he died, and sought admission at the golden gate. To his amazement he was halted and informed that he was at the wrong place. Greatly grieved, he parleyed with the guard: 'I never wittingly did a human soul a wrong. I was rich, but it was not my fault. Why must I, who have always tried to do my duty, go to hell?' 'No one said anything about hell,' was the reply. 'To the annex--the second gate to the right. You Iowa people complain so much about celestial conditions and make so many comparisons with Iowa that we have concluded to colonize you a few thousand years and send you all back to Iowa.' "That the future of Iowa shall be such that if you shall not wish to come back, you shall at least wish to stay as long as possible, is my sincere desire."[F] Calhoun made the assertion on the floor of the United States Senate that he had been told that "the Iowa country has been seized upon by a lawless body of armed men." Senator Ewing, of Ohio, and Senator Clay, of Kentucky, had received similar information, the former asserting that he would in no way object to giving each rascal who crossed the Mississippi to the westward one thousand dollars if by that means he might get rid of him. And these distinguished statesmen were not alone in this view. To many in the east the first comers to the territory were "land robbers," "idle and profligate characters," "fugitives from justice," "lawless intruders," and worse. They were squatters "who feared neither the laws of God nor man." Doubtless those who made these assertions were honest and sincere. They believed that only the most desperate characters, the outcasts of decent communities, had the hardihood to explore this _terra incognita_. They could not comprehend how persons living in settled communities, and surrounded with many of the comforts of life, could be so fool-hardy as to leave all these things for the sake of making a new home in a wilderness inhabited only by wild animals and wilder and more dangerous Indians. But there is another side to the picture. Personal observation is always more to be depended upon than hearsay testimony. One of the most trust-worthy of the early writers on Iowa is Lieut. Albert Miller Lea. He had spent some years in the "Ioway District"; he had made a tour of observation across the state; he had most excellent opportunities for observing and studying the character of our first settlers. His testimony cannot be impeached, for he was a man far above the practice of deceit. In his _Notes on the Wisconsin Territory_, particularly with reference to the Iowa District or Black Hawk Purchase, published in 1836, he gives this vivid and truthful picture of our early inhabitants: "The character of this population is such as is rarely to be found in our newly acquired territories. With very few exceptions, there is not a more orderly, industrious, active, pains-taking population west of the Alleghenies, than is this of the Iowa District. Those who have been accustomed to associate the name of _Squatter_ with the idea of idleness and recklessness, would be quite surprised to see the systematic manner in which every thing is here conducted. For intelligence, I boldly assert that they are not surpassed, as a body, by an equal number of citizens of any country in the world. "It is a matter of surprise that, about the Mining Region, there should be so little of the recklessness that is usual in that sort of life.... This regularity and propriety is to be attributed to the preponderance of well informed and well-intentioned gentlemen among them, as well as to the disposition of the mass of the people."[G] Two years later another personal observer says: "He who supposes that settlers ... who are now building upon, fencing and cultivating the lands of the government are lawless depredators, devoid of the sense of moral honesty, or that they are not in every sense as estimable citizens, with as much intelligence, regard for law and social order, for public justice and private rights ... as the farmers and yeomen of New York and Pennsylvania ... has been led astray by vague and unfounded notions, or by positively false information."[H] These people knew the pioneers, and their testimony is entitled to credence. As a class even the "Squatters" were not idle, or vicious, or ignorant. They were young men, strong and hardy, full of courage and adventure. "There was not a better population on the face of the earth," is the testimony of Senator Benton. "They made roads," says Prof. B. F. Shambaugh, superintendent of the Iowa State Historical Society, "built bridges and mills, cleared the forests, broke the prairies, erected houses and barns, and defended the settled country against hostile Indians. They were distinguished especially for their general intelligence, their hospitality, their independence and bold enterprise. They had schools and school houses, erected churches, and observed the Sabbath.... The pioneers were religious, but not ecclesiastical. They lived in the open and looked upon the relations of man to nature with an open mind. To be sure their thoughts were more on 'getting along' in this world than upon the 'immortal crown' of the Puritan. And yet in the silent forest, in the broad prairie, in the deep blue sky, in the sentinels of the night, in the sunshine and in the storm, in the rosy dawn, in the golden sunset, and in the daily trials and battles of frontier life, they too must have seen and felt the Infinite."[I] No greater tribute has ever been paid to the pioneers of our state than that given by a distinguished native of the state, Hon. Robert G. Cousins, on Iowa Day at the Trans-Mississippi Exposition at Omaha on Sept. 21, 1898. The following extracts from that masterly oration are worthy of preservation here: "I have asked five of the ablest and most noted Americans what they regard as the chief thing or leading feature of the Trans-Mississippi region and they have invariably answered, 'Its men and women.' The other day I met one of the oldest settlers of eastern Iowa--one of those original, rugged characters whose wit and wisdom have lightened the settlers' hearts and homes for many a toilsome year--one of those interesting characters who never bores you and whom one always likes to meet--a man whose head is silvered and whose countenance is kind--and I asked him what he regarded as the principal feature of our Trans-Mississippi country, and he replied: 'Well, I'm no scholar, but I've been round here nigh onto sixty years and I reckon 'bout the most important thing is the folks and the farms.' "Iowa became a separate territory, with the capital at Burlington, in 1838, and was admitted into the Union in 1846, and has been in it ever since. It makes little difference whether it was first settled by the whites at Dubuque for mining purposes in 1788, or, for trading purposes, at Montrose, in 1799, or opposite Prairie du Chien, in 1804 or 5, or in Lee county at Sandusky in 1820, or on the lower rapids at what is now known as Nashville, in 1829; or whether the first settlements for general purposes were made at Burlington and Davenport in 1832. The main fact is that it was well settled--not by dyspeptic tourists nor by invalids who had come west out of curiosity and New Jersey, nor by climate seeking dilettanti with two servants and one lung--but by the best bone and sinew of the middle states, New England and the old world. I do not know that there were any dukes or lords or marquises or duchesses, but there were Dutch and Irish and Scotch and Scotch-Irish and English and Americans, and they had home rule right from the start--at least they had it in the first school which I attended. The men and women who settled the Hawkeye state were not those who expected to go back 'in the fall,' or as soon as they could prove up on their claims. They were stayers. They were not men to be discouraged by winter or by work. They were men who knew that nobody ever amounted to much in this world unless he had to. Most of them began simply with the capital of honesty, good health and their inherent qualities of character. They built their cabins in the clearings and, watching the smoke curl up in the great, wide sky, felt just as patriotic for their humble rustic homes as e'er did princes for their castles or millionaires for mansions grand. "To build a home is a great thing. It doesn't matter so much about the dimensions. 'Kings have lived in cottages and pygmies dwelt in palaces,' but the walls of a home always add something to inherent character. In the formation of character there are always two elements, the inherent and the adventitious--that which we bring with us into the world and that which our surroundings give us. Somebody said 'there is only a small portion of the earth that produces splendid people.' Our pioneers got into a good place. They had left doubt sitting on a boulder in the east and packed their things and started for the west. Rivers had to be forded, trees to be felled, cabins had to be built--the rifle must be kept loaded--so much the better, there was self-reliance. Corn and coffee had to be ground, and on the same mill--so much the better, there was ingenuity. Teeth had to be filled, and there was no painless dentistry. Disease and injury must be dealt with, and the doctor fifty miles away. Life must be lightened, lonely hearts must be cheered, and the old friends and comrades far back in the states or maybe away in fatherland, and the cheering letter tarrying with the belated stage coach--hold fast, thou sturdy denizen and gentle helpmate of the rich and wondrous empire, infinite goodness guards thee and the fertile fields are ready to reward. [Illustration: SHEPHERD'S TAVERN Erected in 1838, Looking West. The First House in Cedar Rapids. Present Site of Y. M. C. A. COURTESY CARROLL'S HISTORY] "Ah, pampered people of the later generations, when you imagine modern hardships, think of the courage and the trials and the ingenuity of pioneers when there were no conveniences but the forest and the axe, the wide rolling prairie and the ox team, the great blue sky, the unsolved future and the annual ague! Complain of markets in these modern times and then think of your grandmother when she was a blooming bride, listening through the toilsome days and anxious nights for the wagon bringing home the husband from a distant market with calico and jeans purchased with dressed pork sold at a dollar and a half a hundred, and maybe bringing home a little money, worth far less per yard than either calico or jeans. Maybe it is all for the best, human character was being formed for the development of a great and loyal and progressive state to shine forever among the stars of the federal union.... "Civil government in Iowa proceeded with its rapid settlement. The pioneer became a model citizen. He knew the necessity for the laws that were enacted. He did not feel oppressed by government. He had experienced the losses of robbery and larceny and knew something of the embarrassment and inconvenience of being scalped. There was no hysteria about trusts and combines because they had practiced combinations themselves for mutual protection. If any one would learn the true genius and exemplification and philosophy of self-government, government of and for and by the people, let him study the records of pioneer life, the institutional beginnings, and the evolution of their laws. It would be worth our while on some suitable occasion when time permitted to talk over the interesting incidents attending the administration of justice in the early days of Iowa, the incidents of its territorial legislatures, the birth and growth of its statehood and the character of its officials. But the greatness of our state is not contained in any name. Its official history is the exponent of its industrial life and character. Its greatness is the sum total of its citizenship. In order to be just, John Jones, the average citizen, must be mentioned along with our most illustrious officials. Somebody said that the history of a nation is the history of its great men, but there is an unwritten history which that averment overlooks. The growth of a state is the progress of its average citizen. The credit of a commonwealth is the thrift of its John Jones and its William Smith, and the character, prosperity and patriotism of the individual citizen is the history of Iowa. "The population of 97,000 which she had when admitted into the union had increased to 754,699 at the close of the Civil war. Of these about 70,000, almost one-tenth of the population, were in the war--a number equal to nearly one-half of the voters of the state. Who made the history of Iowa during that great struggle of our nation's life? John Jones, the average citizen, whether he carried a musket helping to put the scattered stars of state back into the constellation of the Union, or whether he toiled from early dawn to lingering twilight in the fields or in the shop. The best civilization is that which maintains the highest standard of life for its average citizen. "Since the Civil war the state of Iowa has increased in population to almost 2,225,000 of people, and most of the time has had the least illiteracy of any state in the Union. Doubtless for that we are indebted to many of the older states, whose enterprising and courageous citizens constitute so large a portion of our population. With but a century of statehood and with an area of but 55,475 square miles, the state of Iowa produces the greatest quantity of cereals of any state in the Union. As long ago as the last federal census, taken in 1890, it produced more corn, more oats, more beef, more pork than any state in the Union. Not long since I was introduced to a gentleman from New York city. He said, 'Oh, from Iowa--ah--let me see, that's out--ah--you see, I'm not very well posted on the geography of the west.' 'Yes,' I said, 'it's out there just across the Mississippi river. You can leave New York about noon and get your supper in Iowa the next evening. It might be worth your while to look it up. It's the state which produces more of the things which people eat than any other state in the Union. It has more miles of railroads than your state of New York, more than Mexico, more than Brazil and more than all the New England states combined.' "The value of Iowa's agricultural products and live stock in round numbers for the year 1892 was $407,000,000, to say nothing of her other great and various industries and enterprises. She produced that year 160,000,000 pounds of the best butter on earth of the value of $32,000,000. The Hawkeye butter ladle has achieved a cunning that challenges all Columbia. The Iowa cow has slowly and painfully yet gradually and grandly worked her way upward to a shining eminence in the eyes of the world. The state of Iowa has on her soil today, if nothing ill befalls it, ninety million dollars' worth of corn. The permanent value of land is estimated by its corn-producing qualities. Of all the products of the earth, corn is king and it reigns in Iowa. "Industry and nature have made the state of Iowa a creditor. Her soil has always been solvent and her system of farming does not tend to pauperize. She is a constant seller and therefore wants the evidence of the transaction to be unimpeachable. She has more school teachers than any other state except the Empire state and only three and six-tenths per cent of her population are illiterates. The state of Iowa has yielded the greatest dividends on her educational investments. She has become illustrious on account of her enlightenment. She has progressed further from 'primitive indifferent tissue' than the land even of Darwin himself, and in her escape from protoplasm and prejudice she is practically out of danger. Marked out in the beginning by the hand of God, bounded on the east and west by the two great rivers of the continent, purified and stimulated by the snows of winter, blessed with copious rainfall in the growing season, with generous soil and stately forests interspersed, no wonder that the dusky aborigines exclaimed when they crossed the Father of Waters, 'Iowa, this is the place!' Not only did the red men give our state its beautiful and poetic name, but Indian nomenclature runs like a romance throughout the counties and communities. What infinite meaning, what tokens of joy and sadness, of triumph and of tears, of valor and of vanquishment, of life and love and song there may be in these weird, strange words that name to-day so many of our towns and streams and counties: Allamakee, Chickasaw, Dakota City, Sioux, Pocahontas, Winneshiek, Keosauqua, Sac, Winnebago, Tama, Nodawa, Competine, Chariton, Comanche, Cherokee, Waukon, Muchakinock, Washta, Monona, Waupeton, Onawa, Keota, Waudina, Ioka, Ottumwa, Oneska, Waukee, Waucoma, Nishnabotna, Keokuk, Decorah, Wapello, Muscatine, Maquoketa, Mahaska, Ocheyedan, Mississippi, Appanoose, Missouri, Quasqueton, Anamosa, Poweshiek, Pottawattamie, Osceola, Oskaloosa, Wapsipinicon. "Ere long some westland genius, moved by the mystic inspiration of the rich and wondrous heritage of Iowa nativity, may sing the song of our legends and traditions, may voice in verse the wondrous story of his illustrious state. Maybe somewhere among the humble homes where blood and bone and brain grow pure and strong, where simple food with frugal ways feeds wondering minds and drives them craving into nature's secrets and her songs--somewhere along the settler's pathway or by the Indian trail where now the country churchyards grown with uncut grasses hide the forms of sturdy ancestors sleeping all in peaceful ignorance of wayward sons or wondrous progeny--somewhere where rising sun beholds the peasantry at early toil and leaves them in the mystic twilight ere their tasks are done, where odors of the corn and new-mown hay and vine-clad hedges by the shadowy roadside linger long into the night-time, as a sweet and sacred balm for tired hearts--somewhere, sometime the song of Iowa shall rise and live, and it will not omit the thought of that gifted son who said: 'Iowa, the affections of her people, like the rivers of her borders, flow to an inseparable union.'" CHAPTER V _The Geology of Linn County_ BY WILLIAM HARMON NORTON, PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY IN CORNELL COLLEGE It is said that a certain county in Kentucky, underlain by limestone, always goes democratic; while a county adjacent, underlain by sandstone, is as invariably republican. Certain it is that a deal of politics, economics, and history depends at last analysis more or less upon the processes past and present which belong to geology and physiography. The rocks, the minerals they contain, and the water they store, the hills and valleys into which they have been carved, and the soils to which they weather, largely control the industries, locate the cities, and outcrop even in the social, intellectual, and moral life of the people. The metropolis of Linn county, for example, owes its name and place to the rapids of the Cedar, and the rapids find ultimate cause in the fact that some millions of years ago nature stopped laying a softer rock upon the ocean bed and deposited upon it one of more resistant texture. In the eastern part of the county the Chicago & Northwestern Railway runs for very good and sufficient reasons where once rested the edge of a long tongue of glacial ice, and west of Cedar Rapids its route is determined by the course taken by the turbid floods issuing from the melting glaciers. The streets of Mount Vernon and several of the main highways of the county do not lie with the points of the compass but follow the direction of flow of ancient ice-streams. The distribution of forest and prairie is due to geologic causes. The values of farm lands are markedly affected by the same influences, and we can even point out a little area which differs from its surroundings in its inhabitants and in their literacy, language, architecture, manners, and morals, primarily because it belongs to what geologists classify as the deeply dissected loess-covered Kansan drift sheet. The inductive history of Linn county, reasoned out from what we have learned of the lie of the land, the shapes of hills and valleys, the soils and subsoils, and the underlying rocks, is a wonderfully long one. The first chapter that has been opened to inspection in the geologic record of our area is that of the deepest rocks probed by the first deep well drilled at Cedar Rapids. At a depth of 2,150 feet from the surface--1,417 feet below the level of the sea--the drill encountered a hard red siliceous rock which may be taken as the equivalent of the _Sioux Quartzite_, which comes to the surface at Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and at Baraboo, Wisconsin. This well known building stone is used in a number of the business blocks and private residences of Cedar Rapids, as for example in the old office building of the _Republican_. Belonging to the Algonkian, an era so remote that its age must be reckoned in scores if not in hundreds of millions of years, the quartzite at the bottom of the deep well tells of time inconceivably remote when Linn county was part of a wide sea floor on which red sands were washed to and fro and finally laid to rest in thick deposits of sandstone. Tilted and folded and hardened by pressure, the Algonkian rocks were uplifted from the sea to form dry land of mountainous heights. After the lapse of ages the old land sunk beneath the sea, and again and again with intervals of uplift and subaerial erosion there were laid upon it sea muds, impure limestones, and thick sandstones during a long succession of geologic aeons. Samples of these deposits can be seen in the well drillings preserved in the Y. M. C. A. at Cedar Rapids and in the collections of Cornell College. For many millions of years Linn county was thus sometimes land and sometimes sea, but neither land nor sea was tenanted by aught but the humblest of living creatures. These ancient deposits concern us because they are the aqueducts by which artesian waters of purest quality are brought to our doors from their sources far to the northward in other states. [Illustration: INDEPENDENCE SHALES on C., R. I. & P. Ry. below Cedar Rapids] [Illustration: BLUFF AT KENWOOD PARK] [Illustration: EXPOSURE OF BRECCIATED LIMESTONE IN MILWAUKEE CUT AT LINN JUNCTION] [Illustration: "THE BLOW OUT," PALISADES] [Illustration: A FIRST SETTLER, NEAR MT. VERNON] [Illustration: PALISADES] The most recent of the formations which are pierced by the drill, but which do not come to the surface within the limits of the county, is the _Maquoketa shale_, reached in the eastern townships at a depth of somewhat more than 300 feet. This impervious bed of altered clay stops the descent of ground water, which thus is stored in large quantities in the overlying limestones and supplies some of the important wells of the county such as that of the town of Mount Vernon. At the time when these sea clays were laid, eastern Iowa was under sea, but so near was the low lying land to the north and east that vast quantities of mud were brought in by its rivers forming deposits nearly 300 feet in thickness. THE SILURIAN With the lapse of ages physical conditions changed and Linn County was covered with a warm shallow coral sea in which were laid the massive limestones which now form the country rock in the eastern tier of townships. In some of the quarries one may see the ripple marks into which these coral sands were heaped by the pulse of the waves, and one may pick out of the rocks casts and moulds of ancient sea shells, corals, and trilobites, which formed the highest forms of life then tenanting the Iowa seas. The lowest beds of the Silurian belong to the _Hopkinton stage_, and are exposed along the Buffalo. At Hill's mill and at Nugent's quarries some layers are crowded with a characteristic fossil--a plump bivalve shell as large as a walnut, which goes by the name of _Pentamerus Oblongus_. The _Gower_ stage of the Silurian rests upon the Hopkinton and embraces two types of rocks distinct in their appearance and uses. The _LeClaire phase_ of the Gower is a hard, brittle, crystalline, magnesian limestone, or dolomite. Normally blue-gray in color, it is often oxidised to buff. It is well exposed at Viola and on the Cedar river from the Cedar County line to a mile or so beyond the Upper Palisades, southwest of Bertram. The LeClaire forms mounds in places reaching fifty and even eighty or ninety feet in height in which little semblance of bedding structures are to be seen. Here and there the rock is conglomeratic, consisting of rounded masses of the rock cemented by a less resistent matrix. The cavernous recess in the rock wall of the Palisades, misnamed the Blowout, is due to the solution of the weaker matrix and the dislodgement of the rounded masses. The rock may consist also of angular broken blue-gray fragments in the matrix of a buff and friable limestone sand. Again, the mounds, at least in part, may be made up of massive limestone with little trace of structure of any sort. On the sides of the mounds and merging into the conglomeratic or other structures the rock of the LeClaire often is stratified and the layers dip outward at angles surprisingly high. In places these tilted layers may show sharp folds. The rock of all structures is fossiliferous. Even the broken fragments of breccia are porous with moulds of minute fossils which have been removed by solution. The massive rock is largely made up in places of stems of crinoids--stone lilies which grew in the greatest profusion in these quiet waters--and the tilted layers may be made of casts and moulds of unbroken shells of little bivalves. Occasionally the saucer shaped tail and head-shields of a characteristic trilobite are found piled together and unbroken. Coral are very common in this ancient reef rock, a form resembling honeycomb being especially noticeable. And as one floats down stream at the base of the cliffs he can hardly fail to notice large tapering segmented shells, either straight or slightly curved, representatives of the cephalopod mollusks. The picturesque rock walls of the Palisades, which rise perpendicular for as much as ninety feet from the water's edge, are due primarily to the great resistance of the LeClaire rock, due to its chemical composition--for dolomite weathers far less rapidly than a non-magnesian limestone--and to the fewness of those planes of weakness called joint-planes. The joints of the LeClaire are distant and vertical. The stone breaks down, therefore, in immense blocks where undercut by the river which leave for ages the scarp behind them as a vertical wall. Because of its qualities the LeClaire is one of the best lime rocks in the country. The impurities of the clay, the iron and silica which it contains, may run as low as one-third of one per cent. The large per cent of carbonate of magnesia present makes it a cool lime, slow to slack and slow to set, and it is to such limes that architects, masons, and plasterers now invariably give preference over the so-called hot limes burned from non-magnesian limestones. The hardness and durability of mortars made from the LeClaire rock limes approaches that of cement, and after thirty-five or forty years of weathering, joints in mason work seem almost as fresh as when first struck. The extreme hardness of the rock and the slowness with which it weathers make it specially valuable for crushing for macadam and ballast. The _Anamosa phase_ of the Gower limestone is typically exposed in the large quarries at Anamosa and Stone City, Mount Vernon and Waubeek. It is a light buff or yellow limestone, with constant, parallel, and horizontal or gently inclined laminated layers. The limestone is soft to work but hardens on exposure. The saw encounters no obdurate materials and the chisel finds the fracture even and regular. Bedding planes are so even and smooth as to be at once ready for the mortar with little or no dressing. Much of the stone can be split horizontally to any desired thickness, while the distant joints permit the quarrying of blocks beyond the facilities of transportation or any possible use. Many layers are so homogenous that they can be wrought into fine carvings. As a dolomite the stone is far more resistant than a purer limestone. In the Mount Vernon cemetery tombstones of this material, whose dates run back to the forties and early fifties, have been so little affected by superficial decay that the tool marks are almost as fresh as when the chisel left them; while marbles of half their age have broken down into ruin. The Silurian rocks of the county measure about 300 feet in thickness. They are confined pretty closely to the townships of the eastern tier, but extend beyond their limits up the valleys of the Cedar and Wapsipinicon. THE BERTRAM LIMESTONE As the Silurian limestones sink below the surface because of the westward dip, they are succeeded by a bed of rock, named from its outcrop at Bertram, and found along Big Creek as far north as Paralta and Springville. This is a heavily bedded gray rock which weathers almost white. At a number of places along Big Creek it forms picturesque cliffs, and hillsides covered with huge boulders of disintegration. At one point it is seen to overlie the Anamosa beds of the Silurian, and several exposures are known where it is succeeded by the Otis limestones of the Devonian. But as it contains no fossils, so far as is now known, it can not be said to which of the two ages it belongs. THE OTIS LIMESTONES The lower beds of the Otis, as exposed at the base of the Otis quarries, along the Cedar south of Cedar Rapids, at Springville, and at Coggon, consist of soft magnesian limestones, fossiliferous with many moulds of small bivalve shells of Devonian age. These pass upward into drab non-magnesian limestones carrying the principal fossil of the magnesian beds in considerable numbers. The upper limestones of the Otis differ within rather wide limits. The most common type is seen at the base of the high cliff at Kenwood on the right bank of Indian Creek--a hard, brittle ringing and thinly laminated limestone. Often it has been subjected to strains under which it has broken, and has been re-cemented with little displacement of the parts. Occasionally it is brown, and highly crystalline. THE INDEPENDENCE At the Kenwood cliff the eight feet of the Otis at the base is succeeded by thirty feet of buff shale and clayey limestones--a formation known as the _Independence_ from its discovery in a shaft sunk at that city. The Independence is exposed at many points near Cedar Rapids both on Indian Creek and on the Cedar. On the Wapsipinicon it is well seen at Cedar Bluff (sec. 24 Spring Grove Tp.), at the "Wolf's Den" a mile up valley, and again in the railway cut north of Coggon. In the long cut of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway west of Linn Junction the Independence is seen in one place as a blue clay shale carrying a number of fossils characteristic of the shaft at Independence, but elsewhere the formation is unfossiliferous in the natural exposures so far studied. Wherever found the Independence contains nodules of silica, which may reach a foot in diameter, and often angular fragments of the same material which may be as fine as sand. The formation is marked by irregularities of deposition, channel cutting by drift currents, lenses of calcerous material, and rapid lateral change in the form and constituents of the rock. All of these characteristics point to the deposition of this formation in a shallow sea near shore. Indeed, some of the beds were apparently laid in marshes such as are now found along low ocean shores. Thin seams of coal formed in the Independence were once peaty deposits preserved by the presence of water from the decay which returns dead vegetable matter to the air. In 1871 such a seam of coal, not exceeding an inch in thickness, was found at a depth of ninety feet in a well on the farm of Mrs. C. Hemphill, near LaFayette. Pieces of the coal were taken to Cedar Rapids and Marion. A mining company was formed, and without seeking for any expert advice from geologist or mining engineer, and without any tests of the extent and thickness of the seam, a shaft was sunk after the precious fuel. Water was encountered in such quantities that expensive pumping machinery was used, and in all several thousand dollars were wasted in a search which any competent geologist could have told was foredoomed to failure. THE DAVENPORT LIMESTONES The sea over eastern Iowa deepened after the deposition of the Independence, for there was now deposited upon its floor limestones in place of shales. The lowest of these, known as the _lower Davenport_ beds, are hard, compact, and of finest grain, and so far as known are unfossiliferous. The _upper Davenport_ is a tough, gray, semi-crystalline limestone which contains an assemblage of fossils of many species. Highest of these are the first vertebrates to appear in Iowa so far as our records go. Fishes which swam over our area left to be imbedded in the limestones their hard enameled teeth and fin spines. The most common of the Devonian fishes was a small shark. In several other counties the lower and the upper Davenport limestones retain the attitude of their deposition. But everywhere in Linn county they have been broken into bits and re-cemented, forming breccia. These brittle rocks could hardly give way to such immense stresses without causing sharp and violent vibrations to run through the crust of the earth, and we may therefore list great earthquakes as a part of the history of our area in Devonian times. The best exposure of the breccia beds is that of the cut of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railway west of Linn Junction. The brittle lower Davenport has here been broken and rebroken into a mass of small sharp-edged fragments, while the tough heavily bedded upper Davenport ledges have been fractured to large blocks, which sliding on each other have smoothed and grooved their sides. The breccia beds may be seen in the upper eleven feet of the Kenwood cliff, at Troy Mills, and in the cliffs along the Wapsipinicon valley as far down as near to Central City. THE CEDAR VALLEY LIMESTONES The Otis, Independence, and Davenport limestones form a group called the Wapsipinicon, from its outcrop along the river of that name in Linn county. The remaining limestones of the Devonian are grouped together under the name of the Cedar Valley. These consist of limestones of various types, sometimes crowded with fossils, and sometimes destitute of any trace of ancient life. They occupy the western townships of the county. THE CARBONIFEROUS At the close of the Cedar Valley stage the sea retreated westward from our area, and Linn county became dry land. For long ages its rocks were covered with rich soils supporting a luxuriant vegetation, probably tropical in its aspect. We know that running water channelled this ancient land, for when at last in _Pennsylvanian_ (Coal measure) time the land sunk slowly beneath the sea, there were deposited in such channels clays and sandstones, which perhaps are only remnants of wide sheets of similar deposits now removed by denudation. A mile and a half south of Marion (southeast quarter of section 12, Rapids township) a well twenty-three feet deep penetrated a bed of dark shale which carried leaf impressions of a number of ferns characteristic of the undergrowth of the Carboniferous forests. A third of a mile southeast of Lisbon, and again about two miles south of the same village, at Bertram at the east end of the railway bridge, and on the old county road between Cedar Rapids and Marion, are exposures of sandstone which in some instances contain fragments of the logs drifted from perhaps distant uplands and water-logged and sunk in these ancient sand beds. The Bertram outlier contains many rolled coral fragments and worn bits of shells of the Devonian, included in Carboniferous deposits, much as the same fossils may now be found in the river deposits of the present age in the sand bars of the Cedar. MESOZOIC AND TERTIARY For a succession of geologic ages our county, in common with eastern Iowa, seems to have remained dry land, for no deposits of the sea are found upon it. On both sides of the continent mountain ranges of Alpine height were uplifted, and during the immeasurable years worn down, grain by grain, to flat and featureless plains. But no deformations are recorded in our county history and the lands seems to have remained so low that little erosion was possible. We are permitted to conceive that over our savannas in Mesozoic times there roamed monstrous reptiles of strange shapes, such as are known to have existed in adjacent states. In the later ages of this era it is not impossible that during the great submergence which brought the Cretaceous sea over the Great Plains from the Arctic to the Gulf, including western Iowa, our area also may have been inundated and huge swimming reptiles such as are found in the deposits of Kansas and Nebraska may have disported themselves where now our rich farm lands lie open to the sun, while in the air featherless cold-blooded creatures larger than any bird winged their way on leathery pinions. [Illustration: THE ASTOR HOUSE Erected by John Young in 1839, Looking South The Second House in Cedar Rapids COURTESY CARROLL'S HISTORY] During the millions of years which are included in the Tertiary ages Linn county was undoubtedly dry land. On our grass lands pastured a succession of strange and uncouth mammals evolving into higher and higher forms. Among these denizens of the county were probably herds of pig-like creatures, three toed horses little bigger than foxes, and ancestral monkeys swarming in the trees, for such are known to have existed in other states. But these chapters in the history of the county can not be written from any local records. THE GLACIAL EPOCH The warm climate of Tertiary times changed slowly to one of arctic cold. The winters lengthened and the summers becoming ever cooler and yet cooler failed at last to melt the winter snows. Vast sheets of glacial ice, such as that which shrouds Greenland today, covered much of the continent. The geologic panorama thus presents our area as buried beneath one after another of slow-moving glaciers hundreds of feet thick. The proofs of their existence are found in almost every cutting which goes below the soil. Any quarry will show the rock deeply rotted and pitted by long preglacial decay. Here and there upon its surface will be found remnants of the deep red residual clays, the subsoils of preglacial times. Upon these clays formed from the decaying rock rest stony clays in which clay, sand, and stones faceted as only glacier ice can facet, are mingled pell-mell together, as only glacier ice can mingle. Occasionally is found the unmistakable track of the glacier left on the underlying rock scraped smooth and marked with parallel scorings, as at the north end of the cut of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway at Linn Junction. The glaciers also brought from ledges of granite and other crystalline rocks in Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Canada the boulders which form a conspicuous feature in some of our prairie landscapes. These, the "first settlers," traveled to their destinations far more leisurely than any ox carts of the immigrant pioneers; for the glaciers can not have moved faster at most than fifty feet a day, and probably at less than a tenth that rate, judging by the rates of motion of present glaciers. The ice sheets of the glacial epoch plastered the county thick with the stony clays which they dragged along in their basal layers. The thickness of these glacial deposits probably averages from fifty to one hundred feet. Old valleys cut in rock by Tertiary rivers were buried wholly from view, as, for example, one extending north from Prairieburg; and the farmer now plows his corn in fields which lie two and three hundred feet above the channels of ancient rivers. In places the old valleys were left to be re-occupied by the rivers. Such are the reaches of wide valley of the Cedar south of Center Point. In other places the rivers were diverted wholly from their ancient beds and made to flow in new channels which they have not yet had time to widen and deepen to their ancient measures. Such are the narrow rock bound valleys of the Wapsipinicon south of Troy Mills and of the Cedar at the Palisades. On the final retreat of the glaciers waters from the melting ice swept over the county, leaving deposits of sand on the lower lands and in the valleys. Since the glacial epoch the rivers have cut their beds a score of feet and more below the deposits of glacial floods and in many places, as near the Ivanhoe bridge, remnants of these ancient flood plains are left as terraces or "benches" or "second bottoms." At Bertram the sands deposited by glacial waters near the mouth of Big Creek stand about fifty feet above the level of the river. THE LOESS A large part of the county is covered with a deposit of fine yellow silt called loess. Dry, it crumbles into powder at a finger touch; wet, it is somewhat plastic and can be moulded into brick and tile. On the hill and uplands the loess is thickly spread, adding in places at least forty feet to their elevation. Over the lowlands it is thin or absent. This yellow earth has been and is to be of greater value than mines of yellow gold. It is of inexhaustible fertility. It contains abundant mineral plant foods, partly constituent, and partly brought up into it by ground water; and these foods are so finely pulverized as to be of readiest solution and absorption by the roots. In wet weather the loess mantle absorbs the rainfall like a sponge; in months of desert drouth, like those of the summer of 1910, it returns the water to the surface, like a wick, to preserve the crops from failure. A disadvantage of the loess lies in the readiness with which it washes. The forest which once covered nearly all the uplands protected the soil from wash by means of its mattress of roots and the thick prairie sod was equally efficient where hill slopes were grassed over. But where forests have been thoughtlessly cut down, and steep slopes turned to plow land, it is but a few years until the brown top-soil is all washed away and the fields in spring when freshly plowed are as yellow as a deep cut in road or brick yard. The foot path in the pasture or the furrow of the plow becomes a gully in a single heavy rain, and unless checked soon becomes a gulch scores of feet in width. By accenting the height of the ridges the loess also adds to the scenery of the county. Our area lies in a part of east central Iowa where the stony clays deposited by ancient glaciers accumulated in long ridges and belts of upland rising many feet above the intervening undulating plains. Because of the alternation of ridge and lowland no part of the state except the valley of the Upper Mississippi has so beautiful and wide and varied prospects. Over more or less of their course the rivers of the county have cut their channels lengthwise in the ridges, thus giving rise to the bold scenery of the Wapsipinicon above Central City, and of the Cedar near Mount Vernon. Some of these picturesque reaches of river and cliff and forest slope should surely be converted into county parks in the near future and preserved for the gratification of all coming generations. Unless this is done we may expect that the forests will be cut down and the hill slopes gashed with countless gullies; while the lichened rocks of the river cliffs fringed with fern and tamarisk will give place to unsightly quarries. While Linn county was sheeted with glacier ice, no life of any sort was possible within its limits. But during the long interglacial epochs which intervened between the ice invasions, forests grew and animals now extinct roamed over our hills and plains. Among these early inhabitants may be mentioned extinct horses and the giant proboscidians, the mammoth, and the mastodon. These returned to the area after the final retreat of the ice and their remains are found in the peat bogs and river gravels. In the earliest of the interglacial epochs it is quite probable that some of the gigantic groundsloths of South America made their home here, since they are known to have done so in the western counties of the state. No traces of man have been found in the glacial deposits of Iowa, nor have any indubitable evidences of his presence in glacial times been found in North America. Sometime, we know not when, roving tribes of Indians set foot within our area, and geology gives place to archeology. And when the white man appeared, inductive history ends and there begins the history of tradition and written records. CHAPTER VI _Beginnings in Linn County_ The Black Hawk war, though confined to the state of Illinois, made an epoch in the history of Iowa. It was the last of the many Indian wars, and was concluded by a cession of much of the valuable lands of Iowa to the government. Reports of the war had stirred up more or less enthusiasm as to the future of the west, and settlers began to come soon after the war had ended. Many of the officers, and others who had taken part in the war, became the government agents and officials in various capacities in Illinois, Wisconsin, and Iowa. The government also, through its representatives in congress, planned great things for the west in opening canals and roads, while rivers were made navigable and steamship traffic opened up. One must not be led to believe that Iowa was the only part of the west which grew so rapidly. The growth was general, it is true, but Iowa seems to have grown more rapidly than any other of the territories between 1836 and 1846. Illinois was admitted as a state in 1818; Missouri three years later; next came Iowa in 1846, while Wisconsin, which had been explored in 1639, was not admitted to statehood till 1848; and Minnesota, settled as early as 1680, and having a fort built in 1820, was not admitted to statehood till 1858. Thus, it would appear, that Iowa remained a territory for a shorter period of time than any other of the western states located in the Mississippi valley, but, of course, there is reason for this. It was a prairie state, in the first instance, and on the east was bounded by a great waterway and by a state teeming with an aggressive population, many of whose people soon crossed the borderland even before the government had made proper surveys and thrown the land open to settlement. Henry Dodge was appointed governor of the new Territory of Wisconsin in 1836, Iowa at that time being a part of Wisconsin. With the exception of a few settlements of white people along Lake Michigan and in the mining region around Dubuque there were few, if any, white settlers. Governor Dodge's work was largely with the Indians, in making contracts and ceding lands to the government. Settlers were coming in constantly and a demand for a survey of the lands was made from time to time. Survey of the public lands in Iowa was begun in the fall of 1836. Great preparations for the land sales were made. These were to take place in Dubuque and Burlington in November, 1838. The settlers who had arrived on these lands for some time prior to its survey arranged among themselves to select an arbitration association, each township making a register of all claims, and choosing one representative to attend the land sales, giving him authority to bid off the lands selected by each claimant. A. C. Dodge was appointed the first registrar of the land office at Burlington, and George W. Jones the first surveyor-general of Iowa. One of the surveyors-general in the early '40s was no other than Judge James Wilson, of Keene, New Hampshire, a son of a Revolutionary soldier, and himself a lawyer of more than ordinary ability, a judge, and at one time a member of congress. He was appointed by General Harrison, an old friend. At the first convention which met at Burlington in November, 1837, for the purpose of organizing a separate territory of Iowa, were the following delegates from Dubuque county, which, at that time, included a part of what later became Linn county: P. H. Engle, J. I. Fales, G. W. Harris, W. A. Warren, W. B. Watts, A. F. Russell, W. H. Patton, J. W. Parker, J. D. Bell and J. H. Rose. The convention in its petition to congress asserted that there were 25,000 people in that portion of Wisconsin Territory known as "The Iowa District;" that houses had been erected; that farms were cultivated, and still people could not obtain title to their lands, and asking that the part west of the river be set aside as a separate territory. This was one of the most important conventions held on what became Iowa soil, and congress at once took action to make such provisions as were thought wise and expedient. Linn county was established by an act of the legislature of the Territory of Wisconsin approved on December 21, 1837. The county was regular in shape, but four townships larger than its neighbors on the north and east, which were created at the same time. The boundaries received at this time have not been altered. The spelling of the name was Lynn, although it was spelled in the body of the act itself Linn; it took its name from Dr. Louis F. Linn, United States senator from Missouri, who was appointed to that office in 1833 and who was a friend and admirer of President Jackson, and much interested in the development of the west. The eastern part of Linn county, perhaps one-third, had been part of the original county of Dubuque since 1834, the boundary line running from the southeast corner of the county in a northwesterly line a little to the west of the middle in the northern part of the county. Linn county then embraces within its limits two Indian land cessions. The eastern part was acquired from the Sac and Fox Indians by the treaty of September 21, 1832, known as the Black Hawk Purchase; the western part, or the other two-thirds, was acquired by treaty of October 21, 1837. The fourteen counties created by an act sub-dividing Dubuque county into new counties, which was approved October 21, 1837, were as follows: Dubuque, Clayton, Jackson, Benton, Linn, Jones, Clinton, Johnson, Scott, Delaware, Buchanan, Cedar, Fayette, and Keokuk. While most of these counties were established outright the wording of the act relating to Dubuque county implies that it was looked upon as the former county reduced in size, which was not correct, as this land from which these counties were laid out also included much of the Sac and Fox cession made after Dubuque county had been formed and laid out, and which county had not been ceded to the United States government. These boundary lines were reduced in size later; however the boundaries of Dubuque, Delaware, Jackson, Jones, Linn, Clinton, Cedar, and Scott have remained as they were laid out at the time. The Territory of Iowa was created by an act of congress approved June 12, 1838. Among the bills passed by the first legislature, which met during the winter of 1838 and 1839, was the following: "An Act to Organize the County of Linn, and establish the Seat of Justice thereof. "Section 1. Be it enacted by the Council and House of Representatives of the Territory of Iowa, that the county of Linn be and the same is hereby organized from and after the 10th of June next, and the inhabitants of said county be entitled to all the rights and privileges to which, by law, the inhabitants of other organized counties of this Territory are entitled, and the said county shall be a part of the Third Judicial District, and the District Court shall be held at the seat of justice of said county, or such other place as may be provided until the seat of justice is established. "Section 2. That Richard Knott, Lyman Dillon and Benjamin Nye be and they are hereby appointed Commissioners to locate the seat of justice in said county, and shall meet at the house of William Abbe, on the first Monday of March next, in said county, and shall proceed forthwith to examine and locate a suitable place for the seat of justice of said county, having particular reference to the convenience of the county and healthfulness of the location. [Illustration: DOUBLE LOG CABIN Built by Wm. Abbe, Linn County's First Settler] "Section 3. The Commissioners, or a majority of them, shall, within ten days after their meeting at the aforesaid place, make out and certify to the Governor of this Territory, under their hands and seals, a certificate containing a particular description of the situation of the location selected for the aforesaid county seat; and on the receipt of such certificate, the Governor shall issue his proclamation affirming and declaring the said location to be the seat of justice of said county of Linn. "Section 4. The Commissioners aforesaid shall, before they enter upon their duties, severally take and subscribe an oath before some person legally authorized to administer the same, viz: I, ............, do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I am not, either directly or indirectly, interested in the location of the seat of justice of Linn County, nor do I own any property in lands, or any claims, within the said county of Linn. So help me God. (Signed) A. B., etc. "Section 5. If, at any time within one year thereafter, it shall be shown that the said Commissioners, or any of them, received any present, gratuity, fee or reward in any form other than that allowed by law, or before the expiration of six months after the Governor's proclamation, declaring the said seat of justice permanent, become interested in said town or any lands in its immediate vicinity, the Commissioner or Commissioners shall, upon conviction thereof by indictment in the District Court of the county in which he or they may reside, be guilty of a high misdemeanor, and be forever disqualified to vote at any election or to hold any office of trust or profit within this Territory. "Section 6. The Commissioners aforesaid shall receive, upon making out their certificate of the location of the seat of justice of said county, each two dollars per day, and also three dollars for every twenty miles going and returning from their respective homes. Approved January 15, 1839." Two of the Commissioners named in the act, Richard Knott and Benjamin Nye, accepted the trust, meeting at the house of William Abbe, two and one-half miles west of what is now Mount Vernon. The Commissioners located the county seat in the middle of the county and named it "Marion," in honor of one of the Revolutionary generals. The Commissioners reported to the governor of the territory the completion of their work, and Governor Robert Lucas proclaimed the county of Linn duly established. For election purposes Linn county was attached to Cedar, Johnson, and Jones, the first polling precinct being located at Westport, which had been laid out by Israel Mitchell with the expectation that this would be the county seat, Mr. Mitchell believing that the county seat should be located on the river, and that that location would be near enough the center for all practical purposes. In October, 1838, the entire county composed one precinct, and thirty-two ballots were cast for candidates for the legislature. Charles Whittlesey was chosen for the senate and Robert G. Roberts for the house. The first county election was held in August, 1839, when three commissioners were selected at Westport--L. M. Strong, Peter McRoberts, and Samuel C. Stewart. This body had the same powers as was later conferred upon the county supervisors. This commission first sat as a body officially September 9, 1839, in the log house of James W. Willis. Hosea W. Gray was sheriff and acted as clerk of the court until a clerk was duly appointed. The minutes state: "The Board proceeded to the appointment of a Clerk. Thereupon it was ordered that John C. Berry be and is hereby appointed to the office of Clerk of the Board of Linn County Commissioners. "Ordered. That the county seat of Linn County be and is hereby called and shall hereafter be known and designated by the name of Marion." At this session W. H. Smith and Andrew J. McKean were appointed constables for the county. Jonas Martin was appointed road supervisor, his district embracing all the land east of Marion and west of Big creek and east on the Marion and Davenport roads crossing Big creek. "It was also authorized that as Linn County had no safe place for the keeping of criminals that Sheriff Gray contract with the Sheriff of Muscatine County for the keeping of one Samuel Clews, and that the Sheriff borrow funds to pay for the support and keeping of said Clews while in confinement." It seems that the board met monthly and the county was divided into three voting precincts as follows: One at William Abbe's, known as Sugar Grove Precinct, with the following judges: William Abbe, John Cole, and John McAfferty; one at Marion, with James W. Bassett, Henry Thompson, and Rufus H. Lucore, judges; one at Michael Greene's, with Michael Greene, James Cummings, and Bartimeas McGonigle, judges. At this time Ross McCloud was appointed county surveyor and was ordered to make the survey of the county seat and report, which he did, and also to lay out additions, which was done. A county jail was also ordered erected in January, 1840, and the contract for the building of the same was let to William Abbe and Asher Edgerton for the sum of $635.00; the first money raised by sale of lots in Marion was applied on the contract for the erection of the jail. THE FIRST SURVEY The first survey was made in 1838, being all of Jones county and townships 84, 85, and 86 north, in range 5, west, in Linn county. This was made public in the newspapers and many settlers came in, taking the best lands that had been surveyed and squatting on the other land which they knew would soon be open for settlement. Linn Grove was an ideal place, and here in an early day a large number settled. The sale of lands in the county was advertised to take place in January, 1840. On account of the difficulties of transportation, the settlers petitioned to have the same postponed until the summer of that year, which petition was granted. George Greene, who had been a school teacher near Ivanhoe and even at that time was a man of no ordinary ability, was asked to see what could be done in changing the place from Dubuque to Marion. Mr. Greene volunteered to go to Washington and lay the matter before congress, or the men in charge of the land department. After some time he succeeded in his mission and won the grateful respect of his fellow pioneers, saving them a great deal of money. Thus, for a time, Marion was a United States land office, and the people of Linn county who had little money to spend could claim their lands without much trouble. THE FIRST COURT HOUSE IN THE COUNTY The first court house built in the county was a log structure for the use of the pioneers. This structure was erected during the years 1840 and 1841. As there was no money in the county treasury and as the court house was needed, the settlers donated their labor. They cut the logs, hauled them to Marion, and constructed the building, the roof being of shakes and the floor of puncheons. Among those who helped erect this first seat of justice were James and John Hunter, the Stambaugh brothers, James and Elias Doty, and others. The first case, it is said, tried in this court house was one brought against James Doty for jumping a claim on the west side of the river, adjoining the claim of Robert Ellis, the question being whether or not a man erecting a bark building and claiming the land had complied with the law. The jury was impaneled and a trial had which lasted for some time. When the case went to the jury the judge and all vacated so that the jury could use the small room in arriving at a decision. The jury was out the afternoon and all night, and at ten o'clock the next morning they reported that they were unable to agree. During all this time they had had nothing to eat, and the water they had to drink was very poor. Upon this jury sat James Hunter, one of the first settlers of the county, who was the only stubborn one to hold out in favor of Doty. He used to tell later that he felt that he could never look James Doty in the face if he should consent to such a verdict as the other eleven had framed up against him. The case was tried at a subsequent term when the jury decided in favor of Doty, to the effect that while he was later than the claimant in making his claim he was a _bona fide_ settler with the intention of becoming a permanent settler. The next court house built in Marion was a frame structure still standing just west of the present brick building, and now used as a hotel. The present brick court house was erected by George W. Gray, the brick superstructure being built by Peter D. Harman, of Bertram, father of Warren Harman, of Cedar Rapids. Much of the carpenter work was done by that old pioneer, recently deceased, William Patterson, father of W. D. Patterson, of Cedar Rapids. The first jail was erected in January, 1840, the contract for the building being awarded to William Abbe and Asher Edgerton for $635.00. The building was finished by May 1st of the same year. The first moneys raised by sale of lands were applied on this contract. At the July session, 1849, the county was divided into three districts as follows: the townships of Washington and Fayette composed District No. 1; Franklin and Brown composed District No. 2; and Marion and Putnam District No. 3. At the July session, 1840, the board of commissioners began to discuss the question of township organizations. A vote of the county was ordered at the next election to determine the voice of the people; the election took place in August of that year and resulted in favor of the proposition. Lists of townships are as follows: Marion, Franklin, Washington, Fayette, Putnam, and Brown established in 1841; Linn and Rapids, 1843; Otter Creek, 1844; Buffalo and Maine, 1848; Monroe, 1849; Spring Grove, 1853; Clinton, 1854; Jackson, 1855; College, Bertram, Boulder, and Fairfax, 1858; Grant, 1872; and Cedar, 1906. THE JUDICIARY The first records of the district court held in Linn county are dated Monday, October 26, 1840, Iowa Territory, Linn county. Pursuant to an act of the legislature of the territory, approved July, 1840, the district court of the United States and also for the Territory of Iowa met at Marion in said county on Monday, October 26, 1840. Present: The Hon. Jos. D. Williams, judge of the second judicial district for the territory; W. G. Woodward, district attorney of the United States for the district of Iowa; R. P. Lowe, prosecuting attorney for the second judicial district; H. W. Gray, sheriff of the county of Linn; S. H. Tryon, clerk of the district court; Lawrence Maloney for the marshal of the territory. The following grand jurors were among the best known settlers: Aaron Usher, Samuel Ross, James Leverich, D. W. King, Israel Mitchell, W. H. Chambers, William Donahoo, Dan Curtis, W. T. Gilberts, G. A. Patterson, Isaac Butler, John Goudy, J. A. Gibson, Joe Barnett, Asher Edgerton, William Chambers, O. L. Bolling, Dan J. Doty, and Joseph Warford. As bailiff of the grand jury served Perry Oxley, one of the best known settlers. The petit jurors were: D. A. Woodbridge, Isaac Carroll, G. W. Gray, B. McGonegal, John McCloud, Thomas Goudy, J. W. Willis, John Long, J. W. Margrove, Ira Simmons, John Crow, Joe Carroway, Steve Osborn, H. B. Mason, O. R. Gregory, John Nation, Thomas Maxwell, and George Yiesly. One of the early cases of record is that of A. Moriarty vs. N. G. Niece. One of the early jury trials was that of H. C. Dill vs. John Barnett: one of the first criminal cases was that of Territory vs. W. K. Farnsworth, indicted for starting a prairie fire; the jury returned a verdict of "not guilty." The probate docket is a very small volume but is filled with entries of much historical interest concerning the old citizens of the territory. Among a number of entries can be found the following: In the estate of A. Coles, claim filed and allowed November 8, 1842; in the estate of Thomas Gray, claims allowed in 1844; in the estate of J. Barnett, claims allowed in 1843 in favor of Israel Mitchell in the amount of $4.50; in the estate of John Crow, claims allowed 1842, as well as against the estate of Elias Doty, administered upon in 1843 by M. J. Doty and Jos. Crain, administrators. The estate of A. L. Ely takes up a number of pages. The first default case seems to be listed for the October term, 1840, that of James D. Stockton vs. Stephen Osborn, et al, the claim being assigned by John O. Gray to plaintiff. The next case was that of Thomas W. Campbell and Perry Oxley vs. John Barnett, which was a transcript from J. G. Cole, a justice of the peace. R. P. Lowe acted as district attorney, while Isaac Butler was foreman of the grand jury. The first entry made by a native of a foreign country to become a citizen of the United States was made by Peter Garron, stating that he was then a resident of Linn county and that he was formerly a subject of Scotland of the United Kingdom of England and Ireland, and that it was his intention to renounce allegiance to Queen Victoria and become a faithful citizen of the United States. The first divorce action was brought by Dyer Usher against Mary Usher at the October term, 1842, but it seems that the notice of publication was not served as ordered and no decree was granted. The first decree of divorce granted was that on the petition of Mrs. Parthena C. Hewitt vs. Abraham Hewitt, rendered at the March term, 1844. CIRCUIT COURT Pursuant to an act of the legislature of Iowa, approved April 3, 1868, the county of Linn became part of the second circuit of the eighth judicial district, the circuit consisting of Cedar, Linn, and Jones counties, Hon. S. Yates, of Cedar, being elected judge. The first term was held at Marion January, 1869, when W. G. Thompson appeared as prosecuting attorney and A. J. McKean as clerk. The legislature in a few years changed the boundaries of this circuit, making it composed of Cedar, Linn, Johnson, Jones, Iowa, Tama, and Benton counties. It was known as the eighth district of the circuit and district courts. John McKean was judge of the circuit court and John Shane, of Vinton, judge of the district court. By an act of the legislature the circuit court was abolished and Linn county was incorporated into a district composed of Linn, Cedar, and Jones counties with three judges. NOTED AND EXCITING TRIALS Linn county has had its share of noted trials, and many are the pages which may be gleaned from its musty records to show how treachery, cowardice, and selfishness have here, as in many other places, played their parts. It is not best to uncover many of these pages, as it would perhaps add nothing to the general information or be of any value except as historical relics of a former age. One of the first murder cases in the county, at least as far as known, was that of Nathan Carnagy who was brutally assaulted by James Reed in Marion in 1847. Reed had been drinking heavily and got into a quarrel with Carnagy about some old trouble. Reed was arrested, tried before a jury, and acquitted. Another case was that of the killing of Pat O'Connell by Samuel Butler in 1865, the affair growing out of a dispute over some property interests. The parties met on a public highway, a quarrel ensued with disastrous results. The jury in this case also returned a verdict of "not guilty." [Illustration: FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, CEDAR RAPIDS, COMPLETED IN 1851] [Illustration: RESIDENCE OF WILLISTON JONES, WHERE COE COLLEGE WAS BORN FROM CARROLL'S HISTORY] John Akers was murdered in a saloon in Cedar Rapids in 1864 by one Decklots; the jury returned a verdict of "guilty." This sad affair was due to liquor, both parties being more or less under its influence at the time the quarrel began. There are a number of murder cases of an appalling nature on record; sometimes a conviction and sometimes an acquittal resulted. On the civil side of the calendar can be found many cases attracting attention, sometimes on account of the charges made, at other times on account of the large amounts of money involved. In this forum magnificent addresses were heard, and no lawyer practicing at the Linn county bar was ever a miser of his eccentricities, whatever they might have been. Most of them had the thread of the attorney in their nature and took to oratory like a duck to water, and most of them in these early pioneer days went in to win the jury at all hazards, possessing the power to stir the heart and to make their personality felt. THE ERA OF THE OUTLAW Along the American frontier were always found the outlaws; sometimes they outnumbered the honest settler and sometimes not, depending more or less upon conditions. Outlaws preferred to hover on the frontier where courts of justice were unknown and where the sons of toil, busy with making a living, had no time to defend themselves against outlawry. Some of these outlaws had committed theft and robbery and were living upon this borderland of civilization, knowing that it would be perfectly safe under assumed names. Others came here for the special purpose, knowing it was easier to make a living by theft than by honest toil. Thus, the Linn county frontier at an early date was infested with this class of people, and for a number of years the rights of the people had to be protected by associations organized for this purpose, and made up of the best class in the community, until such a time as law and order could be enforced by decrees of court and by penitentiary sentences. When the first white settler came into the Red Cedar valley there were only two counties fully organized west of the Mississippi, with the exception of the state of Missouri. These counties were Dubuque and Des Moines. They extended from a flag station at Fort Armstrong back into the country forty miles, and from the Missouri line to a line running westward from Prairie du Chien in Wisconsin. It was a large tract of country, and offered secure hiding places for law violators. In this wild country, along rivers where the timber was thick, hiding places for the outlaw were offered, and when settlers did come in the outlaw did not like to remove, and, consequently tormented the actual settler and frequently took by stealth or force such personal property as he wanted. In the early day the country bordering on the Cedar river was flooded with counterfeiters, and it is stated that this counterfeit money was so well made that it was difficult to tell which was the good money and which the bad and, in fact, at times it seems that the good money was a scarce article. No one was able to tell where this counterfeit money came from, but it is supposed very little, if any, was made here but that it was imported from other places and distributed by "healers" on a percentage basis. While a cry was raised against counterfeit money, only the government could handle such cases and very little was done to start proceedings. Now and then the government attorney would bring a case or two, but as a rule the defendants were generally released by a jury, many of whom were friends of the parties accused. It was not until horse stealing became prevalent that the people arose in arms against the outlaw and formed associations called "anti-horse thief" associations. It was a difficult thing at first to prosecute, as the gang was well organized and had a perfect system of stations, agents, signs, and signals. The members of these gangs which infested Cedar, Jones, and Linn counties in the early days dressed better than the honest farmer, were more charitable, and in the day time, at least, were looked upon as the most respectable persons in the community. They were shrewd and cunning in their business transactions, and hedged themselves in such a way as to escape detection and exposure for a long time. These "free booters" and plunderers would move from county to county and from community to community if things got a little hot and they feared exposure. In counties where they were in the majority they would intimidate and scare the actual settlers, even if these knew positively that depredations had been made. And frequently the honest settler who attacked and complained was forced to leave the country instead of the outlaw who had many friends who came to his rescue. Many a man who was known to make a complaint before a grand jury, to a prosecuting attorney, or judge would be trailed by a company of outlaws, threatening letters would be written against himself and members of his family, that his buildings would be destroyed by fire if he persisted in bringing suits or attempted to file an information of any kind against any members of the band. A few of these men who were at least accused of being members of these various gangs of counterfeiters, horse thieves and other desperadoes may be mentioned. Perhaps the most noted ones were the members of the Brodie gang, composed of John Brodie, and his four sons--John, Jr., Stephen, William, and Hugh--who came into Linn county in 1839 and were among the first settlers in this county. They were natives of Ohio. Some had lived in Michigan for a time, and before coming here had commenced their career of villainy. On account of some misdemeanor they were driven from Clear Ford on the Mohican river in what is now Ashland county, Ohio, in 1830 or 1831, and sought refuge for a time in Steuben county, Indiana. Here they remained for a couple of years when they became so notorious as to arouse the country against them, and they fled westward in about 1835 and found their way into what was known as the Rock river country, or Brodie's Grove, Dement township, Ogle county, Illinois. In this part of Illinois at this time the country was completely under the control of outlaws and desperadoes, and here the Brodies found congenial companionship. Early in 1839 the Brodies gang were driven out by an organized society called the "regulators," composed of law abiding people who insisted upon law enforcement. They then drifted westward and located in Linn county. From this time on for a number of years there was scarcely a term of court but that one or more members of this family was arraigned for trial on some criminal charge or other. Sam Leterel, Christian Gove, James Case, also known as Jim Stoutenberg, McConlogue, Squires, McBroom, and others were members of this gang. McConlogue resided for a time at Cedar Bluffs, later removing into Johnson county where Morse is now located. Stoutenberg resided at times with McConlogue and at times with Squires. A number of others associated with the gang and lived on the borders of Linn and adjoining counties and went by various names. Where they came from no one knew and they dropped out of sight if there was any danger of arrest and conviction. In 1839 John Goudy and his son-in-law, Thomas McElheny, and a son settled in Linn county, and it was noised abroad that the family was very wealthy. To ascertain whether or not they had money, some time in April, 1840, a man by the name of Switzer was sent to visit the Goudys under the pretense of wanting to borrow money, the real object being to ascertain whether or not the parties kept money and whether or not he could obtain a pretended loan. The loan was declined for some reason or other, but it is supposed that Switzer learned enough in his talk with the Goudy family to know that they had money and there would be a chance to make a good haul. The gang went up along the Cedar river on the west side and crossed the river about where Goudy's home was. Here McConlogue had some conversation with a person who knew him. About midnight of a day in April the door of the Goudy cabin was forced open and the inmates awoke to find themselves surrounded by five burglars who threatened their lives if they did not give up their money. Old Mr. Goudy replied that he had but little money, only $40.00, and that they could find that in his vest pocket. The vest was searched and the money found. They insisted that he had more and demanded it. The old man persisted that it was every dollar he had, or that was about the house. The leader of the gang then ordered the house to be searched and directed the occupants of the beds to cover their heads at once. In the shuffle for places Mrs. McElheny, a daughter of Goudy, recognized Switzer, who had been there to borrow the money a few days before, and also another member of the gang who was well known by the family. In the search for money a purse containing $120.00 belonging to a daughter, Hannah, was found by the burglars. In an old leather belt used by Mr. Goudy there was also a $100.00 bill which the robbers overlooked or could not find in their hurry to search the house. They became very angry at not finding any more money, having expected to find $9,000.00 which Mr. Goudy was reported to have had in the house at the time. The robbers on leaving the house cursed every member of the family, and seemed much put out at the haul they had made. Captain Thomas H. Goudy, a married son, lived near his father's cabin. He had been a captain of militia in Ohio and his uniform was hanging upon the wall. The robbers seeing this remarked "a military officer must be a rich man," and his money was demanded, but they received nothing, and after turning over everything in the house and finding only some provisions, they left Goudy and went to the cabin of William F. Gilbert, another prominent settler in the neighborhood, who was also supposed to have considerable money. On the night in question Gilbert had stopping with him three men, the mail carrier who operated a stage between Dubuque and Iowa City, and two others. In the Gilbert house, as in the other house, the cabin consisted of only one room with several beds, and on this night Mrs. Goudy and her children occupied one bed, the strangers another bed, while Goudy and the mail carrier slept on the floor by the fire. The entrance of the robbers was so sudden that before the occupants knew what was going on they were covered with guns and clubs, and their money was demanded. Goudy rallied to defend his home, and so did the mail carrier who slept near the door. Both men were knocked down and the cheek bone on one side of the mail carrier's face was smashed completely by a blow from a club wielded by one of the robbers. The house was thoroughly searched and the drawer of a box which was supposed to be opened by a secret spring known to no one but members of the family was forced and a $50.00 bill and some $30.00 or $40.00 in change were found and taken. While all the older members were frightened Mr. Goudy's son, during the plundering, arose in bed and recognized a neighbor--one Goodrich, who lived but a half mile distant--as one of the robbers. This neighbor had up to this time been looked upon as a respectable man. It was he who opened the drawer as quickly as though he was one of the family. The robbers secured as their share of the booty this night about $240.00. A young daughter of Mr. Goudy, who remembered well that night, was later married to Judge John Shane, of Vinton, a well known jurist and a most excellent judge. This wholesale robbery stirred the whole country, and Captain Thomas Goudy especially, being a military man, insisted that now it was high time for the people to arouse themselves and if the officers of the law refused to do anything then the settlers would take the law into their own hands and start something going. Thomas and his father went to J. W. Tallman at Antwerp and Colonel Prior Scott at Pioneer Grove for advice and counsel, and especially to apprehend one Wallace who was implicated in this robbery. Colonel Scott went among his people and organized a "mutual protective association," the settlers hunted up their rifles and shot guns, and the organization was ready to begin work. Wallace had fled, but pursuers were on his track and he was apprehended in Illinois City in Illinois, ten miles above Muscatine, by a citizen named Coleman and turned over to Thomas Goudy and his party. Coleman's reputation in the vicinity was not the best and he had been suspected of harboring outlaws, but it was stated on account of some difficulty in the division of spoils he and Wallace had had a falling out and hence Wallace's easy capture. A warrant was taken out for the arrest of Switzer, and when Wallace was returned Switzer was also arrested and a preliminary examination was held before John G. Cole, one of the first justices of the peace in Linn county. Both of the parties were held to bail. Their cases came on for trial at Tipton at the October term, 1841, of the district court. James W. Tallman, a resident of Antwerp, accompanied by several neighbors, started out to arrest Switzer, a large man and an ugly one. Switzer resided near Halderman's mill. At two o'clock in the morning a posse surrounded Switzer's home. He refused to open the door and they waited till daylight before he was taken in custody. Switzer's cabin was a perfect arsenal, there being guns, pistols, and ugly knives scattered all around. Later James Stoutenberg, also known as Jim Case, was arrested at McConlogue's as an accomplice and member of the gang. He was taken into the woods near McConlogue's and examined in the court of "Judge Lynch" in order to obtain a confession from him, and he was finally tied to a tree and severely flogged. He was never seen alive again. Some assert that he left the country, and others that members of the party carried him to the Cedar river, tied him to a stone raft and left him to his fate. McConlogue was also arrested as being a member of the gang in the robbery, but he established an alibi. Being satisfied that he was guilty of helping to plan the robbery, the pioneer settlers, duly aroused, tried him by rules not known in the ordinary law court. He was sentenced to be hanged, but finally it was agreed that this sentence should be changed to whipping, and that each one of the citizens should give him five lashes on the bare back, and if that failed to bring a confession as to the particulars of the robbery and the extent and names of the gang, then he should be whipped the second time until he died. Blows continued to fall upon his quivering and bleeding back until he implored for mercy and promised to reveal all he knew about the robbery and the operations of the "free booters." He admitted having knowledge of the Goudy robbery and that he received as his share of the booty $25.00. He also admitted that Wallace was the leader of the gang at this time and that Switzer was another member of the gang of five men who perpetrated the robbery. The members of the association after this confession let him go, but first applied a solution of salt on his lacerated flesh, followed by an application of slippery elm bark to remind him of the ordeal he had recently passed through, and which he never forgot. At this time McConlogue was under indictment in Johnson county for assaulting a man named Brown with intent to rob him; on this charge he was tried and sent to the penitentiary. Goodrich, a neighbor of the Gilberts, who had taken part in the robbery and who had been recognized by the latter's son, was also horse whipped and gagged at the same time but he refused to answer any questions and denied having taken part in the robbery. Soon after this he removed from the county and was never heard of afterwards. McConlogue's admission implicated McBroom, who had been known for some time previously as one of the brightest men of the gang, and who was also supposed to be a lawyer. He was also caught and whipped nearly to death near what is known as Scott's mill, without making any confession, but with threat that if anything more was heard of any attempted robbery of any kind by any member of the gang everyone, including himself, would be swung up to the first oak tree. It is needless to say that he immediately left the country and was never heard of again. [Illustration: DANIEL SEWARD HAHN One of the First Settlers in Linn County] William Stretch, an old settler, many years afterwards made a trip down the Mississippi and there in one of the river cities, either New Orleans or Memphis, he met and recognized McBroom who had been so severely flogged on the banks of the Cedar river. McBroom claimed that he had lived an honest life since removing from the Cedar river and he begged Stretch not to say anything about it, at least in his new home. Stretch agreed to this, but investigated to ascertain whether or not McBroom had told the facts, and found that he was a respectable citizen, one of the leaders in that city, and had accumulated a fortune--between forty and fifty thousand dollars. Another member of the gang, a cousin of the Brodie boys, and in many ways a bad fellow, was overtaken in Washington township, this county, while driving and there shot by a band of what was known as "regulators" or members of the "anti-horse thief association." Seventeen bullets had penetrated his body. Who had a hand in this act is not known, although the members are said to have belonged to some of the first families of the county. When Wilson was caught he was passing through the county with a team of stolen horses which had been brought from the eastern part of the state. The trial of Switzer, who had been indicted for burglary in 1840, was transferred on a change of venue from Linn to Cedar county. It came up at the October term of the district court, Joseph Williams presiding. George McCoy was sheriff and William Knott was his deputy. The following named persons, all well known settlers, sat on this jury: C. Kline, William Morgan, Elias Epperson, Abe Kiser, Porter McKinstry, P. Wilkinson, J. S. Lewis, John Lewis, William Denny, W. H. Bolton, Peter Diltz, and Samuel Gilliland. Considerable excitement prevailed at this trial. Switzer was represented by able counsel who put up a great defense. Mrs. McElheny and other members of the family unmistakably identified Switzer as the person who had been there before to borrow the money and who was one of the leaders on the night of the robbery. Switzer tried to prove an alibi, and had a number of people who swore that he had been at another place on the night of the robbery. It is said that the jury was out two days and two nights and during this deliberation Switzer tried to approach Knott by saying that he wanted help and that as soon as Knott found out the jury had found him guilty he asked him to give him some sign by taking a handkerchief out of his pocket. What he would have attempted then is not known. Knott refused, the jury disagreed, eleven standing for conviction and one for acquittal. During the trial a large grey horse was hitched in front of the building used as a court house, for what purpose no one ever understood, nor did any one know who was the owner of the horse. Switzer had a number of friends who hung around the jury and around the court house during the trial. As the jury came out one of the jurors had a handkerchief protruding from the side pocket of his coat. Switzer recognized the signal. With the nimbleness and quickness of a bare back rider he jumped on to the horse and darted away like a cyclone. Knowing the proposition Switzer made to Knott there seems to be some reason to believe that this member of the jury had given Switzer the sign. When the jury reported they were unable to agree, Switzer's friends started out to find and convey to him the result, but could not find him until the day following, when they found him concealed among some of the timber along Sugar creek. Another warrant was issued for his arrest, but there was some delay in serving this notice and in the meantime he made his escape. In 1852 William Knott was in California and there met Switzer at Carson river in Nevada territory and had a conversation with him. Switzer admitted that he had been in a very tight place when he was under arrest in Cedar county, and he asked Knott to convey his best wishes to the juror who had hung out in his favor. Mr. Knott ascertained that Switzer's morals had not changed any on account of his removal. In 1874 Judge John Shane and his wife visited California, and upon inquiry at Vallejo ascertained that Switzer lived in that vicinity, and although a very dissolute and reckless man and feared by all, he had accumulated a handsome fortune. He also discovered that the sons were following in the footsteps of their father, and that one of them was under indictment for having killed a man. At the time of the Switzer arrest and trial for the Gilbert robbery a civil suit had also been brought against him for the recovery of the money and a judgment was obtained. Judge Shane consulted an attorney and tried to get a transcript of his judgment in order to collect the same, but for some reason the records could not be found and the judgment could not be transcripted. Switzer died in California in 1877. One of Switzer's best friends and a hanger-on at the court, a desperado, surrounded by a number of fellows of the same type, was Christopher Burns. He carried revolvers and bowie knives and wore a gentleman's cloak of the old style thrown loosely about his shoulders. The sheriff, his deputy, and a number of men surrounding them also carried arms, and in case the jury had returned a verdict of "guilty" it was Burns's intention, no doubt, to rescue his friend and a bloody battle would have taken place. Burns left the country immediately and was shot by a neighbor in a quarrel on the upper Missouri river in 1845. The whipping of McBroom, Case, and others, and the arrest of Switzer and his flight put a stop to these outrages, so from 1841 to 1855, while many suspicious persons still lived in the community, they were more guarded in their movements than before, and these desperate acts did not take place, although for many years after this a good horse was not always safe property to keep in the country. EARLY SETTLEMENT From _History of Linn County_, 1878 It seems that the first store was located at Westport where there was a barter trade carried on with Indians. W. H. Merritt ran a store at Ivanhoe in 1838, which was located on the government road. John Henry seems to have operated the store at Westport, but whether he bought this from Wilbert Stone is uncertain. It is stated that William, or Wilbert, Stone, sold his store or had one at Westport about 1837 where he did some trading with the Indians. He must have been there as early as 1837 because he sold out his interest to John Henry and removed further up to what became Cedar Rapids, and had been living there for some time when Robert Ellis found him on the west side of the river upon his arrival in May, 1838. None of the land at that time had been surveyed, so all the rights the people had were known as "squatter" rights, which they sold as any other land, and which would give them the privilege of filing on it when the land would get into the market. Much of this land was handled that way. The southeastern and eastern part of the county were first settled, and then settlements were made along the Cedar river, which would be natural for the reason that people had to use the river more or less in keeping in communication with other places. It would be impossible to give the names of all the early settlers for the reason that some only remained a short time and moved away again and the names of these have been lost. A few only can be mentioned to give the reader an idea of where and how certain towns were staked out and buildings commenced. The Linn county lands first came into the market in March, 1843, and not till then, did the settlers come in any large numbers. All were anxious to get free lands. The town sites were laid out as follows, though they were only squatter's rights: Westport in July, 1838, by Israel Mitchell; Columbus (Cedar Rapids), September, 1838, by William [or Wilbert] Stone; Ivanhoe, October, 1838, by Anson Cowles; while the town site of Cedar Rapids was laid out by N. B. Brown and others August 4, 1841. The first plat, however, recorded was by the father of Elias Doty. This was recorded after the land had come into market, when Westport was re-named Newark, and was filed November 12, 1844. The tide of civilization gradually flowed westward from the Mississippi river. The regular chain of progress is clearly shown, and forms a portion of the history of Linn county. Young men pushed bravely ahead, claiming rights to unsurveyed lands, expecting in a short time a rise in values and big money in their holdings. Many of these men were single and never intended to make this, or any other community, their permanent home. All they wanted was to pick out the best claims, erect shacks, hold them down until men with families came, who had a little money and were willing to pay so as to get a home at once. Many of these young venturesome spirits frequently in six months or a year would pick up from $500.00 to a couple of thousand for a claim, depending somewhat upon the improvements made. At times these squatters would erect fairly good log houses and stables, and dig a well or two, and would also put in a little garden stuff--potatoes and the like--so as to keep the family partly, at least, over winter. Crops and all improvements would go with the bargain. Many of these men drifted farther westward and undoubtedly lived nearly all their lives on what might be known as the border land of civilization. They preferred this kind of life, and whenever a community was settled up it lost all interest for the original pioneer; he wanted and preferred to live among frontier ruffians; would fight if he had to, and would always defend himself against any intruder. These men enjoyed this kind of a life and thrived upon it, and all they cared for was a little money, good times, and the freedom they so much craved and which the frontier afforded. "While it is true that those who located in this county in the years 1837 and 1838 came from the east, it is also certain that this section would not have been reached so early in this century had the lands immediately west of the Mississippi been unselected. It was, and still is, the desire of genuine pioneers to find a spot beyond the confines of civilization, no matter how crude the outlying stations may be." The first settlement of whites in Iowa had been at Dubuque, where Dubuque and his followers worked the mines at that place. This at one time was a great center of attraction, but as the government restricted settlers from coming in, they were driven back until treaty arrangements were made with the Indians, who were the owners of the land upon which the mines were located. These men who first came as miners early saw the exceeding beauty and fertility of the Iowa lands, and thus news was spread among the people of the east before the Iowa lands were thrown open for settlement. Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois were by this time pretty much settled up, and so was Missouri and nearly all the land adjoining the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. Thus it was that as soon as the word came from the government that part of Iowa was thrown open to settlement adventurous men and brave women soon began to cross the Mississippi and to settle in various parts of what was then so well known as the Black Hawk land. There were no roads in those days, not even trails, and consequently a person did not dare to venture out on the prairie, but he generally followed some stream so that he could find his way back to the starting place, at least. Most of the people who came west to settle had no idea of where to locate or of the condition of the Iowa lands. They were bold, fearless, and determined, as well as resolute, and they pushed on until they found a locality which suited their fancy and here they pitched their tents and lived in their wagons until suitable log cabins were erected. Prior to 1829 there was not even a ferry established at any regular point on which to cross the river into Iowa; even the miner, Dubuque, when he wanted to re-cross to the Illinois side had to borrow an Indian canoe. The familiar Du Bois, who came early into Illinois in Joe Davies county, trading with the Indians, had no other means of crossing the river than in Indian canoes. By the latter part of 1829 one John Barrel was commissioned to maintain a ferry at Rock Island, which at that time was within the confines of Joe Davies county, which extended for miles and miles along the river, like Dubuque county on the west side of the river. Col. George Davenport also obtained a permit to run a ferry from Davenport across the river, the ferry charges being fixed by the commissioners so that there could be no hold-up. The following charges were made, which must have been pretty high for the people of small means in those days: Man and horse $25.00 Horses or cattle, per head, other than cattle yoke .37-1/2 Road wagon 1.00 For each horse hitched to said wagon .25 Each two-horse wagon .75 Each two-wheeled carriage or cart 1.00 One-horse wagon .75 Each hundred weight of mdse., etc. .06 To avoid paying this ferry charge a great many of the settlers started early in the spring and would cross the river on the ice and thus save this additional expense. William Abbe and his family, and many others who settled in Linn county, at least those who were familiar with the ferry charges, crossed on the ice. George Davenport established a trading post as early as 1831 at the mouth of Rock creek, and another on the east side of Cedar river just above Rochester a short time later. Thus, gradually, there extended a system of small stores in the bayous, creeks, and rivers where trading was carried on mainly with the Indians. The settlers who came generally followed these trails and would be helped and advised where to go and where to find the best roads, and also as to whether or not the Indians in the immediate vicinity of the stores were hostile or friendly. Block houses had also been erected near these frontier stores for protection in case of Indian outbreaks. Another trading point was that of Rockingham which was laid out as early as 1835, and in the early forties considered one of the best villages in the territory. It was to this place the early settlers came up to 1841-42 to trade, as well as to Muscatine and Davenport. The settlers who came late during the summer of 1838-39 were unfortunate in case they were unable to get enough hay for their stock, for the winters were very cold and there were no provisions or food to be purchased, and many a family along the Cedar river in Linn and Cedar counties during these years endured some severe trials. Money was scarce, provisions of all kinds high, and no trading posts nearer than those at Davenport, Muscatine, and Rockingham. It is said that Robert Ellis and Philip Hull came to William Abbe's on their way to Muscatine to get provisions in the fall of 1838. William Abbe gave them $15.00--all the money he had--and with tears in his eyes told them to buy what they could, for that he did not know what would become of his wife and children when that was gone, for it was all the money he had in the world. They were absent about two weeks, and brought back as much provisions as they could buy with what money they had, and by hunting during the winter they got along and helped William Abbe. In the forties William Abbe secured government contracts, and then became a well-to-do man. Robert Ellis was a partner with Abbe many times in supplying the outposts with provisions. [Illustration: LINN COUNTY SCENES] Many families during the latter thirties and the early forties experienced some hard times in Iowa. To make the situation and surroundings still more difficult the creeks and sloughs between the settlements were treacherous quagmires in which wagons going for or returning with provisions were sure to settle in up to the hubs, and when once in the mud there was no way to get them out except by unloading or by going to the nearest store for help, which would be many miles away. Sometimes the assistance of two or three additional yoke of oxen was secured to pull out the wagon. The winters of 1837-38-39 and 40 began early, snow falling to the extent of a foot or two as early as the latter part of October, and it increased as the winter advanced. There was no thaw in January, and the settlers were completely shut in until about the middle of April. Then the snow all melted away and the streams were swollen so as to be impassable. Thus it was impossible to get to any place for food or for provisions until way into the summer. Consequently the settlers experienced many hardships, and much of the stock died from sheer starvation. As early as possible in the spring the settlers would unite and start off for Muscatine, Dubuque, or Rockingham for provisions, and on their return would help the needy settlers who had no opportunity to get away. Sometimes these journeys were undertaken on foot, when two or three would start off with knapsacks to get the necessary foods and medicines, and would return as soon as possible. It is wonderful what the old settlers endured--how they walked a distance of 100 miles in less than two days. Robert Ellis walked from Michigan to Iowa; he walked to Dubuque, Muscatine, Davenport, and Burlington many times, while it is said of William Abbe that he walked easily 60 miles a day without being very much exhausted. Then, again, when roads were impassable for wheeled vehicles they would ride horseback, leading sometimes one horse to be used as a pack horse to bring back provisions. To show with how much difficulty the early settlers toiled to get a foothold in Linn county, it might be well to state the story of the life of Edward M. Crow, who, as a young man, in 1837 came into the county to a place near where is now located Viola. He was only 21 years of age, and came west from Chicago, having previously come from Indiana. He stopped first in Illinois and having heard of Iowa, came here in search of cheap land. He was accompanied by James Dawson and James Gillilan, the latter owning a team of horses. They constructed ferry boats of their own on which to cross the river. The other two parties got tired and left. Crow later found Dawson in Illinois. They travelled over much of Iowa, back and forth, mostly on foot; sometimes together, sometimes setting out in different directions alone. Finally, both Dawson and Crow united in Jones county, staking out a claim in Linn county in July, 1837. Returning to Fox river, Illinois, again in quest of provisions, they did not come back to Linn county until in August of that year, when Ed and Garrison Crow and James Dawson began their settlement, erected a cabin and cut some hay for the winter. They were without food, and had to make another trip to the borders of civilization for provisions for the winter. The monotonous months of winter rolled by, Crow's party subsisting by hunting as best they could. A number of settlers came into Brown township during the early years, such as Jacob Mann, David Mann, his brother, William P. Earle, Asa Farnsworth, and many others. John Crow, father of Ed Crow, John Lynn, O. Bennett, Charles Pickney, Benj. Simmons, Solomon Peckham, and Alexander Rhotan were emigrants who settled here in 1838. All those who came that year and have been definitely corroborated, or who were there as real settlers, were the following: Samuel C. Stewart, Peter McRoberts, John Afferty, William Abbe, Israel Mitchell, Will Gilbert, J. G. Cole, Hiram Thomas, Joseph Carraway, Jacob Leabo, John Henry, J. Wilbert Stone, Osgood Shepherd, wife, father and several children, Robert Ellis, O. S. Bolling, Mr. Ashmore, W. K. Farnsworth, Robert Osborn, Thomas Campbell, Perry Oxley, Will Vineyard, James Hunter, J. J. Gibson, Robert Deem, Michael Donahoo, William Chamberlain, Mr. Williams, Mr. Evans, J. B. Sargent, John Sargent, A. J. McKean, John Scott, H. W. Gray, S. H. Tryon, Anson Coles, Andrew Safely, Rev. Christian Troup, D. S. Hahn, Hiram Bales, Asher Edgerton, Peter Roland, John Stewart, J. E. Boyd, Philip Hull, John Young, Mr. Granger, L. H. Powell, John McCloud, Mr. Kemp, Listebarger brothers, and many others. The Hoosier Grove settlement was made in 1838, being in Putnam township; Isaac and Abner Cox and John Holler, and several others, settled here that year. During the year 1839 Otter Creek was settled by Stevens, Michael Greene, Bart McGonigle, Henry Nelson, William Chamberlain, Dr. J. Cummings, Will Sullivan and Perry Oliphant. Dyer Usher and Joel Howard ferried people across the Mississippi near Muscatine in the summer of 1839. These men died near Covington a few years ago. Usher always claimed that he was on the site of Cedar Rapids as early as 1836 and located west of the river two years later. The young men could make no money in a new country, and while they took claims they frequently left for civilization to earn a little money. So it might have been that Usher was a bona fide resident of Linn county, while he could get no employment nearer than Muscatine. A number of persons settled early around Cedar Rapids in the timber a few miles from town. William Knowles located on what is known as Mound Farm in 1839 and gave this up to the Brodie family, consisting of parents, five sons and three daughters. The names of the sons were Hugh, John, William, Steven, and Jesse. Rev George R. Carroll speaks of the family as having an unsavory reputation. The family removed further north when some of them at least were accused of being notorious horse thieves. Joel Leverich next became the owner of Mound Farm, a person who had somewhat of a history in the early days of politics in the county. In 1843-44 this property was purchased by George Greene. A number of people lived along the trail between Marion and Cedar Rapids. Among those well known not already mentioned may be named Ambrose Harlan, Dave Woodbridge, J. E. Bromwell, J. P. Glass, Rufus Lucore, John and Will Hunter, Thomas Hare, Will Willis, and many others. * * * * * We quote the following from directories and gazeteers published years ago. These statements may not be correct in some details, but the facts were obtained from some who were doubtless familiar with them. Thus Wolfe in his Cedar Rapids and Kingston directory of 1869 speaks of John Mann, of Pine Grove, as the first settler in Linn county, he coming in 1838, and of the first marriage in the county as that of Sarah Haines to Richard Osborne, in 1839, and the first death as that of Mrs. Haines, an elderly lady who died from an accident in July, 1838. He further speaks of the first store in Westport as that of Albert [should be John] Henry in 1838. It is thought that Stone also carried on some store or trade with the Indians before this. He speaks of the second store as being operated by W. H. Merritt in 1839. This should be 1838, as is seen from Merritt's letter to S. W. Durham, found in another portion of this volume. The first claim of land in Cedar Rapids was made by William Stone, in 1838, who built a cabin on the banks of the river on Commercial street, now First street. Is this the Shepherd cabin, and was this so-called first tavern erected and occupied by Stone, who later was compelled to vacate it and give up his claim? Mr. Wolfe also speaks of the first saw and grist mill built by Brown in 1842, the second flour mill built by Alex Ely in 1845, and the first woolen factory erected by Brown in 1845. Miss Legare built a saw mill in 1851. As late as 1869 Wolfe speaks of eight flour and saw mills being operated in and around Cedar Rapids. He speaks further of two woolen factories and the steam bakery of I. H. Shaver & Co., and of the Fish paper mill, manufacturing 300 tons of paper annually. The directory speaks of the American Express Company having an office here as early as 1859, with W. B. Mack as the first local agent. The editor also mentions that the learned professions were represented by ten clergymen, thirteen doctors, and about fifteen lawyers. He also mentions J. Bell's stage line running daily between Iowa City, Solon, Western, and Cedar Rapids, and also of a line to Vinton. The following as seen by a traveller may be of interest. It is from _A Glimpse of Iowa in 1846_, by J. B. Newhall, Burlington, Iowa, _W. D. Skillman_, publisher, 1846: "Linn county has become proverbial for the excellence of its soil, its salubrity of climate, abundance and admirable adaption of woodlands to the wants and convenience of the settler. The prairies are remarkably fertile, and of moderate extent; the timber equally and amply apportioned, generally of full growth, consisting, principally, of red and white oak, black and white walnut, linn, sugar, maple, etc. Linn county is famous for its extensive sugar orchards, from some of which 500 to 1,000 weight have been annually made. It is well watered by the Red Cedar and its tributaries, affording abundance of mill power, much of which is already improved. "Marion, the seat of justice, is located near the center of the county, about four miles east of the Cedar, at the edge of a beautiful grove, on a gentle prairie roll. It contains several stores, a commodious hotel, postoffice, various mechanical establishments, and is a place of considerable importance." The modern traveler speaks of broad meadows, of rich corn fields, and of large manufacturing interests. This traveler of sixty-five years ago speaks of timber which has disappeared and of maple sugar orchards which makes us wonder what they were like. From Bailey & Hair's _Iowa State Gazetteer_, 1865, we gather these facts: "The county of Linn is so named in honor of a distinguished senator of the United States, the Hon. Louis F. Linn, of Missouri. It is situated centrally in the eastern half of the state, and from fifty to sixty miles west of the Mississippi river. "It was defined by act of the Territorial Legislature of Wisconsin, at its session of 1837 and '38; that Territory then including the whole of Iowa within its jurisdiction. The county limits were the same as they now remain, consisting of twenty Congressional townships, containing an area of 720 square miles. It is bounded on the north by Buchanan and Delaware counties, east by Jones and Cedar, south by Johnson and west by Benton. It is now divided into nineteen civil townships, as follows: Bertram, Boulder, Brown, Buffalo, Clinton, College, Fairfax, Franklin, Fayette, Jackson, Linn, Marion, Maine, Monroe, Otter Creek, Putnam, Rapids, Spring Grove, and Washington. "The county was duly organized by the Board of County Commissioners at their first session held September 9th, 1839, at the farm house of Mr. James W. Willis, one-half mile north of the present town of Marion. The board consisted of Samuel C. Stewart, President, Peter McRoberts, and Luman M. Strong, Commissioners; Hosea W. Gray, Sheriff; and John C. Berry, Clerk. "This Board also approved the selection of the county seat, which they ordered to be called Marion; divided the county into election and road districts; and appointed Andrew J. McKean and William H. Smith, Constables. Of the officers and persons above named, but two, Messrs. Gray and McKean, remain residents of the county, the latter being the present Clerk of the District Court. * * * * * "The first white settler in this county was John Mann, who erected his cabin on Upper Big Creek, in Linn Grove, in the month of February, A. D., 1838. He was an emigrant from the mountainous region of southwestern Pennsylvania. He was an honest, industrious, unlettered, rude sort of man. Subsequently he built a small flouring mill. A great flood in the spring of 1851 carried away his mill and himself together. The unfortunate man was drowned, and his body recovered only after several days had elapsed. The flood was unprecedented, and was thought to have been caused by a water spout. The Little Creek is said to have risen twenty feet in about as many minutes. "The next permanent settler was John Crow, a North Carolinian, who made his home near the east line of the county on the Wapsipinicon river, in April, 1838. He was a very gentlemanly person, of more than ordinary intelligence, wealth and enterprise. He died about five years afterwards, much respected. His son, Edward Crow, Esq., now a member of the Board of Supervisors of this County, and other descendants remain. During the summer of 1838 the settlements gradually extended in the east part of the county. The only persons now recollected, of that early period, as remaining, are John Gibson, of Mount Vernon, and Andrew J. McKean, and Hosea W. Gray, of Marion. The first family west of Big Creek was that of Jacob Leabo, from Kentucky. The first west of Indian Creek was that of James W. Bassett, from Vermont. The first Justice of the Peace was John McAfferty, commissioned in 1838. The first Judge of Probate was Israel Mitchell, a Tennesseean, now residing in Oregon. The first Sheriff was Hosea W. Gray. The first Clerk of the District Court was Joseph Williams, a Pennsylvanian: now said to be in the military service at Memphis, Tennessee. "The first officiating minister was the Rev. Christian Troup, a German Lutheran, who preached regularly in his own cabin near the mouth of Spring Creek every Sunday during the latter part of the summer of 1838. The first marriage was that of Richard Osborn and Sarah Haines, in the spring of 1839. The first birth was that of a daughter of Mrs. Samuel McCartney, in July, 1838. The first death was that of Mrs. Haines, an invalid elderly lady, who died from the effects of an accidental fall in July, 1838. The second was that of James Logan, an Irishman, who was killed by the caving in of a well which he was excavating in Marion, July, 1840. "The first selected town site was called Westport, of which Israel Mitchell was proprietor. It was near the present site of the village of Bertram, and was selected in July, 1838. This was afterwards abandoned. The next in order of time, was called Columbus, built by William Stone, in September, 1838. He abandoned his town the next spring, there being only a single log cabin. The site was that occupied by the present city of Cedar Rapids. The next was Ivanhoe, by Anson Cowles, in October, 1838, since vacated. The fourth was Marion, the present county seat, in April, 1839. "The first election was held at Westport in October, 1838, that being the only poll opened for the county. The only candidates were for members of the Assembly; thirty-two votes were cast. The first member of the General Assembly elected from this county was the Hon. George Greene, member of the Legislative Council, elected in 1840. The first store opened was at Westport, by Albert [John] Henry, in the fall of 1838. The second at Ivanhoe, in the spring of 1839, by Col. William H. Merritt. [Illustration: GOING SHOPPING IN THE EARLY DAYS FROM CARROLLS'S PIONEER HISTORY] [Illustration: INDIAN BOYS] [Illustration: INDIAN TEPEE] [Illustration: LATER INDIAN HOUSE] [Illustration: INDIAN GRAVE] "The first celebration was on the 4th of July, 1839, at Westport, Judge Mitchell, Orator. There was a dinner, toasts, and a ball, whereof William H. Smith, Andrew J. McKean and H. W. Gray, were managers. "The fifth decennial census of the United States was taken in 1840, in this county, by H. W. Gray, Deputy Marshal. The population was 1,342. The influx of settlers for the next three years was quite rapid, during which time the population reached probably three thousand. The largest proportion of the emigration was of Southern origin. The early settlers were plain, honest, hospitable people, not much accustomed to legal restraints, and rather impatient of the slow process and technicalities of the law. As usual, in all new countries, they were annoyed by vagabonds, who flocked into the settlements, calculating on impunity in their depredations, on account of the inefficiency of the police regulations. A rude justice was not unfrequently meted out to offenders without recourse to legal forms, or the intervention of courts. "In common with all frontier settlements, the first settlers here were poor; they were obliged to transport their produce in wagons mostly, to the Mississippi River, at points sixty or seventy miles distant. When reached at such disadvantage the markets were very low, consequently the accretions of wealth were slow, and were mainly invested in the homestead of the farmer. The discovery of gold in California with the resulting emigration, opened a good market for the farmers at home. Afterwards, eastern emigration, with the building of railroads, connecting the people with eastern markets, greatly accelerated the prosperity of this county as well as all other parts of the west. The financial crisis of 1857 interposed a check to this onward career of prosperity. It was but temporary, however, and the people had fully regained their former standing when the rebellion commenced. "It is felt that a county which contributed one general, and fifteen field officers, with more than two thousand volunteers in defense of the Union, without draft or conscription, and without seriously lessening its productive energies, has an assured basis of future greatness and prosperity. A basis which nothing short of the entire upheaval and destruction of the foundations of human society shall be able to disturb." In _Guide, Gazetteer and Directory of the Dubuque & Sioux City Railroad_, Dubuque, _Bailey & Wolfe_, 1868, we read of Cedar Rapids: "The first settlement here was made in the year 1838 by William Stone, who erected a log cabin on the bank of the river in the rear of No. 1 North Commercial street. The same year Osgood Shepherd, a supposed leader of a band of outlaws, jumped Stone's claim and took possession of the cabin, and held it until the year 1841, when he sold three-fourths of his interest to N. B. Brown and George Greene, H. W. Gray, A. L. Roach, and S. H. Tryon, for the sum of $3,000. "In 1842 he sold the remainder and soon after disappeared from the country. N. B. Brown came here in 1840, when Mr. Brown and Judge George Greene became proprietors of the water power. "In 1841 the town was laid out and named from the rapids in the river. The first frame dwelling was erected by John Vardy and is still standing at 62 Brown street, corner of South Adams. The building known as the Old Postoffice Building, North Washington street, was built for a store by N. B. Brown, the same year. P. W. Earle's residence, 29 Iowa Avenue, was the first brick building, and was erected by Mr. Earle in 1849. Wm. Dwyer built the first hotel in 1847. This was destroyed by fire in January, 1865. "The work of constructing a dam across the river, was commenced by N. B. Brown, July 4th, 1842, though much of the material had been prepared prior to that date. Mr. Brown commenced the erection of a saw mill, and also of a grist mill the same year, and both were completed the year following. A second saw mill was built in 1851. "The second flouring mill was built by Alexander Ely in 1844-5. The first woolen factory was also built by N. B. Brown in 1847. In 1855 a city charter was obtained, and at the first charter election, Isaac N. Whittam was elected Mayor. Railroad communication with the Mississippi was opened in 1859, from which time the growth of the city in wealth and population has been rapid and constant. "A superior water power has attracted a large interest in manufactures of various kinds. As early as 1840 one of the first settlers determined to apply his energies to the improvement of the water power, and soon after a dam was thrown across the river, a saw mill built, and other improvements followed, till now there are located here five flouring and custom mills, one saw mill, one paper mill, two woolen mills, and one fanning mill and separator manufactory." CHAPTER VII _William Abbe, the First Settler in the County_ William Abbe, we believe, was the first white settler to locate a claim within the boundaries of Linn county. He came as early as the summer of 1836, from near Elyria, Lorain county, Ohio, seeking a location, coming via Rock Island. He followed the Red Cedar river as far as the present site of Mount Vernon, where he staked out a claim adjoining a little creek, which to this day goes by the name of "Abbe's Creek." He returned to his home in Ohio and in the winter of 1837 he again crossed the Mississippi with his family on the ice as early as February of that year, according to his daughter's statement, and in April reached the location he had selected the previous year on Abbe's creek. Here he erected one of the first cabins in the county, being about 12�14 feet square, and covered with birch bark, having no floor. In this little cabin the family lived all summer. In the fall he erected a large double log house with three large rooms and an upstairs which was reached by a ladder from within. On this creek the family lived for five years where Mr. Abbe owned four hundred acres. He disposed of this farm and removed a short distance south of Marion where he purchased another farm where he lived till he removed to Marion. William Abbe was born in Connecticut April 19, 1800, being of English descent. When a young boy he removed to the state of New York. He was married to Olive Greene in 1824 and by her had four children: Lucy, Lois, Andrew, and Susan. Lois Abbe died young, Lucy Abbe died many years ago, Andrew Abbe passed away at San Juan, California, in 1902, and Susan Abbe-Shields now resides at Hollister, California. William Abbe brought his wife and children to Linn county in 1837; his wife died in 1839 and was buried in a cemetery located near the farm on which he settled, about two miles northwest of Mount Vernon. He married a second time on September 13, 1840, his wife being Mary Wolcott, also from Ohio, and by her he had two sons, born at Marion: Augustus Wolcott Abbe and William Alden Abbe. William Alden Abbe died several years ago; his widow and one child, a daughter, reside in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Augustus Wolcott Abbe, an old soldier, resides in Toledo, Iowa, and has a family of eight children. Mrs. Susan Shields was born in 1830 and was about seven years of age when she came to Linn county. She was married to John Harman March 16, 1848, who died shortly afterwards, and she later married John Shields, a resident of Vinton, Iowa. In an interesting letter on early Linn county days she writes as follows: "There were no white people for a long time after we landed in Linn county; when they did come my mother used to let them come and stay there until they would find a place to suit them; it was always a free home for the immigrants. When we first went there I was but a child seven years old. The men I remember most were Robert Ellis, one of our first acquaintances, and Asher Edgerton, the former being with us a long time when the country was new. Of course we had men come in, such as horse thieves, and my father had some of them chained up in one of our rooms for safe keeping until they could be tried, as there was no jail for some time in Linn county. "I went with my father to Marion, a little place then with one or two houses and a jail. We carried an iron trap door for the jail; it was in two rooms, one upstairs and one downstairs. There were two men in the dungeon at the time; we took the door for this jail. My father was a justice of the peace for awhile; he was also a member of the state legislature when the capital was located at Iowa City. Later father sold our place on Abbe's Creek and purchased another on the old Marion road, of about three hundred acres, further north; there was a lovely creek, a grove of maple trees was on one side and a boundless prairie on the other side. The Indians used to come in the spring of the year to camp and make sugar; I have seen as many as five or six hundred at a time camped near our house in the timber; they always made it a camping ground at our place and they seemed to be very fond of my father, who was kind to them and who spoke and understood the Winnebago language. "I remember well the first time I went to Cedar Rapids with my father; this was in the early '40s; there were five hundred Winnebago Indians camped there at the time. I had played with the Indians so much that I could talk the Indian language as well as themselves, so they had me to talk for them. There were only one or two white settlers there at the time. By the way, I was the first school teacher they had in Cedar Rapids; I think it was about in 1846; I still have the certificate issued to me by Alexander Ely, who was superintendent at the time. After residing on this place a short time my father disposed of his farm and removed to Marion; he also lived for some time at Dubuque where he held a government position in the Land Office, I think. The breaking out of the gold fever in 1849 caused him to get excited and he left for California, leaving the family at Marion. "My father was a born pioneer; although born in Connecticut he went to New York when the country was new, and then to Ohio, and later came to Iowa. In California he never mined gold, but teamed and speculated; he was there about two years, returning to Iowa in 1851, remaining in Iowa only a short time when he returned to California with his son, Andrew. My father died in Sacramento, California, February 15, 1854, when about to go to Iowa to bring his family to California, and he is buried in Sacramento." This interesting letter from a real Linn county pioneer more than seventy years of age gives only an idea of the hardships of pioneer life, and what this woman has endured as a daughter and wife of the first settlers. William Abbe's widow, Mary Wolcott, continued to reside in Marion with her family until August 27, 1861, when she died, universally respected by all who knew her. Mr. Abbe was an old time democrat and as such was in the state senate session, having the honor to appoint Robert Ellis postmaster of the senate, as a reward of friendship and good will. Mr. Abbe also was a justice of the peace for some time, was appointed commissioner to locate state roads, had the contract for the erection of the first jail at Marion, and was otherwise a very useful citizen. He was also master of the first Masonic lodge at Marion, and one of the best known and best educated men in Linn county up to the time of his removal to California. For a number of years Mr. Abbe was the only person in the county having ready money, loaning the same to his friends for the purchase of their claims. He held government contracts for the delivery of meat and provisions to the Winnebago agency at Fort Atkinson and to the troops at Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, and at other places, and thus was acquainted with many of the military officers in the Black Hawk war and with the Indian chiefs and braves of the Winnebago tribe, as well as the Sac and Fox Indians. It is said that William Abbe conversed freely with the Winnebago Indians, and frequently acted as an interpreter when matters of importance came up between members of the tribe and the white settlers; he was always a friend and protector of the Indians and frequently helped them in securing their just rights when they had been robbed by the white free-booters, hunters and trappers. [Illustration: FORMER PASTORS UNITED BRETHREN CHURCH, LISBON] William Abbe was a kind and generous man, and his home was always open to the people who came into Linn county at an early day to seek homes. It is also said that Mrs. Abbe was an excellent cook and many of the old surveyors would ride several miles out of their way to get a meal at the Abbe homestead, for the latch string of the Abbe home was always out. Mr. Abbe rode horseback a great deal and would be gone for weeks at a time, and while he was away the family lived quietly at home awaiting for days for his return when provisions were frequently scarce and when the snow drifts generally were large. During the first two seasons there were very few crops grown, and consequently the father was kept busy earning a livelihood, the family subsisting mostly on the chase. He traded provisions with the Indians, at times bringing home large quantities of honey which was used as sugar in sweetening black coffee as well as in place of butter on the hard johnny cake. His son, Augustus Abbe, born on Abbe's creek in 1841, later a member of the 9th Iowa Infantry, now a retired farmer residing at Toledo, Iowa, tells the following of his father's life and history: "There was not a time in my life when I do not remember the Indian children. I played with them constantly. Those were my only playmates in the early days. I learned a little of the Winnebago language, and got along very well. My half sister, Susan, spoke it fluently, as well as my father. I remember when I was about five or six years old a number of Indians were gathered in our house and I climbed a post, sitting on the same to watch the redskins race their horses. One of the chiefs, one that had the most gaudy clothing on, rode by very fast and picked me off the post and put me in front on his saddle, going at full gallop; he rode a long ways down through the prairie and my mother expressed much anxiety, but my father came out and stood there and watched for me to return. After awhile the Indian came back and put me safely down in front of the house, to my mother's joy--I, all the time laughing, thinking that I had had a good time. The Indian said to my father, 'papoose no 'fraid.' That pony ride I shall remember as long as I live. "I also remember my father going away for two or three weeks at a time, and my mother fixing up his lunch for the journey. He had a pair of saddle bags filled with papers and other articles. I still remember when he put on moccasins, overshoes, and a buffalo overcoat of some kind; he would bundle up securely, kiss us good-bye and start off across the prairie at full speed. Many a time I cried, as I wanted to go along, but on these long journeys I was refused this pleasure for my father would not neglect business even for the sake of pleasing his son whom he loved dearly. "I also remember Robert Ellis, the Ashertons, Willitts, Clarks, and many others who came to our house and talked way into the night about trips they had taken over the wide prairies of Iowa. Our cabin was full of people most of the time; they would come in late in the night and in the morning, much to my surprise, I would find a number of people at breakfast, I not knowing when they came during the night. I never knew or heard of my mother making any charge for keeping anyone over night, whether they were strangers or acquaintances, whether they were poor or rich made no difference; whatever she had she would divide with a traveller or other stranger who came to her hospitable home. "I do not know that my mother understood much of the Indian language, but she was kind to them and the squaws used to sit on our door steps more than once. She gave them food that she had prepared, sweetened with honey which they liked very much. "I remember going to Marion with my father many times when it was a very small village with a jail which my father always pointed out as having built. He also taught me that I must do right or else I might have to stay in that jail or some other jail if I did not. These lessons were certainly deeply impressed on me for life. I remember, also, when we removed from Marion to Dubuque. I think that was in 1847, and we remained there for some time, but I think less than a year, when we removed back to Marion. My father held a government position there in the land office, I think. "My two uncles, Charles and Eliezar Abbe, resided in Ohio, one later removing to Michigan. The latter visited my father frequently. He was related, also, on his wife's side, to Ed Clark, an early settler in Linn county. These men were much taken up with the country and we had hoped that they would come here to locate, but they did not. "I also, with my father, visited Cedar Rapids many times, and I do not believe I was more than five or six years of age, hardly that, when I first saw Cedar Rapids, where I was much interested in the dam and the mills. The town then consisted of a few log houses along the east bank of the river. The remainder of the town was a mass of sand burrs, weeds, and timber, and along Cedar Lake and along the river large numbers of Indians were camped, especially up along the Cedar Lake and along what is now known as McCloud's Springs. In this locality several hundred Indians would camp in the winter and spring of the year, trapping, hunting, and trading skins with the whites for red clothing, guns, and ammunition. They would hang around the flour mills during the day time where there were always a lot of people gathered. "My mother was a member of the Lutheran church, which church she now and then attended, but there were not many churches in that day. My father was not a church member. "I remember my sister, Susan, teaching one of the first schools in Cedar Rapids, much to the satisfaction of the members of our family. In politics my father was a stanch democrat and an admirer of Andrew Jackson. He also became acquainted with most of the officers who remained in the west after the close of the Black Hawk war, on account of his government employment in which he was engaged. He was also personally acquainted with the persons who had charge of the Winnebago school, as well as those in charge of Fort Atkinson. Nearly all the people who rode horseback from Iowa City to Dubuque came by way of Mount Vernon, and would generally stop over night at our home. I remember my father and the strangers talking over politics until way into the night, and still remember many of these discussions as to the future of Iowa and as to the political aspirations of the various parties. My father took a lively interest in politics, as well as in the development of the west, and when it was settled up he had a longing for starting another pioneer settlement. He used to say when the land was pretty much taken that it was too close, he had to get away, as he wanted more room. By training and environment he was a true pioneer and full of enthusiasm for the upbuilding of a pioneer country. "When he was away in California we were much interested in his letters and we all wanted to go. When our father returned we asked him all sorts of questions about the gold camps of the west, and what he had experienced, and we spent whole evenings listening to his conversations. He did not take us at that time, but wanted to seek out an ideal location and get settled before he took us out there. But the day never came, and we never saw him again when he left on his second trip to California in 1852. All that we knew was that my mother received a letter from a Masonic order in Sacramento that the order had taken care of him in his sickness and had seen that he received a suitable burial. He was sick only a short time and none of his old friends was with him when he died. Robert Ellis came to Sacramento looking for his old neighbor and heard to his sorrow that his friend had died only a week before. He came into Sacramento from the camps on the American river. "After my father's death my mother resided in Marion with her family where she died August 27, 1861, at the age of fifty-eight years. As I felt downhearted at the time I joined the army and went to the front. November 29, 1865, I was joined in marriage to Cynthia Walker, daughter of an old Linn county pioneer. "My father was also sheriff of Linn county. However, of this there does not seem to be any record, as I have been informed. He may have been appointed sheriff to fill a vacancy, or he may have been a deputy, I am not certain about that, but I know he was acting, at least, in the capacity of sheriff and caused the arrest of a number of horse thieves and other alleged criminals. My father was over six feet tall, straight as an arrow, rather slender, but very active, and I never saw a horse that he could not mount and ride at any time without the least effort. "We used cattle for plowing, but generally kept also several horses, but these were used to drive and ride and not to work very much. "I believe that among the early settlers of the '30s and '40s my father had the good will of all law-abiding citizens. He was affable to strangers and true as steel to his friends, and was universally respected." William Abbe will be remembered as one of the most prominent of his day and generation in Linn county, for his kindness, his uprightness, his never wavering from the path of right. Whether amid the influences of the home circle or surrounded by the temptations of the mining camp, he was always the same sturdy, upright citizen, wanting to do right and helping his fellow men who were more unfortunate than himself. One of his old and true friends, speaking of his long deceased friend, expressed words of deepest feeling which can be only expressed in the well known stanzas: "Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days, None knew thee but to love thee, None named thee but to praise." While a great many are now of the opinion that William Abbe was the first actual settler within the confines of Linn county, a number are still of the opinion that Daniel Seward Hahn was the first settler. He came here, accompanied by his wife, Parmelia Epperson Hahn. John J. Daniels, an old settler in Linn county, and a son of Jeremiah Daniels, who came to Linn county in 1844, was pretty good authority on the subject of the early settlers. In a number of conversations had with him on this subject and from what he wrote for the _Annals of Iowa_, Vol. VI, p. 581, and for the Iowa _Atlas_, 1907, it is gathered that he was of the opinion that Daniel Hahn was the first actual settler, at least the members of the Hahn family, of whom there are a number still living in Linn and adjoining counties, claim that their ancestor, Daniel Hahn, should be awarded the honor. In the _Annals of Iowa_ Mr. Daniels has the following: "Daniel Hahn and his brother-in-law, Charles Moberly, came to Linn county in the spring of 1837, made a claim and built a cabin upon it, did some breaking, and in August removed with wife and five children from Mercer county, Illinois. At this time there was no house in Linn county to his knowledge." This, Mr. Daniels says, was the statement made to him and others in the lifetime of Daniel Hahn. This may be true, that in the early day very little, if any, social intercourse was had among the early settlers and no one paid any attention to time or place, and it might be that Mr. Abbe, Mr. Hahn, and Mr. Crow might have settled at the same time, one never having known that the others had located here. Quoting from Mr. Daniels's articles, the following might be stated: "Edward M. Crow came to the county in July, 1837, in company with his brother, locating near Viola where they made a claim and erected a shanty; they remained there only a few days, returning to Fox river to obtain provisions, having decided to locate in the county. In the latter part of August Edward Crow and his brother and James Dawson began to work on their new possessions; about this time there came also two other pioneers by the name of Joslyn and Russell; they remained in the crude cabin during the winter and their time was spent mostly in hunting, tanning pelts and trading with the Indians. Their cabin was erected at the edge of what was known as the 'Big Woods' in Brown township." Thus it would seem that William Abbe in point of time was the first actual white settler to locate a claim and later to settle on this claim with his family, within the confines of Linn county. True, hunters and trappers may have been here earlier, but no actual _bona fide_ settler, as far as we have been able to ascertain. The testimony of Mrs. Susan Shields, a daughter still living, would seem to suffice as to the time when the great river was crossed and as to the time the family came to Linn county. [Illustration: HON. SAMUEL W. DURHAM Honored Pioneer] CHAPTER VIII _The County Seat Contests--First Railroad in the County_ The county seat of Linn county was established at Marion by a board of commissioners consisting of Lyman Dillon, Ben Nye, and Richard Knott. As the years rolled by the question arose as to the removal of the county seat to Cedar Rapids, where it seems that it was needed, being what was then known as the commercial metropolis of the county. The people of Marion insisted that that city was the center. While there was more or less feeling in the county over the county seat fight, the legislature of Iowa in 1850-51 created the office of county judge, which was designed to and did succeed the former legislative bodies of the several counties of the state. The judge had the same powers possessed by the board of supervisors which controlled the affairs of the county later. Among the rights and privileges peculiar to the office was that most important one of submitting to the people the question of raising money for the purpose of repairing and erecting buildings for the use of the county officers. (See Code of 1851.) In 1855 James M. Berry was county judge, and a shrewd fellow he was. In pursuance of the law, and what he thought his duty, Judge Berry took steps to erect a jail and a fireproof building for the use of the county officers. These buildings were contracted for by a firm at Mt. Vernon, Ohio, in the spring of that year. Then the people arose in arms as to the high-handed methods of Judge Berry. Political questions were lost sight of in the court house struggle. Speakers were employed pro and con. Judge Berry's term of office expired January 1, 1856, and a successor was to be elected in August of 1855. Marion put up Judge Berry for re-election, while Cedar Rapids put up Rev. Elias Skinner, a well known Methodist preacher who had traveled about the county and who was well known by everyone as an aggressive fighter and a man who believed in what he did and would have things his way if possible. The canvass was in the aggregate with Judge Berry at 1,233 votes, while Skinner showed up with 993 votes, the judge being re-elected by a majority of 240 votes, thereby affirming by a referendum vote his policy. Reverend Skinner is still living at Waterloo, and not long ago the writer had a conversation with him about this the most famous fight that has ever occurred in Linn county over the removal of the court house. Mr. Skinner just laughed and said he put up a good fight, but the other fellow had the votes. In 1871 another court house fight was had, but the board held that because of many names of voters being on both petitions these petitions were defective. In the spring of 1872 another petition was brought out for the re-location of the court house and an endless number of names were again filed pro and con. Much money was spent on both sides; again the Cedar Rapids faction was beaten, some preliminary steps were taken for an appeal but the appeal was stricken from the docket. Another attempt was made by Cedar Rapids for a change of location of the court house a few years ago, and again the petitioners lost out, and that case has been pending on the court docket but no action has been taken, so that it has for the fourth time been lost, much to the surprise of the citizens of Cedar Rapids and to the satisfaction of the people of Marion and a large portion of the northern part of the county who have always stood out for Marion in the fights on the re-location of the county seat. THE FIRST RAILROAD IN LINN COUNTY While it may have been charged at times that Iowa was slow in getting in touch with railway builders, it must be borne in mind that the first railroad to be built in the United States upon which a steam engine was used was constructed in 1829; but very little was done until about 1833-34. By 1835 there were not over 100 miles of road in active operation within the confines of the entire country. Up to 1841 not a mile of track had been laid in any of the following states: Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan. By the end of 1848 there were only twenty-two miles of tracks laid in Illinois, eighty-six in Indiana, and none in Wisconsin or Missouri. Traffic so far had been exclusively by river, lake, canal, or in wagons. Much money had been expended in opening up rivers for steamboat traffic and more or less had been voted to build roads and dig canals. But over such a large stretch of country it was impossible for the nation to do much. As early as 1837 many citizens of Iowa and others began to agitate for a transcontinental line of railroad to run from the Atlantic states to the Pacific, and for a grant of land by congress for this purpose. Asa Whitney, of New York, an able and public spirited man, had written much in the papers proposing such a project. There was of course at that time more or less speculation as to just where such proposed railroad might pass. The southern senators proposed a road through St. Louis and across Missouri to Kansas. There was a spirit of rivalry at this time. When Chicago began to get its growth the far-sighted people of that city saw that it would be in the interests of Chicago to have the line go directly west and through Iowa, and thus cut out a dangerous rival. The Chicago press henceforth always favored a direct route through Iowa. As early as 1838 G. W. Jones, then delegate in congress from Wisconsin, secured an appropriation of $10,000, which was expended in making a survey from Lake Michigan through southern Wisconsin. Now the people of Iowa became active. They wanted a railroad from the lakes west, and this could only be secured by public or state aid. The legislature of 1844 joined in a petition to congress asking a grant of public land to the Territory of Iowa to aid in the construction of a railroad from Dubuque to Keokuk. The grant was to consist of alternate sections extending five miles in width on each of the proposed roads or its equivalent in adjacent government lands. During the winter of 1844-45 a convention was held at Iowa City where nearly all the counties of the territory were represented by wide-awake young men in the interest of this railway promotion. Several proposed lines were agitated and as some of these lines did not start at any place and went to no place many of these projects failed. The first grant of public lands in Iowa for transportation was not for railroads but for improving navigation on the Des Moines river. It was made in 1846. Strong then was the prejudice against railway promotion, and little faith did the public men in congress put in this so-called wild speculation. The people of Iowa were so enthusiastic in the way of railway building and in the promotion of enterprises that they even ignored old political standards. It would appear that when the subject of the training of the candidates was looked into it, it depended more on what use such person would be for the work of getting a railway grant than how he would vote on the tariff or on the rights of South Carolina. The following letter, written May 28, 1848, by W. H. Merritt to S. W. Durham, an old friend and fellow democrat, shows plainly the attitude of one of the leading men of the party, then living at Dubuque, but who had formerly resided at Ivanhoe and hence was one of the early men in Linn county. He mentions Preston (Colonel Isaac Preston), and gives his reasons for not wanting him. The Leffingwell mentioned was the well-known W. E. Leffingwell, who formerly resided at Muscatine, then Bloomington, and later removed to Clinton county. He was an eloquent lawyer and a popular man. He was later defeated by William Smyth for congress in this district. Bates and Folsom were both prominent Iowa City men, and well known in political circles for many years. Judge Grant was the noted jurist of Davenport, and was a well-known railroad promoter who had much influence in early years in Iowa. In this letter Mr. Merritt suggests George Greene as a candidate from Linn county. There is no doubt that if at this time Mr. Greene had been selected, he would have carried the district and made an enviable record as a statesman, and no doubt on account of his judgment and his keenness in business, he would have obtained from congress such favors as would have amounted to much good for Iowa in the first stages of her statehood. The letter does not show whether or not Mr. Greene had consented or would consent to such a course, although it has been stated that he most likely would have consented to have made the canvass. For congress the whigs nominated this year, 1848, D. F. Miller for the first district and Tim Davis for the second district. The democrats nominated for the first district William Thompson, and for the second district Shepherd Leffler. The whigs were strong, the total vote for president at the November elections being, Cass, democrat, 12,093; Taylor, whig, 11,144; Van Buren, free soiler, 1,126. Leffler was elected, and Miller on a close vote contested the election of Thompson before congress. The committee on elections declared the seat vacant. Leffler, who was elected after an exciting canvass, was a native of Pennsylvania, who came to Iowa Territory in 1835. He sat in the first constitutional convention in 1844, and two years later was elected to congress by the state at large, and hence in 1848 he had the inside track. In 1856 he was again a candidate but was defeated by Tim Davis, his old whig opponent of 1848. In 1875 he was a candidate for governor against S. J. Kirkwood, and was defeated. He died at Burlington in 1879. He had been one of the trusted leaders of his party for many years. The letters from W. H. Merritt and George Greene show what interest these men had in the railroad enterprise. LETTER FROM MERRITT "Strictly confidential. Dubuque, May 28, 1848. "Friend Durham: "Having retired from the editorial tripod I find more time to devote to my friends in the reflective and agreeable exercise of correspondence than formerly. Since my second return to Iowa it would have been highly gratifying to my feelings had I been so situated in business as to have employed a portion of my time in personal communication with my friends, in viewing scenes connected with the early settlement of Iowa, and in witnessing the numerous monuments reared to attest the prevailing, the restless and resistless enterprise of the Anglo-American. In 1838, when I first pitched my tent at Ivanhoe, Linn county had but few white inhabitants, possessed but few attractions for one accustomed to the society of one of the old Federal colonies, and was entirely destitute of political or judicial organization. Everything that the eye could behold appeared in a rude state of nature. Vast prairies which extended for miles presented no evidences of civilization, no familiar sound like that of the woodman's axe appeared to interrupt the solemn stillness of an uninhabited wilderness. The marks of wild beasts and wild men were now and then visible and the similitude was striking between the two, as though both were born to the same sphere of action and subject to the same laws of being. A sort of wildness and sacred stillness seemed to pervade the whole atmosphere. Reclining upon a buffalo robe in my tent, reflecting upon the varied scenery without and quietly listening to the solemn murmurs of the Cedar, I thought I could perceive visions of earthly happiness for the man of true genius nowhere else to be found. The longer I remained upon the spot, the more it endeared itself to my affections, and the less I thought of cultivated society and the dazzling beauties of wealth, and its primeval companion, aristocracy. Nature seemed to be decked in her nuptial dress and wild beasts danced to and fro with a festive heart to the harmonious notes of a troop of forest birds. "Circumstances forced me to leave that consecrated spot after a year's residence, and once more become a victim to the cold restraints and relentless laws of civilization. For five years was I bound by stern necessity to a habitation worse than a prison, and associated with men as little to be admired for their social qualities of character as the cannibals of old. To be engaged in merchandising among a people whose only article of faith was 'cheat and grow rich,' and whose friendship could be secured only by corrupting the morals and lacerating the heart of the innocent, was a pursuit little to be desired by one whose heart had been consecrated to a different field of enterprise and nourished by the sacred impulses of the West. Be assured I escaped from this thralldom as soon as I could, and never to this hour has my mind enjoyed that repose that it did when seated upon the banks of the Cedar and surrounded by the beautiful scenery of Ivanhoe. I experienced a kind of maternal affection for the spot, a mystic tie instinctively chains my mind to its early history, and a magic like that which bound Blennerhasset to his favorite island in the Ohio seems to pervade every recollection connected with its name and its founder. "But I must abandon this subject, or I shall trespass upon the time and space designed for another, and convert what was intended for a political letter into a literary bore. As you manifested a friendly solicitude when here that I should take up my residence in Linn county when my studies were finished, I thought it not out of place to remind you where my inclination would lead me. "I would speak privately to you upon the subject of a candidate for congress in this district. I understand that Mr. Preston of Linn is to be a candidate; that Leffler will be a candidate; Leffingwell of Bloomington and Bates and Folsom of Iowa City. Leffler I do not believe can be nominated. I think he has acted in bad faith with his constituents. Leffingwell has no chance, although he has the untiring vigilance of S. C. Hastings to support him. Preston I fear has no chance. He is deceived by Hastings and I fear erroneously counts upon the delegation from Dubuque. We have appointed eight delegates. I am one. I have spoken to them all and find that every man is in favor of giving the nomination to Linn County for the reason that the interest of Linn is identical with that of Dubuque in properly agitating and ultimately constructing the Railroad from this to Keokuk, but they will not support Preston because they have no confidence in his ability. "One thing is very certain, Friend Durham, and that is that we must elect a man who is identified with this great railroad improvement. Preston would no doubt do all in his power, but he fails to unite that confidence in his favor necessary to give him the nomination. Leffler would no doubt do what he has done, give Davenport the preference. Leffingwell as a matter of course would feel but little personal interest in a railroad running through the interior of the state and forty or fifty miles removed from his immediate constituency, to whom he is more nearly allied and intimately associated in political friendship. All residing upon the banks of the Mississippi and in its immediate vicinity, except those at Keokuk and this point, are opposed to any grant by Congress for this railroad, and I can hardly conceive that it reflects any dishonor upon them as a community or as private individuals, for they are no doubt influenced like all men from natural and selfish impulses. But with Mr. Leffler the case is far different. He was elected to represent the wishes and interests of one entire community of people, eight-tenths of whom have a direct and vital interest in the success of this enterprise. He is requested and repeatedly urged by petition and memorial to give it his earnest support. But he pays no regard to their solicitations until a scheme in which he is more directly interested is matured, forwarded to him, and he puts it upon its passage through Congress. At least six weeks before a single step was taken in aid of the Davenport road in this state, petitions were forwarded to Mr. Leffler for the Dubuque and Keokuk road. In truth no move was made for the Davenport road until Judge Grant returned from Washington City, which was some twelve days after the Legislature had convened, and after the petition had gone from this place, Cascade, from your town, a memorial from the legislature, and the convention had been held at Iowa City, at which, if I mistake not, you were present. Under this state of facts I cannot but regard Mr. Leffler as hostile to this road, in which case our delegation cannot support his claim. [Illustration: SOME EARLY MEMBERS UNITED BRETHREN CHURCH, LISBON] "As to Bates and Folsom of Iowa City, we regard them as feeling an equal interest in both roads, both proposing to pass through Iowa City. Under these circumstances what policy does it become us to adopt? Emphatically to select a candidate upon the proposed line of road. Can you not bring forward some man besides Preston? Mr. Boothe and some three or four of our leading men have suggested to me that if Linn county should bring forward G. G. [George Greene], he would get the nomination and be elected by an overwhelming majority. Mr. G. is absent and I know not whether it would suit him if conferred. He is in feeling and interest emphatically a Linn County man, but whether such a proposal would strike him favorably or meet with his sanction are questions which I am unable to solve. I think if sent to Congress he would be a working man and would be very active towards procuring an appropriation for the said road. He feels, as does every Linn county man, a very deep interest in the enterprise. I wish you would give this subject a candid investigation and then write me upon the subject. "I have been solicited to become a candidate for the Legislature. I have peremptorily declined. I feel no particular aspirations for office. I desire to give my time to the study of the law. You will recollect that I have introduced the name of Mr. Greene to your notice without his knowledge and entirely upon my own responsibility. "Our families are all well. Mr. Greene has been absent between three and four weeks. Remember me to all friends and believe me, your obedient servant and faithful friend, WM. H. MERRITT. "P. S.--Will you be so kind as to inform Wm. Greene that Mr. Bonson is anxiously waiting for that two yoke of oxen, which George contracted with him for. He wants them immediately. Respectfully yours, "WM. H. MERRITT." Mr. Merritt was a man of ability and prominent in the democratic party up to the time of his death. As candidate for governor in 1861, against S. J. Kirkwood, with four other candidates claiming to run on the democratic platform, Mr. Merritt received 43,245 votes out of a total vote cast of 108,700. This testifies to Mr. Merritt's popularity among the people of Iowa. LETTER FROM GEORGE GREENE "Dubuque, March 3, 1847. "Dear Durham: "I find that I cannot without great injury to my business here, leave until next week; but still I am very anxious to see the work go on. If you like my suggestion of finishing Jo's [Joseph Greene] contract first in order to expedite the arrival of the money it will be as well to have Wm. [Greene] send Andrew or some other person out to bring the field notes in. I propose the finishing of Jo's first because it can be done soonest. It will not require so long to plat the work in the S. G.'s office, and it will not interfere with the operations of Mr. Ross, who will take the field at the time, or soon after, you do. He wrote Mr. Wiltse that he should return to the work as soon as the snow decayed sufficient to justify. If any, he has done but very little in the T.s south of the one you have to correct. You may get any one you please to go out in my or Jo's place at our expense. The weather may not suffer you to start out before I come down, which I think will be early next week. You will take my horse, wagon, or anything else of mine that you may need. Mr. Wiltse thinks you had better make all your calculations before going upon the ground. He thinks you can do it more correctly and with a great saving of time and expense. "If you should consider it necessary you can employ Major McKean to go in our place; though I should think Andrew or some other good hand will do as well. If you should see fit to adopt my plan I will be at Cedar Rapids at the time the notes reach there and will bring them on immediately to Dubuque. Out of the money first received we will of course pay off the balance of the expenses of the surveys. You can show this to Wm. and Jos. "Yours truly GEO. GREENE. "S. W. Durham, Esq., "Marion, "Linn Co., "Iowa." The following is a report of the railroad meeting held at Marion in 1850 in which nearly all the public-spirited men of the city took part: RAILROAD MEETING, MARION, NOVEMBER 30, 1850 Meeting called to order by appointing P. W. Earle chairman and J. Green, secretary. On motion of W. Smythe, Esq., Resolved that a committee be appointed to report names of delegates to attend the State Rail Road Convention to be held at Iowa City on the .......... day of December next. Committee appointed by chair, H. W. Gray, Sausman, Dr. Ely, Hill of Putnam, Ashlock, Griffin, Mills of Marion. Maj. McKean was called for to address the meeting. He proceeded to do so in an appropriate address. On motion of Hon. G. Greene, Resolved that the delegates appointed to attend the State Rail Road Convention form themselves into a Rail Road Association and draft articles of said association for the advancement of the Dubuque & Keokuk Rail Road. The committee appointed to report names of delegates to attend State Convention through H. W. Gray report the names of the following persons as delegates: T. J. McKean, Hon. G. Greene, Dr. Jacob Williams, W. P. Harman, Esq., Ed. Railsback, Mr. Steadman, E. D. Waln, Freeman Smythe, J. J. Nugent, E. Jordan, Dr. Brice, Col. I. Butler, Robert Robinson, Jas. M. Berry, Isaac Cook, Esq., John C. Berry, A. R. Sausman, N. W. Isbel, Esq., P. W. Earle, Esq., William Smythe, Esq., Dr. J. F. Ely, Dr. Carpenter, Hon. S. W. Durham. Which report was by substituting the name of H. W. Gray in place of W. Smythe, Esq., adopted. On motion of I. Cook, Esq., If any fail to attend they appoint a substitute. On motion of Dr. Carpenter, Resolved that the secretary inform absent delegates of their appointment. On motion of Hon. G. Greene, Resolved that the delegates shall assemble in a separate convention if they shall deem expedient after the action of the State Convention to advance the interest of the Dubuque & Keokuk Rail Road. Messrs. Cook, Esq., and Hon. G. Greene being called for, addressed the meeting in appropriate addresses. On motion the meeting adjourned. J. GREENE, Secretary. The getting of a railroad into Cedar Rapids then was the much talked of scheme, and many people believed that this would also end in failure as many other paper railroads had ended before. But the men at the head of this company were men who had a standing in the financial world and were in touch with the big banks of the country. They did not rely on the taxes voted or on empty promises, for if these failed they would still go on with the work. It is needless to add that this company, like all others, got as much tax as possible and changed the location of the route according to the amounts of bonuses offered. When the road entered Cedar Rapids it was the beginning and the end in the long struggle for railroad supremacy in the county, and decided for all times the supremacy of the river city over the county seat. The latter without a railway could do nothing more than sit down and wait till such a time as some company saw fit to extend a line across the state through other points. For the air line known as the Iowa Central Air Line, the citizens of Linn county voted in June, 1853, the sum of $200,000 to aid in the construction of the road. In 1856 congress voted a grant of land to the state of Iowa to aid in the construction of four roads across it, including one on the line of this company. The legislature in extra session conferred the land on this road in case it was completed. A contract was let to a New York concern to complete the road to Marion, a distance of eighty miles. On account of the financial crash in 1857 the contractors failed to raise the money and to go on with the work. While the people were sore over this failure another company began building from Clinton west and had completed forty miles during the year 1858. It came as far as Lisbon by the end of this year, and this was the first railroad station within the borders of Linn county. The Dubuque and Southwestern was extended through to Cedar Rapids in 1865, just six years after the Northwestern road had laid its track to the river and had trains running. This caused Cedar Rapids to become at that early day a sort of railway center, and opened up a new territory towards Dubuque. It was not a success financially till it was absorbed by the Milwaukee road in May, 1878. The following letter from one of the first employes will be of interest in this connection: "Lamar, Mo., Sept. 5, 1910. "The Dubuque and Southwestern track was laid to Springville in the year 1859 or 1860. Mr. Jessup was president, and J. P. Farley, superintendent and manager. Mr. McConnell was road master. He owned a farm near Langworthy. I remember the first regular train was composed of one mail, express and baggage car combined, and one flat-top coach. The engine pulling the string was named 'Prairie King,' a little 14 by 16 or 18 inch cylinder. The track was laid with about 50 pound English T rail. The road had at this time three engines besides the 'Prairie King,' viz: the 'Prairie Queen,' still smaller than the King, the 'Anamosa,' and the 'Monticello,' which was of the Rogers make of engines, the other three being of Mason manufacture. The conductor, Archie Cox, engineer, Ace Owens, and Baggagemaster Watson came to our house for supper and boarded with our folks until they could get accommodations at the Bruce house, and I went the next day on the train as the first newsboy. I was still newsboy when Vicksburg was taken. I then went to the army and stayed until after the war closed. I went on the road again after the war as fireman, brakeman, and baggageman. About 1870 I was promoted to conductor and stayed with the company until 1875. After Archie Cox quit the road Frank Farley took his place, and when the road was extended to Cedar Rapids, two or three years later, they put another train on, one leaving Cedar Rapids in the morning and one leaving Farley Junction in the morning. After they put on the second train Charley Farley was conductor of that train and George Farley was agent at the station at Cedar Rapids. Pat Cunningham was roadmaster for several years, and James Rollo was master mechanic and engineer for ten or twelve years. Our first stock cars were flat cars and when we got an order for a stock car we would take a flat car to the shop and put stakes and slats on in order to hold the stock while in transit. C. H. BRANCH." One of the most important occurrences in the county was when on June 15, 1859, the first railroad made its entrance into Cedar Rapids and once and for all made the town the chief city in this part of the state. This was accomplished after many failures and after much money had been expended for surveys and in other ways. The following from men still living, who remember the affair, will give the reader an idea as to how jubilant all were on the day of this celebration: George C. Haman was at that time running a drug store at about the same location he has now. The corner of First avenue and First street was then occupied by what was called Greene's hotel, and Mr. Haman occupied a store room in the south side of the building. He remembers distinctly the big celebration held in honor of the first train to arrive. Mr. Haman said, as near as he could remember, that the town of Cedar Rapids had a population of about 1,500 people at that time and a big celebration was inaugurated and carried out. People from the surrounding country came to town to see the train come in, and the Indians on the reservation at Tama almost turned out enmasse to see the great piece of machinery that they had heard so much about but had never seen. The day was a great holiday, much of the regular business being suspended and the people turned out in their best clothes to celebrate what was to them the greatest day in the history of the city. The train pulled into the city to the tune of hundreds of voices, that contained but little harmony but plenty of volume. Arms, hats and handkerchiefs were waved in accompaniment, displaying a due appreciation for the beginning of what was to make Cedar Rapids the beautiful and prosperous city that it is. A railroad was what was needed and it was now theirs. The terminal of the road was about where the packing house is now located, and it was a couple of years before an extension was made, the track being laid as far as the location of the cereal mills, which at that time was an enterprise yet to come. Mr. Haman says that one incident is fixed indelibly on his memory, and that was the big dance that was held that night. He was obliged to remain at the store during the day and did not get to see the train come in, but he attended the dance which continued until sunrise the next morning. He was a single man and as was the custom had his lady friend with him and was obliged to send her home in an omnibus, the then prevailing means of transportation about the city, as it was time to open the store and he did not have time to accompany her home. The dance was held in what was known as Daniels hall, located where the Masonic Temple now stands. Another who has recollections of the great event is Emery Brown and it was in conversation between Mr. Haman and Emery Brown that these facts were collected. The road was extended to Cedar Rapids from Clinton, where connection was made to Chicago. There was no bridge across the Mississippi river at that time and the trains were ferried across the river by means of a large, flat ferry boat. [Illustration: A PRESENT DAY SCENE IN LINN COUNTY COPYRIGHT BY BAYLIS] [Illustration: AN OLD LAND RECEIPT] [Illustration: STEAMBOAT ON THE CEDAR, 1887] In order to secure the railroad the town was obliged to give $100,000 to the railroad company. Stock was issued in payment. James L. Bever was another man in business here at that time and he made it a point to purchase all this city stock he could, which proved to be to his advantage. The road was later leased by the Northwestern and finally purchased. With reference to this road a Linn county biography offers the following: "The organization under which this line came into Cedar Rapids was the Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska Railroad company, which was organized at Clinton in January, 1856. There were several railroad prospects about this time formulating in Clinton, or in places having a close proximity to the Mississippi. Finally all the railroad enterprises extending westward from the river united in the Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska railroad. When that company commenced their operations, it was expected it would have the co-operation of the Galena company. Failing to receive this it pressed forward its work unaided, and by the latter part of 1857 had the track laid as far as the Wapsipinicon river, a distance of thirty-six miles. In July, 1858, it was laid as far as Clarence, Cedar county, and in December, the same year, the road was completed to Lisbon, sixty-four miles from Clinton. The following June (1859) the locomotive steamed into Cedar Rapids, a distance of eighty-two miles from the Mississippi. There was great rejoicing here and the event was duly celebrated. "It was a most important event to Cedar Rapids for it was the termination of a struggle for railroad supremacy in the county. "In 1862 the road was leased to the Chicago and Northwestern company, and before the lease expired it had secured control of it. Work was resumed on the extension (for which the Cedar Rapids and Missouri Railroad company was organized), and pushed with vigor. It was completed across the great state of Iowa to Council Bluffs in 1867, where it made connections with the Union Pacific." CHAPTER IX _The Old Settlers' Association_ A vigorous Old Settlers' Association has been maintained for several years, the meeting being held at Marion. Following are lists of the officers since its beginning in 1891 to date, of the members and the death roll: OFFICERS 1891 Chas. Weare, president, Cedar Rapids J. C. Davis, secretary, Marion A. J. McKean, treasurer, Marion 1892 I. P. Bowdish, president, Waubeek J. C. Davis, secretary, Marion A. J. McKean, treasurer, Marion 1893 Wm. Cook, president, Marion J. C. Davis, secretary, Marion A. J. McKean, treasurer, Marion 1894 Wm. Cook, president, Marion J. C. Davis, secretary, Marion A. J. McKean, treasurer, Marion 1895 Robert Ellis, President, Cedar Rapids J. C. Davis, secretary, Marion A. J. McKean, treasurer, Marion 1896 J. S. Butler, president, Springville J. C. Davis, secretary, Marion A. J. McKean, treasurer, Marion 1897 John Lanning, president, Lafayette Z. V. Elsberry, secretary, Marion A. J. McKean, treasurer, Marion 1898 John J. Daniels, president, Bertram J. C. Davis, secretary, Marion E. A. Vaughn, treasurer, Marion 1899 John Ashlock, president, Center Point Z. V. Elsberry, secretary, Marion E. A. Vaughn, treasurer, Marion 1900 E. A. Vaughn, president, Marion Z. V. Elsberry, secretary, Marion James Oxley, treasurer, Marion 1901 M. P. Smith, president, Cedar Rapids John Cone, secretary, Marion James Oxley, treasurer, Marion 1902 Chas. Kepler, president, Mt. Vernon Fred Knowlton, secretary, Marion James Oxley, treasurer, Marion 1903 P. G. Henderson, president, Central C'y Jas. W. Bowman, sec. and treas., Marion 1904 J. C. Davis, president, Marion M. W. Courtney, sec. and treas., Marion 1905 J. C. Davis, president, Marion M. W. Courtney, sec. and treas., Marion 1906 M. P. Smith, president, Cedar Rapids J. C. Davis, sec. and treas., Marion 1907 A. B. Dumont, president, Marion J. C. Davis, sec. and treas., Marion 1908 Garry Treat, president, Marion J. C. Davis, sec. and treas., Marion Ben R. Reichard, acting sec, Marion 1909 A. M. Secrist, president, Marion T. J. Davis, sec. and treas., Marion 1910 Alex Torrance, president, Springville F. J. Cleveland, sec. and treas., Marion 1911 Marshall Oxley, president, Marion F. J. Cleveland, sec. and treas., Marion MEMBERS Names preceded by a star note those who have died since joining the association. 1837 *Crow, Edward M., Anamosa Ellison, Mary, Mt. Vernon *Hahn, Daniel S., Mt. Vernon McKee, Daniel, Kenwood 1838 Clark, Edwin, Marion *Clark, Luther, Mt. Vernon *Clark, David, Martelle Elson, Melissa T., Marion Ellis, Robert, Cedar Rapids *McKean, A. J., Marion McCoy, J. F., Center Point McManus, Jennie, Springville White, Rebecca, Bertram 1839 Baker, Mary J., Cedar Rapids Barber, Orpha, Marion *Beall, Dorcas, Marion *Beeler, Fred, Marion *Beeler, Nancy, Marion Beeler, Sarah, Marion Brockman, Rizpah L., Marion *Bromwell, J. E., Sr., Marion *Busenbark, Agnes, Mt. Vernon Barret, Amelia, Waubeek *Brown, Horace N., Springville *Brown, Mrs. H. N., Springville *Burge, Jeremiah, Mt. Vernon Corbley, Sarah, Paralta Carroll, I. W., Cedar Rapids *Carroll, Geo. R., Cedar Rapids *Clark, Ormus, Marion *Cone, Byron, Marion Cone, Geo. W., Marion *Cone, Oliver B., Marion Cronk, Amy, Robins *Dill, Thomas, Ely *Gray, G. A., Marion *Hare, Thomas, Marion *Higgins, Anna E., Central City Hogland, Francis, Center Point Ives, Elihu, Marion *Ives, John, Marion *Kramer, Andrew, Marion Kramer, Isaac, Marion Kramer, Lewis, Marion Kramer, Wm. D., Cedar Rapids *Lewis, L. D., Mt. Vernon *Lewis, Thomas, Palo *Lucore, Sarah A., Marion *Lutz, Ann M., Marion *Lutz, Barnette, Cedar Rapids *Manley, Nancy, Linn County Martin, Giles R., Marion Martin, James A., Jesup *McElhinney, Robert, Lisbon Mentzer, Charlotte I., Marion *Oliphant, Edward, Center Point *Patterson, Geo. A., Marion *Perkins, Geo. C. Anamosa Railsback, John, Palo *Strong, Christena L., Kenwood Park Torrence, Caroline N., Cedar Rapids *Usher, Dyer, Covington Usher, Henry A., Covington Usher, Hiram, Covington Usher, Rosanna, Covington *Webber, Sarah, Lisbon White, L. C., Alburnette *Wilson, Ira G., Marion *Yeisley, Geo., Mt. Vernon Yeisley, Oliver, Mt. Vernon 1840 Anderson, James C., Bertram Ashlock, John M., Center Point *Bardwell, T. S., Marion Boxley, Jno. S., Cedar Rapids *Bishop, J. H., Springville *Brazelton, Samuel C., Coggon *Butler, J. S., Springville Butler, Mrs. J. S., Springville *Carnegy, John, Marion Clark, Barbary E., Mt. Vernon *Clark, Oliver, Mt. Vernon *Darr, Mary Jane, Cedar Rapids *Dodd, Silas W., Randolph Dodd, C. M., Randolph Dunlap, A. T., Springville *Durham, Samuel W., Marion *Gray, John W., Marion *Gray, Richard, Marion Gray, W. W., Marion *Hagerman, Mrs. A., Toddville Hemphill, Rachel, Alice *Ives, Hannah, Marion Jordan, Mrs. L. E., Kenwood McBride, Kenwood *McElhinney, Clara, Lisbon McKinney, Mose E., Waubeek McIntyre, Elizabeth, Lisbon McDonald, Mrs. M. H., Cedar Rapids Oliphant, John, Toddville Osborn, John H., Center Point *Oxley, Joseph M., Marion *Patterson, Wm. J., Cedar Rapids *Reynolds, Nathan, Marion *Smyth, Robert, Mt. Vernon Speake, J. B., Walker *Squires, Milton, Center Point Stambaugh, Rachel, Bertram Stewart, Mrs. M. M., Cedar Rapids Thomas, Richard, Marion Thompson, Samuel D., Marion *Thompson, Lucretia, Marion Williams, Mary J., Marion 1841 Bardwell, Eliza A., Marion *Beall, Jeremiah, Marion Clark, Cyrial H., Central City *Cone, John, Marion Courtney, Joel M., Marion Doty, Elias, Bertram Dutton, Louisa, Marion *Durham, Mrs. E., Marion Elson, Mrs. Andrew, Fairfax Glover, Mary, Marion *Gray, Mrs. Emeline, Marion Harvey, Edna A., Marion *Hemphill, Johnson, Alice Hemphill, N., Alice *Hunter, J. G., Cedar Rapids Kearns, Catherine, Springville Larrabee, W., Kenwood Listebarger, Maria, Cedar Rapids McQueen, J. C., Prairieburg McKee, Sarah, Kenwood *Mentzer, Joseph, Tacoma, Wash. *Oxley, Albert, Marion Oxley, James, Marion Plumley, Susan, Waubeek Pletcher, Catherine, Robins Pletcher, Catherine, Marion Preston, Edmond C., Cedar Rapids Preston, J. H., Cedar Rapids *Rhoten, Sarah J., Viola Richards, Daniel, Palo *Richardson, D. M., Mt. Vernon *Ristine, Henry, Cedar Rapids Snyder, Mary B., Cedar Rapids *Ure, William, Fairfax *Vaughn, E. A., Marion *Waln, E. D., Mt. Vernon *Waln, Mary J., Mt. Vernon Ward, George, Center Point Willard, Mrs. L. L., Center Point 1842 Alexander, J. S., Marion Bardwell, L. P., Mt. Auburn, Cal. Blackmar, Mrs. E. E., Marion *Brockman, James A., Marion Brockman, J. L., Missouri *Cheadle, Dean, Marion Combs, Wm. H., Cedar Rapids *Combs, Harriet F., Cedar Rapids Gillilan, N. C., Central City *Goudy, J. C., Mt. Vernon *Goudy, W. H., Mt. Vernon *Greer, John M., Marion *Greer, Mary, Marion Grove, Jennie R., Mt. Vernon *Harmon, Peter D., Cedar Rapids Harmon, Speare, Bertram *Higley, M. A., Cedar Rapids *Higley, W. W., Cedar Rapids Hollenbeck, C. W., Cedar Rapids Holmes, Geo. W., Cedar Rapids Holmes, Mrs. Eliza, Marion Howard, Matilda, Cedar Rapids *Hunter, John, Marion *Hunter, William, Cedar Rapids Irish, Mary, Springville King, Rebecca, Marion Knapp, G. W., Bertram McDowell, Catherine, Cedar Rapids *McCall, David, Martelle *Parks, Mrs. L., Cedar Rapids Powers, Eliza J., Elmont *Reinheimer, Valentine, Marion Robins, John W., Robins Williams, Mary J., Cedar Rapids [Illustration: DR. JNO. F. ELY An Early Pioneer in Cedar Rapids] Winter, Clarissa D., Marion *Woodcox, Newman, Mt. Vernon 1843 *Breed, R. A., Martelle Daniels, Mary A., Marion Fleming, Sarah E., Alburnett *Fuhrmeister, A. J., Ely Gray, W. O., Jewel City, Kan. Hall, Oliver S., Marion Haas, Wm., Central City *Hollan, Samuel, Cedar Rapids Hollan, Susan, Cedar Rapids *Howard, Paine, Cedar Rapids *John, Mrs. L. J., Mt. Vernon Kemp, Zenophon, Marion *Knapp, John F., Bertram *Lillie, Eulalia L., Marion Mann, Alva, Paralta McKinnie, Lovina, Waubeek Metcalf, H. S., Cedar Rapids Morrison, J. B., Cedar Rapids Parkhurst, Mrs. L. K., Marion Peet, W. R., Viola Rench, Melinda, Center Point Snyder, Sarah A., Bertram 1844 Anderson, Mary E., Palo Birch, Victoria A., Marion Clark, Geo., Covington Clarke, George, Cedar Rapids Combs, Mrs. H. E., Cedar Rapids Cone, Caroline, Marion Cooper, Mrs. Chloe, Marion *Cordes, Mrs. C., Mt. Vernon *Daniels, John J., Bertram *Emmons, Emeline, Bertram Gray, James M., Marion *Harris, Wm. M., Marion Hoffman, John, Lisbon *Johnson, John, Mt. Vernon *Jordan, Chandler, Waubeek Kepler, Chas. W., Mt. Vernon *Kepler, Conrad, Mt. Vernon *Kepler, John W., Mt. Vernon Kershner, F., Ely Knapp, Asa P., Cedar Rapids Lacock, Mrs. C. A., Mt. Vernon Miller, C. L., Cedar Rapids *Oxley, James M., Springville Penrose, Lewis, Shellsburg *Pisel, Susanna, Marion Porter, Mrs. R. H., Robins Robertson, P. P., Marion Secrist, Mrs. A. M., Marion Snyder, Sarah A., Bertram Stinger, F. B., Marion *Stinger, Philip, Mt. Vernon Thompson, W. C., Marion Waterhouse, M. J., Coggon 1845 *Becker, Francis, Marion *Beckner, Elizabeth, Marion *Beckner, John, Marion Beckner, Miss Rebecca, Marion *Beall, Elizabeth, Marion *Beall, Sarah J., Cedar Rapids Bice, Mary C., Troy Mills *Black, Isaac, Marion Courtney, Mary A., Marion *Cooper, Joseph, Marion Cooper, Polly P., Marion Cumberland, M. E., Alice *Dumont, A. B., Marion *Dumont, Julia A., Marion Fernow, Ann, Marion *Glass, John P., Cedar Rapids Gray, Sarah M., Marion Hale, Mary S., Cedar Rapids Howard, William, Cedar Rapids Hopkins, A. C., Cedar Rapids Heaton, Peter A., Central City *Leffingwell, Mrs. B., Marion Marshall, L. S., Central City Marshall, Warren S., Central City McKean, Sarah P., Marion McLaughlin, Cassa, Marion *McShane, John, Springville Murphy, M. F., Cedar Rapids Nott, Lydia L., Marion *Nuckolls, Susanna, Viola *Ovington, T. S., Marion Ovington, Mrs. T. S., Marion Oxley, Sarah, Marion *Paul, Alexander, Marion Paul, George, Springville Perry, Sarah E., Central City Pugh, John, Troy Mills *Robins, Isabella, Marion Smith, Mary A., Cedar Rapids *Stone, Sarah J., Springville *Stone, Zephny, Springville Wightman, Joanna, Marion 1846 *Albaugh, Daniel, Robins Alexander, Lenora, Marion Baker, Elmira, Marion Beeler, J. M., Marion *Bigger, Francis, Marion *Clark, Sabra G., Mt. Vernon Coffits, John, Cedar Rapids *Daniels, Martha R., Bertram *Daniels, Preston, Marion Daniels, Samuel, Marion Gillette, Charles A., Lisbon *Gott, Willis S., Marion *Guzzle, Daniel, Marion Hein, A. A., Marion Harman, Warren, Cedar Rapids Hart, Geo. B., Viola Hayes, Mrs. L. C., Marion Hayes, J. B., Marion Huffman, James M., Marion Jordan, Geo. L., Springville Keenan, H. G., Marion Martin, Sarah, Center Point McShane, Frank, Springville Minehart, Mrs. John, Central City Palmer, Mary, Marion Sigworth, Mrs. M. P., Anamosa Smyth, Margaret, Mt. Vernon Starbuck, Laura, Marion Stentz, Esther, Paralta *Thomas, James, Lafayette Wood, Wm. W., Viola 1847 Ackley, DeWitt C., Viola Bascom, Lizzie, Lisbon Bennets, Susan, Paralta *Brenneman, A., Marion *Charles, J. F., Cedar Rapids Dicken, Isaac, Toddville *Ely, John F., Cedar Rapids Floyd, Elizabeth, Lisbon *Gillilan, Elizabeth, Viola *Hoover, Jonathan, Lisbon Hershey, Henry, Lafayette Hurshey, Margaret, Viola *Johnson, S. S., Cedar Rapids Keithley, J. W., Prairieburg Kurtz, C. H., Marion *McManus, Joseph, Palo Miller, Samuel, Robins Moors, Mrs. C., Viola Neidig, Nancy, Mt. Vernon Newton, Geo. W., California Oxley, Perry, Marion Perkins, Elizabeth, Anamosa Ristine, John M., Cedar Rapids Ringer, B. H., Lisbon Shields, Mattie E., Cedar Rapids *Stewart, Wm., Cedar Rapids *Stone, J. D., Springville Torrance, Alexander, Springville *Wickham, S. J., Troy Mills Wickham, Mrs. S. J., Troy Mills 1848 *Adams, Fannie, Lafayette Blair, Elizabeth, Cedar Rapids Blessing, Wm., Cedar Rapids *Busenbark, John, Marion Burch, Leroy, Cedar Rapids Burch, Mrs. M. V., Cedar Rapids Cook, Letita, Marion Cone, Mrs. John, Marion Clark, W. O., Mt. Vernon *Glass, I. O., Cedar Rapids *Gray, Mattie Jane, Marion *Granger, Amelia, Marion *Howe, Joseph A., Marion Hazzlerigg, Francis, Viola Hemphill, Barbara, Lafayette Hastings, W., Marion Johnson, William, Cedar Rapids *Jones, Harriett, Springville *Jones, Pierson, Springville Kinley, D. R., Marion Kennedy, C. B., Cedar Rapids Klenknecht, Laura, Mt. Vernon Kurtz, D. H., Cedar Rapids Morrison, Louisa, Cedar Rapids McCleary, Margaret, Marion Oxley, Henry C., Marion *Patmore, Mary J., Mt. Vernon Reynolds, Jap, Marion Rickard, W. S., Cedar Rapids Russell, Geo. W., Walker Scott, David, Mt. Vernon Strite, Mary C., Springville *Thomas, Jeremiah, Mt. Vernon *Travis, Daniel, Mt. Vernon *Wallace, D. R., Marion Wallace, John C., Marion *Wilson, John, Marion *Weare, Charles, Cedar Rapids Wilson, Mrs. C. M., Troy Mills 1849 *Anderson, J. S., Cedar Rapids *Bolton, A., Paralta Bryan, Mrs. Louisa, Center Point Clark, Margaret J., Marion *Cooper, Wm., Marion *Dean, Preston S., Marion *Dorwart, David, Cedar Rapids Ford, E. P., Central City *Fullerton, Geo. E., Marion *Gillilan, D. C., Central City Grove, S. N., Marion Hence, Mary, Lafayette Hahn, E., Mt. Vernon James, Mehitable, Viola Jordan, Mrs. E. A., Springville Keyes, A. J., Marion Kyle, Isaac, Mt. Vernon *Kyle, John, Mt. Vernon *Kyle, L. B., Mt. Vernon Langsdale, Wm. I., Center Point Langsdale, Julia A., Center Point *Martin, Almira, St. Paul Milner, Sarah A., Marion Miller, Mrs. C. L., Cedar Rapids McFarland, J. G., Mt. Vernon Null, Mary E., Cedar Rapids *Nugent, J. J., Coggon *Oxley, Wm., Delta, Idaho Parker, Mrs. B. F., Cedar Rapids Quass, Barbara, Cedar Rapids Quass, Godfried, Cedar Rapids Shanklin, Mary A., Viola Swan, John P., Marion Taylor, John, Toddville Taylor, M. V., Marion *Vannote, B., Cedar Rapids White, Elizabeth, Springville *White, Hosea, Springville *Wickham, B. P., Marion Wilson, Mrs. Eva, Marion 1850 *Andrews, C. C., Marion *Andrews, Geo. H., Coggon *Alderman, E. B., Riverside, Calif. Beall, Mrs. James M., Cedar Rapids Beall, Wm. E., Marion *Blessing, Henry, Lisbon Biggs, E. W., Marion *Booze, Geo., Robins *Brown, John, Central City Bressler, A. P., Cedar Rapids *Carbee, John P., Springville Daniels, A. L., Marion Dunn, Amelia, Springville Ellison, Wm. G., Mt. Vernon Enders, Fred, Cedar Rapids Esgate, D. W., Mt. Vernon Evans, Buel, Central City Fitzgerald, Geo., Center Point *Floyd, Martin, Lisbon Furstenmaker, N., Prairieburg *Gardner, Amanda, Marion Goodyear, Anna B., Mt. Vernon Garretson, Mrs. Angela W., Marion *Henderson, Mrs. P. G., Central City Graham, Josiah, Cedar Rapids Holland, I. W., Center Point Hoover, Mary, Lisbon Kramer, Valinda, Marion *Kelsey, J. C., Cedar Rapids Lacock, Nira, Martelle Minehart, John, Central City Oxley, J. T., Marion Piper, Martha A., Cedar Rapids Parmenter, Mrs. Lyda, Marion Reinheimer, Jacob, Marion Rollins, Rachel, Viola Rundall, G. W., Viola Scott, James R., Marion *Smith, C. E., Marion Smith, Daniel, Central City Smith, Joseph, Central City Stewart, J. O., Cedar Rapids Stookey, Mary E., Bertram *Taylor, Ernestine, Marion *Wagner, Wm., Central City *Wilson, Dr. E. D., Troy Mills Wilson, Rebecca J., Lafayette Willard, Mary G., Marion 1851 Arnold, Sarah, Cedar Rapids Baker, J. A., Ely Baker, John, Marion *Barnard, Asher, Springville *Berry, Robert, Bertram *Breed, Ira, Martelle *Breed, C. W., Martelle Carbee, Mrs. J. P., Springville Cardis, Christian, Mt. Vernon Clarke, Caroline, Covington Cook, Mary C., Marion *Cook, Wm., Marion Cumberland, H. C., Alice *Dunlap, John, Springville Evans, James, Paris Fernow, C. G., Marion Finson, Ida, Central City Fitzgerald, Jas. B., Cedar Rapids Fleming, James, Marion Hale, Mary S., Cedar Rapids Hall, Mrs. Ida, Marion Hall, J. J., Cedar Rapids Hazeltine, E. D., Center Point Hendryxson, F. M., Marion Hill, Mrs. A. T., Cedar Rapids Shinn, Joab R., Marion Slife, James, Martelle Smith, Wm. A., Mt. Vernon *Smith, C. G., Springville Smyth, Wm., Cedar Rapids Sprague, Mrs. R. C., Cedar Rapids Stinger, Eliza E., Mt. Vernon Strawn, N. P., Shellsburg Stuart, Geo. W., Cedar Rapids Taylor, Mrs. S. V., Marion *Thompson, H. J., Marion Thompson, Christina, Marion *Torrance, H. F., Mt. Vernon White, John R., Bertram Wilson, R. J., Lafayette Wilson, W. M., Lafayette Wright, George J., Waubeek 1852 *Anderson, G. H., Waubeek Anderson, Gerselda, Waubeek Andrews, Elizabeth, Waubeek Ashlock, G. W., Lafayette Bever, James L., Cedar Rapids *Beechley, Jesse, Mt. Vernon Biggs, E. F., Troy Mills *Bixby, Jesse C., Marion *Black, John, Marion Black, Mrs. John, Marion Bromwell, M. E., Marion Brown, John B., Marion Brown, T. C., Mt. Vernon Brown, F., Prairieburg Burns, Hannah, Robins Buchanan, George, Cedar Rapids *Bunting, Eli, Marion Clark, Francis M., Mt. Vernon Coleman, Martha, Marion Coenen, Sophia, Marion *Cone, Mary A., Marion *Crosby, Alice G., Central City *Dance, L. F., Lafayette *Denny, John Q., Waubeek Denny, Mrs. John Q., Waubeek Dutton, J. Q. A., Marion Evans, Adam, Paris Evans, James, Paris Freeman, John, Paris Gilblaith, John, Fairfax Hall, Mary A., Coggon *Hansell, Hannah, Marion *Hansell, Jos. A., Marion Helbig, F. A., Lafayette Hill, Deborial, Cedar Rapids Hill, James, Cedar Rapids Holloway, John C., Marion Houver, Sadie E., Marion Hogland, P., Center Point Houston, A. P., Coggon *Irish, Joel S., Springville Ives, Lawson L., Marion Keller, John, Cedar Rapids *Kendall, W. J., Marion Lanning, John, Lafayette Legore, John, Cedar Rapids *Legore, James E., Cedar Rapids Leigh, John B., Mt. Vernon Lincoln, Fannie A., Cedar Rapids Listebarger, I. C., Cedar Rapids Listebarger, Maggie, Cedar Rapids McArthur, M. E., Palo *McShane, Jacob, Paralta Miller, Acquilla, Cedar Rapids *Mills, Mahlon, Central City Perkins, Chas. E., Anamosa Paul, Arthur, Springville Pifer, Martha A., Center Point *Reinheimer, Paulina, Marion *Reece, David, Troy Mills Rhoten, John H., Portland Riger, J. C., Lisbon *Rose, R. P., Lisbon Shaver, Margaret, Fairfax Jordan, Geo. E., Marion Knapp, Henry, Bertram Lanning, Margaret J., Lafayette *Long, David P., Paris Mills, Julie L., Central City *Mills, Mrs. Lucy, Central City Manahan, A., Center Point Manahan, Mrs. A., Center Point Maudsley, Mrs. S. M., Cedar Rapids Morse, Mary E., Riverside, Calif. McShane, Geo., Springville Newlin, Geo., Viola *Nott, B. H., Marion Nott, J. H., Marion *Nott, R. H., Marion Oxley, R. S., Marion Oxley, Margaret, Marion Pletcher, Amos, Marion Paul, Mrs. M. J., Springville Post, Geo. W., Viola *Pollock, John, Springville Rhoten, Rilla, Portland, Ore. Rundall, S. W., Marion Shanklin, A. T., Waubeek Shanklin, F. M., Viola Sherwood, Jos. B., Viola Smith, Caroline, Marion [Illustration: JOHN A. KEARNS Came Here in 1853] [Illustration: A. J. REID Who Came Here in 1852] [Illustration: C. S. HOWARD Came in 1843] [Illustration: WILLIAM STICK Came in 1853] *Smith, Darwin, Marion Smith, Rachel M., Marion Smith, Louisa, Cedar Rapids *Snouffer, J. J., Cedar Rapids Snyder, Marion D., Bertram Tathwell, Josie, Marion Webb, Alice A., Marion Webb, Milas, Marion Webb, Sophia, Marion West, Mrs. J. B., Marion White, Augustus, Cedar Rapids *Whitenack, J. W., Marion Whitenack, Mrs. J., Kenwood Park *Wilson, John, Marion Wilson, Jno. M., Cedar Rapids Young, Lewis, Lisbon 1853 *Anderson, J. S., Cedar Rapids Benedict, L. D., Cedar Rapids Berry, Nancy, Bertram Beechley, N. K., Cedar Rapids *Bishop, Seth, Central City *Bolton, Susan, Paralta Booth, L. G., Marion Breneman, Mrs. S. A., Marion *Brown, W. H., Springville Brown, Mrs. W. H., Springville Bruner, Emma, Cedar Rapids Burt, Mrs. L. W., Cedar Rapids Buttolph, Edwin, Cedar Rapids Calvert, Amanda J., Springville Certain, Wilson, Marion *Cornell, J. D., Springville Cory, Abel L., Marion *Cory, Daniel M., Marion Cory, Samuel E., Cedar Rapids Coulter, John, Cedar Rapids Crawford, Geo. E., Cedar Rapids Crogan, Thomas, Cedar Rapids Crowl, Jacob, Marion Dixon, Mrs. Harriett, Cedar Rapids Evans, Hattie, Central City Fawley, Hannah, Springville Fawley, Samuel, Springville *Fitzgarrald, W. F., Marion Fleming, Julia, Alburnett Floyd, Jacob, Center Point *Forsythe, H. M., Cedar Rapids Forsythe, Mrs. H. M., Cedar Rapids Goudy, Mrs. L. A., Marion Goldsberry, W. N., Central City *Graul, Daniel, Lisbon *Harris, Richard, Marion *Hayden, Z. L., Cedar Rapids *Henderson, J. W., Cedar Rapids Hendrickson, F. M., Center Point Hall, O. S., Marion Hunter, Harriet E., Marion Johnston, Mary, Mt. Vernon *Kearns, John A., Springville Kyle, W. H., Mt. Vernon King, Wm., Cedar Rapids Lamson, Eva, Marion Lathrop, Virgil A., Marion *Lockhart, Robert, Cedar Rapids Lord, Clara, Fairfax Marsh, Harriett, Robins *McAfee, D. T., Marion *Mentz, Michael, Cedar Rapids Mentzer, Samuel, Center Point Metcalf, Mrs. C. P., Cedar Rapids Mohler, Mary S., Lafayette Moreland, John, Central City McCrelles, Z., Central City Myers, W. H., Cedar Rapids Oliphant, Permelia, Toddville Oxley, Marshall, Marion Pennington, J. M., Alburnette Phelps, Sarah B., Covington Rickard, C., Cedar Rapids Ring, W. C., Center Point Schultz, Chas., Marion Scott, T. W., Marion *Smith, John T., Cedar Rapids Smith, Dr. J. H., Cedar Rapids Smyth, Jay J., Marion *Stark, Laurance, Marion *Stentz, Peter A., Springville Stick, Wm., Lafayette Stockberger, John R., Marion Thompson, Wm. G., Marion Thoring, Samuel, Bertram Treat, Mrs. D. J., Marion *Wagner, Geo., Toddville Ware, Mary E., Coggon Weed, Egbert, Marion *White, Crawford, Marion Whitenack, Sarah J., Marion *Wilson, Polly, Marion White, James F., Alburnette White, N. J., Marion Wilson, John H., Marion *Yount, Broxton, Mt. Vernon 1854 Adams, Margaret, Marion *Armstrong, W. B., Marion Austin, Wm. A., Marion Bartleson, J. M., Center Point Bauman, Simon H., Mt. Vernon Bombardner, Mrs. C., Cedar Rapids Beach, B. F., Mt. Vernon Bedell, Elwood T., Springville Bice, Isaac, Troy Mills Bice, James, West Prairie *Bishop, Henry O., Waubeek *Blackmar, Augustus, Marion Blodgett, Simpson, Central City *Braska, Louise, Marion Braska, C. W., Marion *Busby, Geo., Marion Busby, B. C., Marion Butcher, A. P., Paralta Cadwell, Edwin, Cedar Rapids *Cadwell, Mary, Covington Cairns, W. A., Ely *Camburn, J. H., Cedar Rapids Caraway, John S., Bertram Carlin, Geo. W., Cedar Rapids Carpenter, Mary A., Cedar Rapids *Carsner, Mathias, Marion *Conklin, Chauncey, Prairieburg Cornell, Amy, Springville Cory, James, Robins Cutler, Eva G., Central City *Davis, Geo. A., Jr., Central City *Davis, J. C., Marion Davis, Jas. H., Central City Dawley, Darius, Cedar Rapids Dawley, John, Marshalltown *DeWitt, J. V., Martelle Edgerly, Geo. C., Central City Elrod, Jonathan, Marion Ellis, Martha, Cedar Rapids Ellis, Levi, Springville Fay, H. H., Troy Mills Fitzgerrald, Mary A., Cedar Rapids *Floyd, Geo. W., Marion *Ford, B. S., Marion Ford, Margaret, Marion Fowler, S. J., Marion Goodlove, W. H., Marion *Goldsberry, Mrs. A. M., Marion Groll, Geo. F., Marion *Gitchell, Chas. G., Waubeek Heaton, Mary A., Central City Heaton, Olive, Cedar Rapids *Heaton, Samuel, Cedar Rapids Henderson, Henry, Coggon Henderson, P. G., Central City *Hess, Abraham, Marion *Heer, Mary, Marion *Hollis, Elizabeth C., Marion Huston, Chas. A., Waubeek Huston, James M., Waubeek Johnson, Wm., Marion *Jones, Wm., Marion Kaiser, John L., Marion Kennedy, C. B., Marion Kennedy, Mrs. C. B., Marion Kimball, Emma J., Springville Kinkead, Alexander, Springville *Kleinknecht, Geo., Mt. Vernon Klumph, V. G., Marion Knowlton, Fred, Seattle, Wash. Knickerbocker, W. B., Cedar Rapids *Lacock, Joab, Mt. Vernon Lacock, Wm. A., Martelle *Lillie, Mary, Marion Lord, Clara, Fairfax Lord, Lydia, Cedar Rapids Lord, Robert, Cedar Rapids Lutz, John E., Kenwood Manson, Dwight, Marion *Marshall, S. H., Viola *Marshall, Mrs. S. H., Viola *Martin, F. M., Center Point Mason, Edwin R., Marion McIntyre, Z., Mound City, Kans. McKay, John M., Cedar Rapids *McFarlin, J. J., Mt. Vernon McLord, Maggie, Central City Melton, Nancy, Marion Melton, P. T., Marion *Moody, Philip, Cedar Rapids Mentzer, B. F., Marion Mentzer, Mrs. B. F., Marion *Mentzer, C. C., Marion Miles, L. W., Marion *Miles, Geo., Robins Moles, Robert M., Paris *Myers, J. V., Mt. Vernon Neff, M. K., Mt. Vernon Nye, John W., Cedar Rapids Odell, Lewis H., Mt. Vernon Oxley, Mrs. H. C., Marion Palmer, H. G., Marion Parr, Geo., Cedar Rapids *Pearson, Geo., Springville Pearson, Hanna K., Springville Pearson, Mary, Springville Pearson, O. J., Springville *Pearson, Thomas, Springville *Pearson, Wm., Springville Pearson, Margaret A., Viola *Penn, Rebecca T., Viola Penn, R. R., Viola *Penn, S. J., Central City Penn, Wm. B., Central City Platner, Henry C., Mt. Vernon Plumly, Chas. O., Waubeek *Reece, Henry, Troy Mills Reece, Lucia, Troy Mills Rhoten, Chas. W., Viola Rich, Allie, Marion *Richard, D. H., Cedar Rapids Riley, Allie, Marion *Ross, James G., Marion *Reynolds, J. W., Center Point Rogers, Mary C., Cedar Rapids Runkle, Abraham, Lisbon Runkle, A. J., Cedar Rapids *Samson, E. L., Marion *Samson, Catherine, Marion *Scott, J. B., Marion *Scott, Mary E., Marion Secrist, Alice, Marion *Simpson, S., Marion Sawyer, Ebner, Central City Sheets, Geo. W., Palo Smith, John, Cedar Rapids Smith, S. G., Cedar Rapids Swollom, M., Solon Snyder, Elias, Cedar Rapids Snyder, Michael, Mt. Vernon *Snyder, Thos. G., Robins Stentz, Peter, Paralta *Staddon, James, Marion Stratford, John, Palo Strite, Levi, Anamosa *Stowe, Leonard, Marion Swan, Emma, Marion Taylor, D. C., Central City *Thomas, O. E., Cedar Rapids Treat, Garry, Marion *Vance, Willis, Cedar Rapids Walser, John, Marion Weeks, W. H., Coggon Whitcomb, Mary E., Marion Withers, Caroline, Marion *Williams, Mrs. M. C., Marion Wilson, Thomas R., Waterloo *Wiggin, Geo. W., Waubeek *Wink, Samuel, Lisbon Wilson, Wm., Lafayette Winsor, James R., Walker *Yearick, Dr. S. W., Cedar Rapids 1855 Adams, A., Lafayette Adams, Hudson, Marion *Ashlock, Geo. W., Center Point Ashlock, J. M., Center Point Ashlock, Margaret J., Center Point Basset, Thomas, Cedar Rapids Beall, Della N., Marion *Becks, John, Marion *Beatty, Andrew, Mt. Vernon Bever, Rachel F., Viola Beechley, N. K., Cedar Rapids Biggs, E. J., Troy Mills Bigsby, Mary A., Marion Black, Mrs. John, Marion Blodgett, Austin, Central City Blodgett, Maria L., Central City Blodgett, Sarah F., Waubeek Bowdish, Sarah F., Waubeek Brown, W. L., Viola *Buck, Daniel, Cedar Rapids Burchell, Sarah M., Marion *Burtis, Wm., Marion Burroughs, N. E., Marion Busenbark, Alfred, Marion *Burtis, Elizabeth B., Paris *Bumgardner, Geo., Cedar Rapids Cain, Sallie, Palo Cain, S. W., Palo Chambers, Mrs. J. M., Cedar Rapids *Collin, Henry A., Mt. Vernon Cone, Sarah E., Marion *Cook, Geo., Marion Cook, Mrs. Geo., Marion Crosby, A. T., Central City Davis, L. L., Cedar Rapids Davis, Minnie C., Marion Dean, Rachel M., Marion *Dix, A. W., Coggon *Dix, Sylvanus, Coggon *Dunn, Pheobe C., Marion *Dunn, Wm., Marion *Elrod, Kate, Marion *Ellsberry, Z. V., Marion Emmons, Wm., Marion *Elrod, F. M., Bertram Evans, Adam, Paris Evans, E. H., Marion *Fairchilds, J. H., Coggon Finson, Lee R., Central City Ford, Frank, Central City Glover, Agnes, Marion Glover, Wm. C., Marion *Granger, Earl, Marion *Gray, Martha J., Marion Grant, John, Marion Gray, S. E., Marion Goodyear, A. E., Mt. Vernon *Hahn, Elias S., Lisbon *Harkness, Margaret, Marion Hale, E. S., Cedar Rapids *Hale, Josiah, Cedar Rapids Hale, John P., Cedar Rapids *Hawk, John, Marion Helbig, Fred A., Lafayette Hayden, Elma Jane, Bertram Henry, Lizzie, Robins *Houver, Sadie C., Marion Hunter, W. H., Cedar Rapids Inks, Mrs. L. A., Mt. Vernon Inks, M. L., Mt. Vernon Ives, John J., Marion *Jackson, J. W., Springville Jeffries, A., Troy Mills Jeffries, Elizabeth, Troy Mills Johnson, James, Cedar Rapids Kearn, Joseph, Marion Kettering, A., Marion Kinkead, Geo., Springville Kinkead, Mary J., Springville Knapp, Henry J., Bertram Lewis, T. J., Cedar Rapids Lamson, Wm. H., Marion Lewis, Chas., Orange City Lilly, Joseph, Cedar Rapids Marshall, Lucretia, Central City Martin, Rilla H., Troy Mills Martin, Thos. C., Robins Mason, F. P., Toddville McFarland, Wm., Mt. Vernon McDowle, W. K., Cedar Rapids McKean, Allen B., Marion Milner, Wm. T., Marion Mills, Sylvester N., Marion Mitchell, Mrs. Eliza, Marion Moorhead, James, Marion *Moorhead, Joseph, Marion *Myers, John A., Lisbon Morrow, L. E., Marion Newlin, Geo., Viola Neff, A. G., Mt. Vernon North, G., Mt. Vernon *Oakley, M. M., Marion Oakley, Susan M., Marion Oxley, John C., Troy Mills Oxley, Marguerite, Marion *Parmenter, M., Marion Parmenter, S. A., Marion Paul, Mrs. Alex, Marion Patmore, Henry, Marion *Pfeiffer, Christopher, Marion Potter, Mary A., Marion Petty, Chas. H., Mt. Vernon Porter, H. G., Central City Potter, Charlotte, Walker Potter, J. B., Marion Ray, John H., Palo Robins, J. D., Robins Rogers, Mary C., Cedar Rapids Schafer, Jacob, Fairfax Schultz, Henry, Marion Sisam, Henry, Walker Smith, Martha G., Cedar Rapids Smith, Milo P., Cedar Rapids Smith, Rebecca, Central City *Smith, Robert, Mt. Vernon Smyth, Robert, Marion *Snyder, A., Center Point Stark, Andrew, Cedar Rapids Stark, Mary, Cedar Rapids *Stephens, Louisa, Chicago *Stookey, Levi S., Marion *Sutzin, Elizabeth, Marion *Sutzin, Henry, Marion Tordoff, Geo., Marion *Tomlinson, Joe, Cedar Rapids Van Fossen, J. R., Marion *Vosburg, Eva, Marion Ware, E. L., Coggon Webb, Alice A., Marion Whitcomb, Calvin, Marion *Whitenack, Joseph, Marion Whitenack, Mary J., Marion *Whitney, Joseph, Prairieburg Wiggins, James, Waubeek *Wilson, John, Marion Wilson, L. L., Center Point *Willis, A. L., Coggon *Winsor, F. E., Marion Winter, Stillman L., Marion Winans, H. W., Springville *Yost, C. A., Center Point Yost, F. M., Center Point Young, Louis, Minneapolis Young, Mrs. J. B., Minneapolis *Young, S. K., Mt. Vernon *Yuill, James, Cedar Rapids 1856 *Alexander, Anna A., Marion *Ayers, Lyman M., Cedar Rapids *Allen, M. B., Marion Bailey, Anna C., Springville Barrett, T. M., Waubeek Barry, W. H., Bertram Beach, Lucy, Mt. Vernon Berryhill, Kate M., Marion Bishop, Louise, Waubeek Blackford, John, Marion Boudinot, E. V., Western College *Bowman, Benjamin, Marion Bowman, Eliza, Marion Bowdish, I. P., Waubeek Bowdish, J. W., Des Moines Bowdish, Sarah A., Waubeek [Illustration: THE VARDY HOUSE, CEDAR RAPIDS] [Illustration: FRANKLIN BLOCK AND RESIDENCE OF P. W. EARLE First Brick House in Cedar Rapids] [Illustration: THE LISTEBARGER CABIN, CEDAR RAPIDS Showing Semi-Centennial Exercises in 1906] Bowdish, S. L., Waubeek Bowdish, S. L., Central City Booze, Leander, Cedar Rapids Brown, R. C., Marion Brock, R. G., Cedar Rapids Brundt, Rosalia, Waubeek Bunting, M. E., Marion Bunting, C., Marion Busby, Cora C., Marion *Byram, Seth, Paris Cottle, Eliza, Marion *Cronk, J. T., Marion *Davis, Wm. C., Martelle Dawson, Daniel K., Marion *Dingman, D. A., Cedar Rapids Dripps, Geo., Martelle *Elliott, J. J., Marion Elliott, M. L., Grand Rapids, Mich. Elsberry, Sarah J., Marion *Emberson, Andrew, Marion *Emberson, John, Marion *English, Josie P., Waubeek Etzel, Levi, Alburnette Everhart, S. S., Mt. Vernon Fordyce, C., Cedar Rapids Fordyce, Kate, Cedar Rapids Gibson, B. W., Marion Gibson, James, Springville *Gibson, J. K., Marion *Gibson, Lewis, Marion *Gill, Jacob A., Marion *Gilchrist, C., Walker *Giffen, James D., Marion *Giffen, Thomas M., Marion *Giffen, Wm. M., Central City Gooley, Mrs. F. E., Central City *Grauel, John, Marion Halstead, W. C., Prairieburg Harvey, Mrs. A., Cedar Rapids *Hatch, E. K., Central City *Hays, J. D., Palo Hoentz, Philip, Marion Howe, M. W., Marion Huffman, James M., Marion *Huffman, Mrs. J. M., Marion Johnson, O. S., Springville Jones, Mrs. L. E., Marion Jones, Mrs. M. B., Marion Knickerbocker, E. H., Fairfax Kerns, Valentine, Paralta *Kettering, J. H., Lisbon *Kinkead, James, Springville Kelsey, H. M., Cedar Rapids *Kirkpatrick, James, Mt. Vernon Kramer, W. S., Marion Lake, Mrs. E., Marion Leonard, John, Kenwood *Lapham, H. M., Cedar Rapids Lentz, Lucia A., Cedar Rapids Lillie, Ida L., Marion Lord, Thomas, Fairfax *Lyons, Amos, Alburnette *Mack, Mrs. W. B., Cedar Rapids Maier, Jacob, Lafayette *Marshall, Alex S., Marion Martin, Electa, Marion Mason, Mary E., Marion *Mathes, Anna, Marion *Mathes, Ben, Marion McCalley, Luncinda, Marion *McConahy, F. A., Marion McCalley, Marshall, Marion McKean, E. W., Marion McKean, Mrs. General, Marion McKean, Phebe L., Marion *McKeel, A. M., Fairfax *Mefford, Sarah, Cedar Rapids Meeker, Henry, Central City Meeker, Henry R., Central City Miner, Samuel, Cedar Rapids Mobey, F. B., Palo Moles, John D., Central City Moore, C. R., Viola Moore, Wm., Viola Moore, Wm. K., Springville Nash, Isaac, Springville Newlin, H. N., Viola *Needles, Geo. H., Kenwood *Null, J. M., Cedar Rapids *Owen, Luther P., Marion Owen, Rachel, Waubeek Parkhurst, Mary E., Marion Perkins, Mary C., Marion Pearson, L. H., Viola Pherrin, M. C., Springville Pherrin, Will H., Springville Platner, Henry C., Mt. Vernon Plummer, Talbert, Marion Post, M. C., Viola *Rahn, B. G., Marion *Rahn, Rebecca, Marion *Rathbun, Nelson, Marion Reichard, Ben R., Marion *Reichard, J. G., Marion Richard, Emma T., Cedar Rapids Robertson, Frank B., Viola *Rogers, W. H., Covington *Runkle, Adam, Lisbon Sanborn, J. W., Center Point *Schrimper, Fred, Cedar Rapids Schadle, Jacob, Springville Schadle, Mrs. Jacob, Springville Scott, H. A., Marion *Shakespear, A. B., Springville Schantz, Geo. W., Cedar Rapids *Shaver, I. H., Cedar Rapids Smith, A. W., Cedar Rapids Smith, Henry B., Cedar Rapids Spencer, Ellen J., Cedar Rapids Stilson, Luther, Cedar Rapids Stilson, Eleanor, Cedar Rapids Stinger, Harriet, Marion Stinson, E. B., Marion Tanner, T. C., Palo Taylor, E. P., Marion Thomas, James, Marion Thomas, Wm. A., Cedar Rapids Thompson, Augusta, Martelle Thompson, Geo., Mt. Vernon *Thompson, Geo. W., Mt. Vernon Thorn, Wm. A., Cedar Rapids Travis, Mrs. R. J., Marion Usher, J. P., Cedar Rapids *Wallace, Leroy, Cedar Rapids Ware, A. J., Coggon *Waterhouse, Henry S., Coggon Webb, S., Center Point Winsor, H. C., Walker Wright, Charles, Paralta Wynn, Geo. W., Cedar Rapids Wood, Chas. C., Paralta 1857 Atwood, John E., Troy Mills Barrett, Philip, Central City Bennett, Clara Waubeek Berry, Almanda R., Bertram Bowdish, Laura E., Waubeek Burnett, A. C., Alburnett *Carpenter, Nancy M., Marion Davis, A. F., Central City Davis, H. E., Central City Chesmore, Mrs. E. E., Coggon *Gritman, John F., Springville Gritman, J. C., Springville Gritman, Hannah B., Springville Henderson, Hannah, Coggon Henderson, Geo., Cedar Rapids Heller, Chas., Lisbon *Hickey, John, Marion Ingham, E. A., Marion Kirkpatrick, R., Mt. Vernon *Leach, A. P., Marion *Leach, Harriet, Marion Listerbarger, Frank, Marion Lutz, George, Kenwood Manahan, E. G., Kenwood Mentzer, Geo. W., Robins Mentzer, S. W., Robins Mentzer, B. W., Robins Marshall, C. H., Marion Newman, C. R., Cedar Rapids Patterson, U. L., Central City Pearsole, C., Walker Phelps, H. H., Covington Phillips, F. M., Coggon Powers, Mary E., Paris *Rawlins, Samuel, Viola Richards, Mrs. E., Cedar Rapids Robbins, Anna, Martelle *Robinson, John, Marion Rundall, J. C., Viola *Simkins, Allen G., Marion Simkins, James T., Marion Snyder, Jacob, Alburnette *Snyder, Martha, Mt. Vernon Stoneking, J. R., Marion Stoneking, T. C., Marion Ubel, F., Cedar Rapids Vaughn, Elizabeth P., Marion Vaughn, L. P., Marion *Warner, E. A., Waubeek Warner, Laura, Waubeek Webb, Chas., Center Point White, Editha, Marion Whitney, G. F., Prairieburg Withers, Frank B., Marion Williams, T. T., Marion Wilson, DeWitt C., Viola Witter, F. E., Mt. Vernon 1858 Bromwell, J. E., Marion *Brubaker, Hattie A., Cedar Rapids Chrisman, Mary J., Alburnett *Coenen, Joseph, Marion Collin, Alonzo, Mt. Vernon Grauel, Sarah, Marion Gibson, J. W., Marion Good, Henry, Kenwood Kemp, E. L., Marion Lake, C. S., Marion *Love, J. S., Springville *Mack, Walter B., Cedar Rapids *McKean, J. B., Marion Minehart, L. E., Central City Moore, Jos., Cedar Rapids Rudolph, S. L., Cedar Rapids Strite, Mrs. Mary E., Springville Stoneking, M. E., Marion Ware, Milo L., Coggon Whitenack, E. P., Robins 1859 Blakely, I. M., Paris Breed, M., Des Moines Cline, Isaac, Anamosa Fleming, Wm., Alburnett Forest, R. D., Central City Greer, Annetta, Marion *Hood, John B., Waubeek King, Mary A., Cedar Rapids McCorkle, C. A., Toddville Owens, Carl N., Marion *Vanlst, M., Toddville Vanote, M., Toddville Vaughn, Laura, Marion *Wilson, Jas. B., Marion West, I. N., Mt. Vernon Yount, D. W., Marion 1860 Applegate, W. H., Marion Cline, M. M., Olin Cline, E. B., Springville Dows, Col. W. G., Cedar Rapids Everhart, Ida E., Mt. Vernon Johnson, I. V., Marion Knapp, J. W., Marion *Lillie, Geo. A., Marion Mann, Mrs. Alice, Springville Mann, Lucy, Springville Matheny, T., Toddville O'Herron, Mrs. Maggie, Marion Parker, Emma Murray, Marion *Secrist, Chas. V., Marion Seaton, B. F., Marion 1861 *Burns, Abbie, Central City *Burnside, Geo. W., Coggon *Freisinger, D., Marion Garnett, J. C., Marion *Hollis, C. M., Marion Hartley, S. H., Cedar Rapids McDowle, E. E., Cedar Rapids Kinknead, Margaret, Springville Petticord, Sarah, Mt. Vernon Scott, Ed M., Cedar Rapids Secrist, Albert M., Marion *Secrist, Susan B., Marion Tathwell, E. E., Cedar Rapids Thomas, Mary J., Marion Winter, W. S., Marion 1862 Goodlove, Mrs. S., Central City Smith, Mrs. Olive, Marion Torrence, Nellie B., Marion Weis, H. J., Marion Wickham, W. F., Waubeek 1863 Cherry, Jos., Walker Cherry, Susan, Walker Christman, L. B., Springville Daniels, J. F., Cedar Rapids Davis, W. L., Cedar Rapids Deacon, C. J., Cedar Rapids Freer, H. H., Mt. Vernon Gibson, Mary L., Marion Gill, Chas., Marion Hagerman, R. H., Toddville Newland, H. N., Marion Oxley, Mrs. James, Marion *Palmer, Wm. A., Paralta Palmer, E. E., Cedar Rapids Spencer, Chas. H., Cedar Rapids 1864 *Aldrich, Mrs. Hannah, Cedar Rapids Carpenter, Claude, Marion Carpenter, W. B., Marion Doolittle, E., Central City *Dodge, G. F., Fairfax Fernow, Owen S., Marion Fishell, P. H., Marion Garrison, Edwin, Marion Hindman, D. R., Marion *Hindman, Mrs. M. J., Marion Hall, S. M., Cedar Rapids Horton, W. R., Marion Horn, W. R., Cedar Rapids Horn, F. M., Marion Horn, J. W., Cedar Rapids *McClain, W. H., Marion Murray, S. G., Marion Shumack, V. G., Marion Snyder, Geo. L., Marion Travis, Jas. B., Marion Weis, Louis, Marion 1865 Booth, John M., Marion Burns, S. C., Marion Burns, G. W., Marion Burke, Mary, Marion Faulk, Jonathan, Marion Gilmore, David, Marion Horn, Jennie, Cedar Rapids Hunter, Mrs. Samuel, Robins Karmody, Wm., Springville Kearns, Mrs. E. E., Springville Mann, J. H., Marion Perry, W. J., Central City Searls, J. M., Cedar Rapids Searls, Mrs. J. M., Cedar Rapids Savage, Mack, Coggon Starbuck, J. A., Marion Sternberger, Mary, Lisbon *Voss, Christian, Marion Tanner, Addie, Palo Wilson, A. H., Springville White, L. E., Marion Wiltsey, M., Center Point Wiltsey, Mrs. C. V., Center Point 1866 Armstrong, S. G., Cedar Rapids Baird, M. O., Palo Birdsall, C. H., Marion Calder, C. A., Cedar Rapids *Coquillette, A. C., Coggon Good, Jas. W., Cedar Rapids Isaacs, J., Walker Johnson, Adelade L., Marion Johnson, Oliver S., Marion Lessard, Clara A., Heber, Ark. Malone, Mrs. Fannie, Springville McAllister, John, Cedar Rapids *Powers, E. D., Elmont Redmond, John, Cedar Rapids Scott, H. A., Marion Teeters, M. J., Marion Todd, Geo. W., Marion Ward, F. K., Cedar Rapids Ward, Mary E., Cedar Rapids *Weller, W. L., Cedar Rapids Witwer, B. H., Cedar Rapids Wolf, G. P., Cedar Rapids 1867 Anderson, Lew W., Cedar Rapids Cleveland, F. J., Marion Coquillette, A. W., Coggon Graves, J. G., Cedar Rapids Healey, L. M., Cedar Rapids Howard, T. C., Cedar Rapids Kassler, Mrs. Peter, Marion Lopata, Ernest, Mt. Vernon Minor, R. L., Marion Nagle, Jacob, Marion Plummer, Amos, Springville Taylor, H. N., Marion Wing, Martha, Cedar Rapids Yapels, J. C., Sutton, Neb. Yapels, Mrs. R. C., Sutton, Neb. 1868 Foster, E. F., Cedar Rapids Francis, Mrs. P. H., Cedar Rapids Hamilton, J. T., Cedar Rapids Jenkins, Mrs. C. P., Cedar Rapids *Jenkins, L. E., Cedar Rapids Kubias, Frank, Cedar Rapids Michel, J. B., Marion Robinson, J. D., Marion Watt, John R., Cedar Rapids Wild, David, Springville Wild, Mary A., Springville Wenig, Geo. K., Cedar Rapids 1869 *Barnhill, Joseph, Marion Barnhill, Sarah E., Marion Benley, Charity, Viola Biggs, C. W., Marion *Bourne, N. P., Cedar Rapids Clogston, Anna M., Marion *Clogston, T. P., Marion Fernow, F. P., Marion Hart, T. J., Center Point *Rowe, J. D., Marion *Rowe, Mrs. J. D., Marion Sailor, Geo. D., Springville Shellhammer, D. W., Springville 1870 Anderson, John B., Cedar Rapids Donnan, W. J., Cedar Rapids Emerson, C. P., Cedar Rapids Fitzgerald, R. N., Marion Plattenburger, P. L., Lisbon *Powell, J. J., Cedar Rapids Ring, H. C., Marion 1871 Senninger, P. W., Marion Yocum, Edd, Springville 1872 Beck, C. C., Marion Berry, J. C., Fairfax Emmerson, J. W., Cedar Rapids Holsinger, J. B., Marion Maudsley, Mrs. John W., Palo Plummer, Mrs. C. C., Mt. Vernon Parker, Mary E., Marion Reiter, A. J., Marion Rubek, Joseph, Marion Scott, Bently, Marion Scott, Chas. M., Marion Stark, Eliza J., Marion Swem, Edd L., Cedar Rapids 1873 Coenen, Wm., Marion Courtney, Marlin W., Marion Carroll, C. D., Marion Healy, E. T., Cedar Rapids Holmes, Frank, Marion Scott, Sadie J., Marion Johnson, Edward, Cedar Rapids Johnson, Maggie, Cedar Rapids [Illustration: MR. AND MRS. GODFREY QUASS Came in 1849] [Illustration: MR. AND MRS. WM. GIDDINGS Came in 1852] [Illustration: MR. AND MRS. ISAAC MILLBURN Early Settlers] [Illustration: MR. AND MRS. W. A. LACOCK Came in 1854] [Illustration: J. P. GLASS Early Pioneer] [Illustration: F. A. HELBIG Came in 1853] 1875 and Later *Bach, Mrs. C., Marion Busby, Geo. E., Marion Buzza, Geo., Marion Coenen, Ben, Marion Davis, T. J., Marion Dennis, A. Z., Walker Dennis, Mary L., Walker Gates, Elizabeth, Marion Gates, W. A., Marion Hall, J. E., Marion Jellison, Ernest C., Marion Johnson, M. F., Marion Kassler, Peter, Marion LaGrange, Dr. J. W., Marion Love, Richard, Marion Mercer, B. H., Marion Parker, Edd Jr., Marion Parsons, Effie, Marion Perrin, Ruth G., Springville Rathbun, D. W., Marion Sargeant, D. E., Marion *Sergeant, Harriett M., Marion Sikora, Otto, Cedar Rapids Taylor, Mrs. J. S., Cedar Rapids Unangst, J. H., Marion Vannote, W. A., Cedar Rapids Webber, Thos., Marion White, Mary Alice, Marion Recent Members Enrolled Allen, Geo. W., Bertram Bailey, J. M., Marion Burgess, Martin, Marion Busby, Fred K., Marion Canedy, Leroy, Marion Careir, J. E., Marion Clark, P. O., Marion Cunningham, Mrs. F. A., Marion Daniels, J. D., Springville Deacon, Syloid M., Cedar Rapids Dill, Isabelle, Cedar Rapids Grommon, Chas., Marion Heir, A. A., Marion Hess, J. T., Marion Holland, J. W., Center Point Holland, Mrs. R. A., Center Point King, J. E., Marion Maddo, Wm., Marion Maudsley, J. W., Palo Miller, Thos., Marion Mitchell, C. E., Marion Mitchell, John, Jr., Marion Murray, Mrs. R. C., Marion Nihill, Lizzie, Cedar Rapids Schultz, P. F., Marion Straley, A. W., Marion Temow, E. L., Marion Temow, Mrs. E. L., Marion Turner, John B., Cedar Rapids Turner, Mary B., Cedar Rapids Van Tossen, Mrs. A. L., Central City CHAPTER X _Postoffices and Politics_ The following may be of some interest, especially as to the names of the persons mentioned by S. W. Durham as proper persons with whom to consult on matters bearing upon the political issues of the day. It also shows how they fought for postoffices then as they do now, and how careful and shrewd these old fellows were in getting in touch with their constituents. According to a letter from the assistant postmaster-general, Dr. Brice is not deserving of the office, and George Melton is recommended. This was referred to S. W. Durham, as well as the change of the name of the postoffice from Lindon to Springville. It was signed by fifty-eight citizens of Springville. A. C. Dodge was born in 1812, the son of Henry Dodge. He was in congress until the territory became a state, and with G. W. Jones became one of the first two senators from Iowa. Mr. Dodge remained in congress till 1855 when the democratic party lost control of the state and a union of all the other parties elected James Harlan to succeed him. Senator Dodge was later minister to Spain. He died in 1883, having won the respect and confidence of all political parties. The letters show how carefully the friends of Dodge kept him in touch with political conditions in every township in his district. The assembly met at Iowa City on December 4, 1848. G. W. Jones was a candidate against Judge T. S. Wilson, who lost by a majority of one. Dodge had no opposition in his own party and received the unanimous nomination. The democratic party in this session had a majority on joint ballot. He no doubt had been busy, and had his friends keep him posted on the course of events. This list no doubt was furnished him for the purpose of keeping in touch with the electors and to give him an opportunity to select postmasters in accordance with services rendered. The letters give some the name whig, which would go to show that all the remainder could be relied upon as democratic in their beliefs. The list has names of a number of men who later became noted lawyers, doctors, and shrewd business men. The Marion postoffice was not always a plum to fight over, as it has been of late. It was first established in 1839 at the home of L. M. Strong, a farmer and tavern-keeper within the present confines of the county seat. L. Daniels came in 1840 to start the first store, and he in turn became the postmaster for a time till he gave it up to John Zunro, who with Mr. Hoops started a grocery store and wanted the postoffice so as to have people coming in now and then. Marion, Linn County, Iowa, December 30, 1848. HON. A. C. DODGE, Dear Sir: In compliance with your request I have the pleasure to forward the following names of suitable persons in this county to be addressed by you: Center Point P. O.: Jonathan Osborne, William B. Davis, James Downs, Samuel C. Stewart, Thomas G. Lockhart, James Chambers, E. B. Spencer, W. A. Thomas, Dr. S. M. Brice (Whig). Lafayette P. O.: Samuel Hendrickson (Co. Com.), Nathan Reynolds, Duff Barrows, Smith Mounce, Perry Oliphant (Whig), John Wisehart, Abel E. Skinner, William Hunt, William Chamberlain, Paddock Cheadle. Marion P. O.: And. D. Bottorff, Esq., V. Beall, Alpheus Brown, Esq., Richard Thomas, Perry Oxley, Wm. H. Chambers, Nathan Wickham, Wm. L. Winters, Wm. M. Harris, Albert Kendall, Elihu Ives, Iram Wilson, Jno. Millner, Seth Stinson, Wm. Smythe, Frederick Beeler, Elisha Moore, Robert Jones, J. P. Brown, Orlando Gray, Daniel Harris, Jno. S. Torrence, Jno. Riley, James M. Berry, Thomas S. Bardwell, Wm. Hunter, Geo. A. Patterson, Captain Benj. Waterhouse, L. D. Jordan, Chandler Jordan, M. E. McKenney, Jos. Clark, Samuel Powell. Springville P. O.: Col. Isaac Butler, Horace N. Brown, Jos. Butler, Ezekiel Cox, Esq., Wm. Brohard, Squire Rob, Geo. Perkins, Jas. Butler, Geo. House, Harvey Stone, Wm. Evans, Edward Crow, John Johnson. Ivanhoe P. O.: Robt. Smythe, Mr. Bunker, Dan'l Hahn, Henry Kepler, And. J. McKean, J. Briney, ---- Hoover, Hersia Moore, And. R. Sausman, A. I. Willits, C. C. Haskins, ---- Cook, Jos. Robeson, Dr. Jno. Evans, John Stewart, ---- Mason, Thos. McLelland. St. Julian P. O.: And. Safely, Esq., (Co. Com.), ---- McShane, Jas. Scott, Preston Scott, Jno. Scott, Jos. Conway, Geo. Hunter, David McCall, John Emmons. Hollenback P. O.: Edward Railsback, Jno. Cue, Doctor Williams, Dan'l Richards, Thomas Lewis, Geo. Slonecker, Lawrence Hollenback. Cedar Rapids P. O.: Jos. Greene, Jno. L. Shearer, C. R. Mulford, Jno. Hunter, Esq., Joel Leverich, ---- Klump, E. T. Lewis, N. B. Brown, David W. King, Jason C. Bartholomew, Stephen L. Pollock, ---- Nelson, Dr. Ely, Jno. Weare, Sen., Jos. McKee, Thos. Railsback, Abel Eddy, Mr. Simms. Post Office Department Appointment Office, Aug. 9, 1854. Sir: S. M. Brice, the Postmaster at Center Point, County of Linn, State of Iowa, is said not to have deserved the appointment. The late P. M. recommends George Melton. Before submitting this case to the Postmaster General, I have to request the favor of any information you may possess, or be able conveniently to obtain, respecting it. I have the honor to be, Very respectfully, &c. HORATIO KING, First Assistant Postmaster General. HON. A. C. DODGE, U. S. Senator. Endorsed: (Private) Dear Friend: Please enquire into the matter herein referred to & let me know the result & greatly oblige, Truly your friend, A. C. DODGE. S. W. Durham, Esq. Dr. S. M. Brice was located in Center Point about 1840-41, going there from Cedar Rapids. He remained but a short time. Dr. Brice was a whig in politics, and Center Point had always been strongly democratic. He was the first postmaster of the village. The objections set out in the letter must have been political for he was considered a wide-awake and estimable man in every particular. Post Office Department, Appointment Office, July 22, 1854. Sir: A. P. Risley, the Postmaster at Springville, County of Linn, State of Iowa, with 58 citizens, recommends the change of site and name of the office to Lindon. Before submitting this case to the Postmaster General, I have to request the favor of any information you may possess, or be able conveniently to obtain, respecting it. I have the honor to be, Very respectfully, etc., HORATIO KING, First Assistant Postmaster General. HON. A. C. DODGE, U. S. Senator. Endorsed, The same of this, etc., greatly oblige Yours truly, A. C. DODGE. S. W. Durham, Esq. In 1842 the first postoffice was established in the township known as Brown by Isaac Butler. It was the third postoffice in the county and was known as Springville. Mail was received on horseback weekly. A. P. Risley opened a store in 1845 and became postmaster. He is the person referred to in the letter of Senator Dodge. Mr. Risley sold out and removed a mile east of the town, and with A. E. Sampson laid out a new town called Lindon. A postoffice was secured though not without a fight, and the town of New Lindon assumed the airs of city life. A hotel and blacksmith shop also kept the town alive for the time, but it died like other towns when the railroad was secured by Springville, and the booming town of Lindon has been for many years a good corn field and a rich pasture. Sterling became postmaster at Springville after Risley. He was succeeded by John Hoffman. THE CEDAR RAPIDS POSTOFFICE While Joseph Greene was postmaster he also acted as the first storekeeper of the town, and it is related of him that he carried his mail in his hat. The following, written by J. L. Enos, in the _Cedar Valley Times_, may give the reader an idea of the postoffice situation up to the close of the Civil war. He writes as follows: "The postoffice was established in 1847 and Joseph Greene appointed postmaster. Mr. Greene was removed on a change of administration, and L. Daniels appointed to succeed him. Homer Bishop was the third incumbent and held the office through a succession of years, giving very general satisfaction. At the commencement of Lincoln's administration Mr. Bishop was removed, and in accordance with a mistaken and dangerous policy which promotes men of a particular class or profession in places of trust, without regard to their moral or any other qualifications--J. G. Davenport, until then the editor of the _Cedar Valley Times_, was appointed. "Those acquainted with Davenport did not suppose he would be able to present satisfactory bonds but after some little delay he succeeded in procuring them and in due course of time took possession of the office. (Though a republican in politics, Mr. Davenport had to appeal to democratic friends for these bonds. J. J. Snouffer was one of them and shared in the subsequent loss.) [Illustration: PROF. H. H. FREER Mt. Vernon] [Illustration: REV. GEO. B. BOWMAN, D. D. Founder of Cornell College] [Illustration: JOSEPH MEKOTA Cedar Rapids] [Illustration: W. F. SEVERA Cedar Rapids] "A large number of clerks (?) was found necessary and it became evident that the office was managed with great recklessness. Money was lost through the mail when sent to the nearest postoffice on the route, and money sent to persons in the city from adjacent offices never came to hand. Postage stamps were borrowed from neighboring offices and return payment obtained with great difficulty, and in some cases there was a refusal to pay--because as he (Davenport) said, he had already paid the amount borrowed. He was at last removed, and on settling up the affairs of the office, there was found to be a shortage to the amount of fifteen hundred dollars. His bondsmen went to work and finally succeeded in effecting a credit on a part of the amount and had the satisfaction of paying about one thousand dollars, which had been stolen from the government by this arch swindler. After minor swindling operations he absconded, thus relieving the city of the most bare-faced falsifier and swindler that has infested the city since the time of Shepard & Co., in the early day. "George M. Howlett, the present incumbent, was appointed his successor and makes an efficient officer. In the spring of 1865 Cedar Rapids was designated as a money order office, commencing operations as such on the 3d of July following. This enlarges the responsibility of the office and great care is necessary to keep all things right--though the blanks furnished make the work simple in honest hands." * * * * * L. Daniels was another of the early postmasters. He, also, was a merchant, and so was Homer Bishop, his successor in office. It was not until J. G. Davenport became postmaster that the postoffice got into politics. In fact it was no plum worth having till about the time of the Civil war. A number of prominent men have since that time held the postoffice--such as Captain W. W. Smith, Charles Weare, Alex. Charles, Geo. A. Lincoln, W. R. Boyd, and W. G. Haskell, the present incumbent. A. C. Taylor relates how, when he came to Cedar Rapids, he carried on his jewelry store in the postoffice building, his store being located on the alley, in the rear of where the Masonic Temple now stands. The postoffice at Cedar Rapids soon outgrew the first government building, erected in the '90s, and the second was completed in 1909 at a cost of $250,000. If a person asked for his mail in the olden days more than once a month he was considered too important, and the postmaster would gently remind him that he had no legal right to bother a man more than once a month, at least, about such a small matter as a letter. The postoffice during the past sixty-three years has grown to enormous proportions, till it now takes the entire time of a score of people to expedite the handling of the mails. CHAPTER XI _The Physicians of the County_ BY FREDERICK G. MURRAY Among the first doctors who located in and around Marion should be mentioned S. H. Tryon, F. W. Tailor, and James Cummings. These men came before 1840. They were followed by T. S. Bardwell and L. W. Phelps. Dr. Tryon at least came as early as 1838 and was for many years a well-known public character. He acted as county clerk and held many posts of honor. Dr. J. K. Rickey bought John Young's claim in Cedar Rapids as early as 1841 and must have been located in that vicinity at that time. What became of him is not known, and whether or not he engaged in the practice extensively is doubtful. There were not many whites there in those early days and it is a question if any had the time or inclination to be very sick. In case they were it was no doubt homesickness, for which a doctor has so far been unable to offer any permanent cure. The first doctor who came to Cedar Rapids was inclined to blow his own horn. J. L. Enos, the editor of the _Cedar Valley Times_, has the following to say: "Once when he had returned from Muscatine he claimed to have lost forty pounds of quinine in one of the streams below the Cedar. Constable Lewis once called on him with an execution to secure a judgment. The doctor threw off his coat and prepared for a fight. The constable seeing his opportunity seized the coat and made away with it and found therein sufficient money to satisfy the debt." Profiting by the example, later comers have avoided fights and have tried to pay their debts. In the correspondence between S. W. Durham and A. C. Dodge in December, 1848, the following named doctors are referred to: S. M. Brice (whig), Center Point; Ivanhoe, Jno. Evans; Hollenback P. O., Dr. Williams; Cedar Rapids P. O., J. F. Ely. Thus during 1848 the above named persons must have been residents and practicing physicians in their respective localities. Dr. Brice was the second doctor in Cedar Rapids. Later he moved to Center Point. These men were no doubt slated as candidates for postmasters. Dr. Brice later acted as postmaster at Center Point. A history of the medical profession in Linn county must be largely made up of a list of names, as the intrinsic work of the medical practitioner is scarcely a fit subject matter for the casual reader. What seems to be the earliest date in connection with which there is mention of a physician in the county annals is 1841, in which year Dr. Magnus Holmes came to the town of Marion from Crawfordsville, Indiana. Promising to be of great value to the community, Dr. Holmes passed away a short time after his arrival. Dr. Henry M. Ristine, father of Dr. J. M. Ristine, of Cedar Rapids, was a brother-in-law of Dr. Holmes, and came to Marion from Indiana in 1842. Another of the very earliest practitioners was Dr. Sam Grafton, who was located on the Cedar river at Ivanhoe bridge, on the old military road from Dubuque to Iowa City. Just when he came is not known; this was one of the earliest settlements in the county and he had practiced there for some four years previous to 1847, in which year he fell a victim to a typhoid epidemic. Dr. Amos Witter was one of the first physicians in Mt. Vernon. He passed away in 1862 at the age of fifty-five, having been several years a member of the legislature. In 1886 there was still living in Viola a Dr. S. S. Matson, who had practiced there since 1845. He graduated from the University of Vermont in 1832, the same year in which Dr. Elisha W. Lake, an early Marion physician, graduated from the Ohio Medical College. These two men are in point of graduation the oldest men the county has had. In northeastern Linn the first physician was Dr. Stacy, who lived on the Anamosa and Quasqueton road near Boulder church. He was a brother to the late Judge Stacy, the pioneer promoter of the Dubuque & Southwestern Railroad. Some of the other early practitioners were Dr. E. L. Mansfield, who came to Cedar Rapids or Kingston in 1847; Dr. J. M. Traer, who made Cedar Rapids his home from 1847-51; Dr. J. F. Ely, who came to the same place in 1848; and Dr. S. D. Carpenter, who came in 1849. Dr. Shattuck, of Green's Mills, now Coggon, Drs. Lannin and Byam, of Paris, Drs. Patterson and Mitchell, of Clark's Ford, now Central City, and Dr. Young, of Prairieburg, were all pioneer doctors in their respective communities. Dr. T. S. Bardwell, who became a leading physician of Marion, settled on a farm in that vicinity in 1840, making his residence in the county date back farther than that of any other medical man except S. H. Tryon. A rather incomplete business directory of Cedar Rapids in 1856 gives the following as physicians: S. C. Koontz, J. H. Camburn, W. D. Barclay, J. W. Edes, Smith & Larrabee, R. R. Taylor. A complete city directory published in 1869 gives the names of the following: C. F. Bullen, J. H. Camburn, G. P. Carpenter, J. P. Coulter, J. W. Edes, Mansfield & Smith, Freeman McClelland, John North, Israel Snyder, C. H. Thompson, W. Bollinger, J. C. May. Of these, Dr. Camburn and Dr. Edes were prominent in their profession for many years. Dr. R. R. Taylor was a Virginian, who went to reside in Philadelphia about the time of the Civil war. Dr. J. C. May was a druggist as well as a very popular physician. He was a brother of the late Major May, of island fame. A medical and surgical directory of Iowa for 1876 gives the first authentic list of doctors in Linn county to which access has been had. A list of fifty is given as in active practice in the county at that time. Only six of these remain: Dr. George P. Carpenter, dean of the profession in Cedar Rapids; Dr. G. R. Skinner, of Cedar Rapids; Dr. T. S. Kepler, of Mt. Vernon; Dr. Hindman, of Marion; Dr. Edwin Burd, of Lisbon; and Dr. F. M. Yost, of Center Point. The last of these, Dr. Yost, class of 1853 University of Pennsylvania, is the oldest living practitioner in the county. His two sons are now associated with him in his work. One other, Dr. J. H. Smith, of Cedar Rapids, has not been in practice for many years but preserves a close relation to his old calling through his presidency of the board of directors of St. Luke's Hospital. The two Doctors Sigworth are still living near their old neighborhood, having retired to Anamosa. A registry of all physicians practicing in the county was begun in the county clerk's office in 1880-1881. It started with sixty-four names, probably the full number of those in active practice at the time. Since then about 230 additional doctors have been registered, and of this total of nearly 300 about 125 are now practicing in the county. At Western some of the early physicians were Dr. Crouse, Dr. W. B. Wagner, Dr. Miller, all of whom preceded Dr. J. C. Schrader who removed to Iowa City. Dr. J. C. Hanshay located here in 1863 and Dr. Favour in 1877. Dr. Patterson was the first doctor in Bertram, in 1857. Dr. J. Stricklippe was an early doctor and druggist at Palo, and Dr. J. W. Firkin was the second doctor at Vanderbilt, later known as Fairfax. His son, Edgar Firkin, is now a popular druggist there. Dr. U. C. Roe came to Fairfax in 1864 for the practice of medicine. He also sold drugs. The business finally drifted into a grocery store, as it seems that the settlers preferred sugar and prunes to pills and quinine. Among names of note in the early history of these parts are those of several medical doctors whose prominence came along lines outside of their professional work. Dr. John P. Ely's name is prominently connected with the early business enterprises and later growth of Cedar Rapids. The doctor was called in the year he finished his medical studies in New York to the management of commercial and manufacturing interests in this county. The growth of these drew him gradually from the excellent practice for which he at first found time. To the close of his life, however, Dr. Ely kept himself well informed on the progress of scientific medicine. Perhaps the first autopsy in this locality was performed by Dr. Ely in the interests of both science and sobriety, if early annals are authentic, the subject having been in life notorious for his potations. Dr. Eber L. Mansfield along with a large medical practice found time to build up successful business and real estate interests on both sides of the river at Cedar Rapids. Dr. Seymour D. Carpenter left the practice after the Civil war and became active and highly successful in the building and financing of railroads in this state and further south. Dr. Carpenter is still living in a hale old age in Chicago. Dr. Freeman McClelland, a talented graduate of Jefferson Medical College, won for himself enviable popularity and influence through his editorship of the Cedar Rapids _Times_. The flavor of his writings and rare personality are an enduring remembrance with all who knew him. Dr. J. T. Headley, the eminent platform lecturer, at present living retired in Philadelphia, is said to have first hung out his "shingle" in Cedar Rapids. Dr. G. W. Holmes, son of Dr. Magnus Holmes, of Marion, after finishing at Bellevue, went as a medical missionary of the American Board to Persia, where in addition to his other work he became royal physician to the Crown Prince, afterwards Shah of Persia. Dr. Holmes passed away in June, 1910. Linn county sent a number of doctors to the army during the Civil war. The following list is as nearly accurate as to men and organizations as it was possible to make it: Dr. H. M. Ristine, surgeon 20th Iowa Infantry. Dr. J. F. Ely, surgeon 24th Iowa. Dr. J. H. Camburn, surgeon 16th Iowa Infantry, also 6th Iowa Cavalry. Dr. Freeman McClelland, surgeon 16th Iowa Infantry. Dr. H. M. Lyons, surgeon 16th Iowa Infantry. Dr. John F. Smith, assistant surgeon 65th Illinois Infantry. Dr. G. L. Carhardt, surgeon 31st Iowa. Dr. J. C. Shrader went from near Western College, this county, with the 22d Iowa Infantry as captain and later as surgeon. Dr. Amos Witter, surgeon 7th Iowa Infantry. Dr. T. S. Bardwell served as first assistant surgeon with the 6th Iowa Cavalry, Col. Carskadden of Marion, notably in an expedition against the Indians who were threatening the Nebraska and Dakota frontier, the male portion of the settlers there being largely absent in the Union army. Dr. Seth Byam, of Jackson township, was surgeon in the U. S. army. Dr. Seymour D. Carpenter, surgeon U. S. A., during the four years of the war. Of those who served otherwise than as surgeons, Dr. J. P. Coulter was lieutenant colonel of the 12th Iowa Infantry. He afterwards was active in city and county politics and held several official positions, and distantly related to him was the late Dr. A. B. Coulter, in whose untimely passing away the community lost one of its most promising professional men. Dr. G. R. Skinner, who came to Cedar Rapids in 1871, spent four years in the Civil war, leaving the service with a captain's commission. [Illustration: THE LATE DR. J. S. LOVE, SPRINGVILLE] Dr. W. H. French served through the war in the 89th Illinois Infantry. Of those men whose distinctly professional work brought them especial esteem, space will allow for the mention of only a few. Perhaps for no other one of their brethren did the Linn county profession award so universal preference as to Dr. Henry Ristine. Pioneer, patriot, and public-spirited citizen, he was first and before all a doctor, combining in generous measure the traits and faculties that make an eminently successful surgeon, with culture and genial sympathies. It could be truly said of him that he adorned his profession. His portrait hangs in St. Luke's Hospital along with that of the late Judge Greene, whom he ably seconded in the work of founding that institution. Jurist and surgeon alike believed in the hospital as the workshop without which the doctor could not do his best work, and their efforts accomplished much toward the establishment of medical and surgical justice to the physically afflicted, a form of service that deserves more and more public recognition in every community where moral justice to the criminally accused is so amply facilitated by the courts of law. Among other well remembered physicians were Dr. J. S. Love, of Springville, Dr. James Carson, of Mt. Vernon, Dr. D. McClenahan, of Cedar Rapids, and Dr. G. L. Carhardt, of Marion. Beginning at an early date and devoting themselves exclusively to their practice till advancing age forced retirement, they all four typically exemplified in their respective communities the life of the family physician. They were, none of them, modern doctors, but they lived not only to see but to rejoice in the day of modern medicine. Long after they had ceased from practice they kept up attendance at medical society meetings, keenly alive to the advancements of medical art and scientific research there discussed. They were resourceful men, and they had labored faithfully and well with the art available in their day, how often futilely none felt more keenly than themselves. The realization that modern methods promised control of much that had baffled them seemed to lighten the burden of their declining years. Their abiding interest and faith in the future things of medicine was an inspiration to their successors. Of medical organizations in Linn county the oldest is the Union Medical Society, founded as the Linn County Medical Society at Mt. Vernon in 1859 by Drs. Love, Ely, Ristine, Carson, and Lyon. Dormant during the war, it resumed in 1866 and ran till 1873, when its name was changed to the Iowa Union and it became a district society, taking its membership from half a dozen or more counties and centering in Linn and Johnson counties. It still meets twice a year at Cedar Rapids, occasionally at Iowa City for scientific work. Its officers now are: president, C. W. Baker, Stanwood; secretary, F. G. Murray, Cedar Rapids; treasurer, C. P. Carpenter, Cedar Rapids. The present Linn County Society was organized in Cedar Rapids in 1903. It holds meetings twice a year and is the unit of the State and American Medical Associations. One of its members, Dr. G. E. Crawford, is the outgoing president of the Iowa State Medical Society. Its present officers are: president, Dr. A. B. Poore; secretary, Dr. H. W. Bender; treasurer, Frank S. Skinner. There are other local organizations at Mt. Vernon and Cedar Rapids. The Practitioners' Club of the latter place meets once a month for discussion and action upon medical subjects of special interest to the members. Its officers are: Dr. H. S. Raymer, president; H. E. Pfeiffer, secretary; G. P. Carpenter, treasurer. St. Luke's Hospital at Cedar Rapids has already been mentioned. It was founded in 1883. On its consulting staff are Drs. G. P. Carpenter, J. M. Ristine, G. R. Skinner, G. E. Crawford, A. B. Poore, and A. H. Johnson. It has an attending staff of younger men. The hospital has seventy-five beds, having recently added a new and completely appointed maternity department. Mercy Hospital, ninety beds, founded at Cedar Rapids in 1902 and housed in its spacious new building in 1904, is under the care of the Sisters of Mercy. These finely equipped institutions serve Cedar Rapids, Marion, the railroad systems and their contributing territory with facilities for the best of medical, surgical and maternity work. Few realize the large amount of free humanitarian work they accomplish every year. Together with Linn county's own excellent infirmary north of Marion they represent in a material and public way the present status of medical art, science, and humanitarianism in the county. Personally and privately these are represented by the 125 active practitioners of medicine. It will be noted that the names of only a few of these have been mentioned and then only incidentally. The scope of this sketch does not allow adequate individual reference to the remainder. Nor is this the place to record contemporary progress. The lives of all the present members of the profession belong not to the past but to the future history of medicine in Linn county. The attached list gives the names of the practicing physicians in Linn county in 1910: Adams, Ernest, Central City Anderson, P. O., Cedar Rapids Bailey, F. W., Cedar Rapids Bailey, H. H., Cedar Rapids Beardsley, D. E., Cedar Rapids Bender, H. W., Cedar Rapids Bliss, C. S., Cedar Rapids Bradley, W. J., Cedar Rapids Brown, C. T., Cedar Rapids Burd, Edwin, Lisbon Busta, Chas., Cedar Rapids Byerly, A. J., Coggon Carhart, Wm. G., Marion Carpenter, G. P., Cedar Rapids Carroll, Frank, Cedar Rapids Carson, Geo. A., Mt. Vernon Childs, Edward P., Cedar Rapids Cogswell, C. H., Cedar Rapids Cogswell, C. H., Jr., Cedar Rapids Crawford, A., Mt. Vernon Crawford, G. E., Cedar Rapids Crawford, J. L., Cedar Rapids Crew, Arthur E., Marion Dando, G. A., Marion Davis, J. L., Alburnette Downs, J. W., Paris Dvorak, Jos. F., Fairfax Ebersole, F. F., Mt. Vernon Eilers, Paul G., Alburnette Fisher, C., Central City Fitzgerald, Wm., Cedar Rapids French, Chas. H., Cedar Rapids French, W. H., Cedar Rapids Gardner, Jno. R., Lisbon Gearheart, G. W., Springville Graham, J. DeWitt, Springville Groff, H., Cedar Rapids Gross, H. G., Cedar Rapids Hamilton, John, Cedar Rapids Hayes, L. C., Cedar Rapids Hasner, C. T., Cedar Rapids Heald, Clarence, Cedar Rapids Hill, M. W., Mt. Vernon Hindman, D. R., Marion Hogle, Geo., Mt. Vernon Hogle, Kate Mason, Mt. Vernon Houser, Cass T., Palo Hubbard, W. A., Cedar Rapids Hubbell, S., Cedar Rapids Ivins, H. M., Cedar Rapids Jicinsky, J. Rudis, Cedar Rapids Johnson, A. H., Cedar Rapids Johnson, B. R., Cedar Rapids Kegley, E. A., Cedar Rapids Keppler, T. S., Mt. Vernon King, W. S., Cedar Rapids Knox, J. M., Cedar Rapids Krause, Chas. S., Cedar Rapids Kresja, Oldrich, Cedar Rapids Keech, Roy K., Cedar Rapids Ladd, F. G., Cedar Rapids La Grange, J. W., Marion Lee, J. A., Lisbon Lindley, Thos. H., Cedar Rapids Lindsey, Harry A., Walker Lord, Richard, Cedar Rapids Lowrey, N. J., Ely Loy, J., Cedar Rapids Manahan, Chas. A., Center Point Mantz, R. L., Cedar Rapids Martinitz, S. V., Cedar Rapids McConkie, Jas. J., Cedar Rapids McConkie, W. A., Cedar Rapids Meythaler, A. J., Coggon Miller, W. B., Center Point Moorehead, Jas., Marion Morrison, Wesley J., Cedar Rapids Munden, R. E., Cedar Rapids Muirhead, Geo. S., Marion Murphy, Jas. J., Cedar Rapids Murray, F. G., Cedar Rapids Nash, E. A., Troy Mills Neal, Emma J., Cedar Rapids Netolicky, W. J., Cedar Rapids Neuzil, W. J., Cedar Rapids Newland, M. A., Center Point Owen, W. E., Cedar Rapids Petrovitsky, J. C., Cedar Rapids Pfieffer, H. E., Cedar Rapids Poore, A. B., Cedar Rapids Raymer, H. S., Cedar Rapids Richardson, E. F., Cedar Rapids Richardson, J. F., Cedar Rapids Ristine, J. M., Cedar Rapids Robinson, J. B., Mt. Vernon Ross, Alice I., Whittier Ruml, W., Cedar Rapids Safley, Agnes Isabel, Cedar Rapids Sheldon, B. L., Cedar Rapids Skinner, Frank S., Marion Skinner, Geo. C., Cedar Rapids Skinner, G. R., Cedar Rapids Spencer, W. H., Cedar Rapids Spicer, S. S., Cedar Rapids Stansbury, G. W., Western, C. Rapids Sherman, D. F., Cedar Rapids Swab, C. C., Cedar Rapids Swett, P. W., Cedar Rapids Tiffany, D. E., Cedar Rapids Van Duzer, F. H., Cedar Rapids Walk, F. D., Walker Walker, H. L., Cedar Rapids Ward, J. A., Waubeek Webb, Sula M., Cedar Rapids Whitmore, Clara B., Cedar Rapids Wilkinson, L. J., Prairieburg Wolf, John M., Mt. Vernon Wolf, Thos. L., Mt. Vernon Woodbridge, Ward, Central City Woodruff, L. F., Cedar Rapids York, N. A., Lisbon Yost, C. G., Center Point Yost, B. B., Center Point Yost, F. R., Center Point CHAPTER XII _The Material Growth of the County_ In scarcely any locality has the material growth been so fast and substantial during the past seventy years as in Linn county. Old residents who have returned after a period of twenty-five to thirty years mention this fact, and what is true of the cities and towns is perhaps much more true of the rural districts in general. William Abbe erected a bark cabin for the use of his family the first summer, after he came here, and built a log house that fall for his winter abode. Ed Crow, C. C. Haskins, and others also erected very frail cabins during the first year they lived within the confines of the county. John Henry, it is said, built a small store-building facing the river in the squatter town of Westport in 1838. It was a frame building about 14 x 18, scarcely high enough for any of the Oxley Brothers (who were very tall men) to enter. He also erected a small dwelling house near the store-building, which, if anything, was smaller than the store-building. All the lumber in these buildings, except the window frames and the sills, were cut in the timber adjoining the river; even the roof was cut out of rough boards, with a broad saw. The nails used were brought from Muscatine, as well as a few hinges, and the windows. These buildings were torn down in 1860. The Shepherd Tavern was also a rude log building, as was the John Young house, which was afterwards used as a hotel, with additions added later. G. R. Carroll, in his _Pioneer Life_, mentions the first cabin erected by his father, Isaac Carroll, in 1839. It took about ten days to erect an ordinary cabin. "It stood on the east side of the road near Mr. Bower's nursery on the boulevard one and a half miles from the river. It was a very primitive looking structure, 16 x 18 perhaps, with what we called a cob roof, made of clapboards with logs on top to hold them in place. It was quite an agreeable change from our tent and wagons when we entered this new cabin, although there was not a great deal of room to spare after our goods were unloaded and the nine members of the family were gathered within its walls. When the table was spread there was no passing from one side to the other, except as we got upon our hands and knees and crawled under." Mr. Carroll also speaks of the second house, which was erected the same fall on the same premises. "It was, however, not to be a common kind of a cabin, it was to be a somewhat ambitious structure for the time, in fact it was to be the best house in Linn county, and when completed, it enjoyed that distinction. It was said, that there was nothing in the county that equalled it. The dimensions of this house were 14 x 16, a story and a half high. There were in the walls of this house between fifty and sixty white oak logs, most of them quite straight and free from knots. The ends of the logs were cut off square and the corners were laid up like square blocks, care being taken to cut off enough at the ends to allow the logs to come as close together as possible so as to leave but little space for chinking and plastering when it came to the finishing up. The only boards about the entire building were in the door which I think were brought with us on top of our wagon-box, which was of extra height. The joists above and below were made of logs, the upper ones squared with a broadax. The casings of doors and windows, and the floors above and below, were made out of bass wood puncheons. Slabs were spread out of the logs and then hewn out with a broad axe and the edges were made straight by the use of the chalk line. The gable ends were sided up with clapboard rived out of oak timber three or four feet long, and then shaved off smooth like siding. The rafters were made of hickory poles trimmed off straight on the upper side, and strips three or four inches wide were nailed on the sheeting. Upon these strips shingles made of oak eighteen inches long and nicely shaven, were laid. The logs of the walls in the inside were hewn off flat, and the interstices between were shingled and plastered with lime mortar, the lime being burned by my father on Indian Creek. There were three windows below of twelve lights each, with glass 7 x 9, and a window in each of the gable ends of nine lights, which furnished light for the room above. The fire place was built up of logs on the outside and lined with stone within, and the chimney was built of sticks split out about the size of laths and plastered with clay, both inside and outside." [Illustration: J. H. VOSMEK Cedar Rapids] [Illustration: FATHER T. J. SULLIVAN Cedar Rapids] [Illustration: DR. E. L. MANSFIELD An Early Cedar Rapids Physician] The description of this house gives the reader an idea of one of the most up-to-date houses built before the year 1840. During the past sixty years many commodious farm houses have been erected, having all the modern conveniences installed, such as heating, lighting, together with bath privileges connected with sanitary plumbing. It is said that the late S. C. Bever installed the first furnace in a dwelling house in Linn county, and many people came from over the county to see such a furnace work. Now, not only cities and towns, but farm residences have installed furnaces and other kinds of heating plants, so that which was a novelty fifty years ago is very ordinary today. The farmers in Linn county early began to invest their surplus money in farm machinery. William Ure drove an ox team to Chicago and brought back a McCormick reaper, which was the first reaper brought into the county, as far as is known. At least it was the first reaper used and operated in and around Scotch Grove. The neighbors said that Ure was foolish and it would surely break him up, but inside of one season it paid for itself. In and around Stoney Point one of the first threshing machines was used; a very small machine which was staked fast on the ground, without a straw-carrier, and operated by horsepower, which was placed on the ground loose and had to be hauled from place to place on a truck. In Linn Grove, Brown township, Washington township, and in other localities, many of these crude reapers and crude threshing machines and corn shellers were seen in operation during the season. Frequently the people who purchased these early machines lost money. The machinery was not always recommended, and sometimes the farmers were not mechanics skilled enough to make repairs when needed. A number got fooled on the first wire-binders and on the check-rowers, as well as on some of the early mowing machines, and many lost heavily in early days on thoroughbred horses and full-blooded cattle. But after all, the spirit of progress was abroad in the community, and in spite of failures, it did a great thing for the people who became interested. The advent of the reaper no doubt changed farming methods in this country. It is said that "the struggle for bread ceased when the reaper was put on the market." At least it placed the struggle for existence on a higher level. Certainly when a machine was invented that could do the work of five or six men and be depended upon, such a machine was worth having, and it soon paid for itself. The manufacturing of farm machinery in Linn county was not a financial success, as is shown by the failure of the Williams Harvester Works, the Ogden Plow Works, the Star Wagon Works, and many other enterprises, but the spirit displayed by those who were willing to put their money into these untried enterprises, showed the mettle and the ingenuity that many of these early settlers had. People profited by these failures, made a study of the subject, and in course of time these men who lost at times on some investment or purchased machinery which was not suitable to the country, became owners of magnificent farms and up-to-date farmers by long experience. The early corn cribs and granaries were generally built of rails, the kinks filled in with straw or hay. They of course had to be rebuilt every fall, and more or less grain was wasted. The rail corn crib was superseded by long board cribs generally built on the ground without any foundation. These cribs, when empty, were generally blown about the premises and had to be hauled back and propped up before they could be used in the fall. The farmers of Linn county frequently visited in Illinois, and there found models for economical corn cribs. They also read the farm journals, and it was not long until our farmers erected the modern corn crib and granary with gasoline engines, dumps, and elevators. These cribs were substantially built on cement foundations with cement floors, and with a driveway large enough and wide enough to house several wagons and three or four buggies at one time. The early corn crib, it is true, cost little or nothing, but they were a source of expense and annoyance, and much grain was wasted. The modern corn crib, as now erected, is built for a life time, but at a cost of from two thousand to three thousand dollars, which would have been a sum impossible to raise by the early settler, who generally paid the government price on his land by disposing of skins which he prepared during the winter, and who went barefooted in summer for the reason that he had no money to buy shoes and no time to make moccasins for himself or his children. Thus the early farmer housed his horses and cattle in straw stacks during the winter and in the timber during the summer. Sometime a hay thatched stable was erected for the use of the horses. He milked his cows out on the snow in winter, and expected them to yield a fair supply of milk on a diet of slough hay and dry corn stalks, and would drive them to water to some creek or river once a day, using an ax with which to cut a hole in the ice. These stables would leak in spring and summer and had to be rebuilt nearly every fall. All hay was stacked outside and nearly half of it would rot during the rainy season. But hay was cheaper than lumber and for that reason a man had to figure on putting up enough hay during the summer, and take into account the waste. It was not till after the Civil war that many barns were built, and then only the rich farmer could afford them. Not till the '70s and '80s did the craze for barn building come, and now nearly every farm of any size, and nearly every farmer of any financial standing, has a good substantial barn, as well as machine sheds, all of which improvements may cost from three thousand to ten thousand dollars. In the early days many farmers were fooled or taken in on the creamery proposition, as many of these small country creameries failed. The people then began to study the cow and the cost of producing milk and butter. True the first attempts were not a success, but the butter and milk of Linn county have during the past twenty-five years made many of the farmers wealthy. It used to be, that if the cows could keep down the grocery bill that was well done, but now, many a farmer gets a monthly milk check of from fifty to seventy-five dollars, which not only pays the grocery bill, but generally the hired man as well. But then the price of butter has increased from six cents to thirty, which makes a difference. The butter has also gradually become a better quality, and is really worth more. It is taken care of now, while in the pioneer days the cream was left out doors during the hot summer and the rancid butter was placed in a shallow slough well so as to be kept cool. It was generally not fit to use and was traded at the store for dried prunes, brown sugar, and dried herring. Thus, while the farmer may not have given the merchant much, the merchant certainly did not give the farmer anything of much value in return for his farm produce. During the past twenty years no class of people have fared better financially than the farmers, and no class of people have become more enlightened on the subject in which they are engaged than the farmers. This may be due to several reasons. The farm journals have no doubt done much in stirring up a local pride in the vocation of farming. The farm journal has taught the farmer not to be ashamed of his calling; that while he may be called a "Rube" in some localities, he is an intelligent, up-to-date, wide-awake man, who knows what is going on in the country; is familiar with political questions and interested in the welfare of the country and of the state in which he resides. During the past twenty years the farmer, especially in Linn county, has traveled much. He has attended the county and state fairs where he has seen the latest inventions in machinery. He has attended nearly all of the exhibitions held in the country from Chicago to Seattle, and has come in contact with farmers from other sections of the country as well as with financiers and men of affairs. He has traveled much on land excursions and has learned to study and understand the nature of the soil. While it is true, that these various journeys have taken some time and money, yet they have made the farmer an up-to-date man, familiar with all sides of human life, and he has discovered, after all, that he is one of the most fortunate men in the country, and financially better off than many a city brother who may wear broadcloth and a boiled shirt, but whose bank account is generally depleted. The Linn county farmer has learned during the past twenty-five years to know himself and to understand and respect the class to which he belongs. No one can become a successful person in any line of business unless he is proud of the line of work in which he is engaged. The farmer has learned this secret, and he is not ashamed to tell anyone, that he is a Hawkeye farmer, owning his own farm and caring for his own property. The Iowa farmer has kept up with the procession, and he certainly is as intelligent, as wide-awake, and as shrewd and keen as the merchant, the banker, and the professional man in his business dealings. But he came to Iowa at the proper time, and for that reason he had the advantage of the old settlers who came to New England or to Jamestown. These men came ahead of their time and before things were ripe for such settlement. The bread tools of the Virginia pioneer were the same as those of the Indians whom they despised and wanted to drive out. The first settlers of Iowa came with the advent of the reaper, when a boy fifteen years of age could cut the grain with ease, which several sturdy men had to do before with the sickle and the scythe. We seem to think that we have had the modern inventions for ages, but the first white settlers in Linn county, whoever they may have been, knew nothing of matches; of stoves as we know them; of the telegraph or the telephone or electric lights. They did not have modern corn cultivators or stirring plows. All these so-called modern appliances have been invented since the advent of the first settler in this county. But it was not long after these inventions came into use, until some enterprising individual or firm introduced them into Linn county. It is said that it was at a Shriner meeting on the old State Fair Ground, which is now Central Park, Cedar Rapids, that electricity was first used in this county, and people came for many miles to watch this peculiar light, which some thought could only be accounted for on the ground that the operator was in close connection with the Evil One. Barnum, with his show, also exhibited electric lights to the consternation of the vast crowds that came to see his circus, and it was one of the chief attractions during the first year. People came many miles to listen and talk through a telephone, and now every up-to-date farmer has an instrument installed in his own house. In a material way the settlers in Linn county have succeeded beyond the expectation of the most sanguine. Thrift and prosperity can be seen on every hand. The various farmers' alliances, elevator companies, banking companies, creamery companies, old settlers' unions, and all these have brought the men over the county in closer touch with each other and the farmers of the whole county have learned to appreciate the marvelous benefits derived from social intercourse. It has made them broader and more liberal minded toward one another. The first real census of the county was made in 1840 by H. W. Gray, who found 1,373 men, women, and children here. There were no less than 200 people who celebrated the 4th of July at Westport in 1838, but these may not all have belonged to the county. There was a rapid influx of people, and by 1845 it has been estimated that no less than 4,000 had declared Linn county their permanent home. The men who came here in the early days knew nothing of luxuries, for it is said that there were not over twenty buggies in the county and not to exceed two pianos. The gold excitement took many of the bright young men away, most of whom never returned. The census of 1850 shows that there were 5,444 people in the county, further demonstrating that the land seekers were still coming despite the fact that many residents must have left for the gold fields of California. By 1860 fully 19,000 residents claimed the county as their home. At the first election in the county 39 votes were cast. In 1875 there were more than 7,000 voters, and this number has gradually increased till the votes cast in 1908 were 6,558 republican, 5,008 democratic, 220 prohibition, and 121 scattering, making a total vote of 11,900. Long ago the farming districts were filled up and the country portions have not grown in population. The demand for pioneers has ceased, and the growth henceforth will be in the cities and towns, and not in the country until such a time as the cities will be compelled to expand or the people congregating therein will be enabled to seek the country to make a living. There may also come a time when the large farms will be divided up among members of the family and when it will pay better to farm on a small rather than on a large scale. If the land can be subdivided into small tracts, as in many parts of Europe, Iowa and Linn county will be able to feed a much larger population and at greater ease than can the exhausted lands of the old countries. The soil in Iowa is as rich today and will if well cared for produce more today than it did some forty years ago. The farmers will now devote more of their time to make the farms yield more and not in the purchase of more lands as heretofore. What the modern farmer is now up against is better markets, cheaper freight charges, more local manufacturing, and increased commercial conveniences. For many years after the lands were taken up and cultivated the farmers were unable to get rid of their products. There were no other markets than the local ones. Robert Ellis had tried the experiment of running flat boats down the river and had returned without any profits. Holmes, the Higley Brothers, Daniels, and others built flat boats at Ivanhoe and shipped wheat in the early spring down the Cedar and made a little money. But there was more or less risk, and much labor was expended, and the returns were not always satisfactory. Many teamed and hauled dressed pork, wheat, and barley to the Mississippi river, mostly to Muscatine, but after the driver returned and figured up his expenses and the cost of a few groceries and a calico dress for the wife, he had little left with which to pay interest and tax on the land. The farmer was kept busy in paying taxes and breaking up and fencing more land. To do these things and keep his family was all he could hope to accomplish. The business man who had come here was without funds, and interest rates were high. He could not borrow enough to carry out his scheme of factory building, as he had expected. Saw mills and grist mills were erected so as to supply the local trade with enough materials for building, and enough food to live on, but that was all. The cost of transportation was high, and the cost of anything like luxuries was so great that it was out of the question to purchase any. As late as 1855 there were no markets and no means to ship anything out except by flat boats early in the spring of the year when the water was high. N. B. Brown started the first woolen mill as early as 1848. This was later disposed of to the Bryan family, but the mill never was a real success. There was no demand for the goods and the expense was too high to ship the raw products in and the finished products out. To haul any amount in a farm wagon a hundred miles over poor roads, subject to all kinds of weather, is not a success to the hauler nor to the man who hires him. [Illustration: HON. JAMES URE A Fairfax Pioneer] [Illustration: JUDGE JAMES H. ROTHROCK] [Illustration: J. J. DANIELS Early Linn County Official] [Illustration: L. J. PALDA Cedar Rapids] Even after the railroad was brought to Cedar Rapids the people did not realize that there was any other but a local market for any product. During the early years of the war, from 1862-3, the people awoke to a realization that it would pay to get in touch with a larger market, and the Chicago prices on stuff began to be quoted. R. D. Stephens built an elevator at Marion and began sending corn to the river. Cattle and hogs began to go up in price, and soon the people realized that the railroad was not built to carry passengers only, but freight as well, and that on a large scale. In 1866 the number of acres assessed was 452,486, and the land, exclusive of towns and villages, amounted to $3,012,754. The assessment for Linn county in 1878 was 449,774 acres, $5,127,133. The actual valuation in 1855 was about three and one-half millions, while in 1900 the taxable valuation of the county was something over twelve millions. Butter and cheese making were at one time businesses which made the farmers much money, but not till they learned how to prepare good butter and get a market established for it. Soon agents came to Iowa looking over the crops, and presently few towns were without local agents who handled stock and grain on a commission basis. Henceforth it was the Chicago market and not the local market that governed, and the railroads were loaded down many seasons of the year in hauling train load after train load of corn and wheat and cattle and hogs, the property of the Iowa farmers. Iowa became in a short time the food producing state in the Mississippi Valley and has so remained till this day. It was the productiveness of the soil, the manner in which the soil was prepared and the prices for farm products that made the land valuable. And it was the outside market that made farm produce worth the price it was for a local market cannot do this. The Chicago market has become the world market on many commodities, and lucky is the person who owns lands within a safe radius of such a market. CHAPTER XIII _Rural Life_ The rural life of the pioneers in Linn county was much the same as it was in any of the adjoining counties in eastern Iowa. The settlers were intelligent, young, active, and enthusiastic, believing in the future of the new State. The men were able to do nearly all kinds of mechanical work without any help or assistance, while the women were equally dextrous in spinning, weaving, and doing all kinds of house work. They were all clad in homespun and no false standards were maintained by the so-called well-to-do. Wheat was the product for many years until the pest took it, and Indian corn was grown. It was soon found that wheat was expensive to raise, as seed was high, the cost of harvesting expensive, and frequently a shower or a storm when the wheat was ripe destroyed a great deal of it, so the farmer's summer work at times would be entirely gone. It cost less to raise corn, and in course of time a market was found for it, although it scarcely ever sold for more than 30 cents a bushel. "In ye olden times" master and servant had no trouble. They ate at the same table, worked side by side during the day, and it was a sort of partnership affair throughout the season from the early spring until the crops were gathered in the fall. During the entire season the hired man had handled scarcely a dollar and he had taken up at the village store on credit in the master's name goods that would not exceed in value ten or fifteen dollars. While it has been often stated that in the pioneer days the men were overworked and underpaid, which might be true in part, still during these formative years, when everything was new, and there were no classes, all settlers were on the same level--socially and financially. It was not long until the hired man had worked long enough to get sufficient money to make a first payment on a farm, and in a few years the renter became a land owner and well fixed. The scattered settlers during the early years of their residence in Linn county relied on their own ingenuity for everything they needed; thus, they were their own blacksmiths, cabinet makers, carpenters, tanners, stone masons, and shoe makers. They would tan their own leather, shoe their own horses and oxen, make their own crude harness, and get along and be satisfied. While they would depend on the village blacksmith and on the wagon maker, roads were impassable in the spring of the year and a yoke of oxen was not the swiftest means of getting to and from a town twenty-five or thirty miles away. Hence a farmer who had any ingenuity at all, would rather do his own work in a crude way, than have to go to town to get anything repaired which was broken. Much amusement was also had in the early days in the various communities where men and women enjoyed meeting together at social functions. There were quilting bees, spelling schools, barn raisings, log rolling, debating schools, singing schools, and many other gatherings which frequently ended with a barn dance or a house warming supper, provided by the host and hostess. The winter season in "ye olden times" was not an easy time of it by any means, for the pioneers went to the timber early in the morning and would stay all day and until late at night, cutting wood, making rails and getting big logs to the saw mills. It mattered not what was the kind of weather, the young man would start off to the timber with the thermometer frequently at from twenty-five to thirty below zero. Sometimes it would be pleasant in the morning when they started out, but frequently a severe blizzard would come up before night, and many were the frozen hands and ears they would bring home to thaw out late at night, having been out all day in the most severe weather. But as soon as it was over it was forgotten, and the next day or the next week the young man would again repeat the same performance. While the men were strong, active, and hardworking, the women were equally active, persevering and industrious. The girls always took care of the milk and butter; the straining of the milk was done by the slough well or in a dark mud cellar, with no stone in it, and which always kept caving in until the entire house had to be put on pillars. The wife frequently had the family washing out by sunrise and the hired girl, if the family could afford one, would work side by side with her mistress and would do both inside and outside work if needed. No one was afraid to work: in fact they were all proud of what they had accomplished. There were not many varieties of dishes on the table in pioneer days, and still the settlers had plenty of good, wholesome food, and were always hungry. Salt pork, johnny cake, honey, and game were the customary foods of the farmer in ye olden times. They scarcely ever tasted fresh meat from spring until fall, unless some of the boys shot a little game now and then. The settlers were companionable, good natured, and contented. They traded cattle, horses, mules, and at times farms, only now and then would trouble arise as one would accuse another of smart dealings, and a lawsuit would ensue. It is related of an itinerant preacher who purchased a yoke of oxen from one of the deacons in the church, that while he was testing the oxen on a hot Sunday driving to church with his family, the yoke squatted down in a mud hole and remained there and it was impossible to move them at all. The preacher spied the deacon coming to church and was not slow in telling him what he thought of him as well as the oxen he had sold him. The deacon was not at all worried but replied, "parson, you must not forget to swear at 'em, that is the only thing they know," and drove on as though not at all offended by the remarks of the preacher. In the early days the farmers had no cisterns, no wind mills, no deep wells. Rain water was gathered in barrels which dried up in summer and froze solid in winter, so the house wife had scarcely any rain water either summer or winter. The well was generally a ten foot shallow well dug down by the slough, poorly planked, and frequently it caved in; another well was dug much in the same manner as the old one, the new well soon meeting with the same ending as the former one. There were few, if any, barns in the olden times and straw thatched sheds and stables were universally used. These stables were moved frequently for the reason that the farmers failed to haul out the manure which accumulated, finding that it was easier and cheaper to move the stable than to haul away the manure. Nearly all of the hay was stacked out doors and had to be cut and hauled away in order to be fed to the cattle. The farmers were slow and backward in many things. They possessed no spirit of restlessness and took things coolly, relying, it seems, on the old adage which says that "he who drives with oxen also gets there." While they early built fairly good houses, they were slow in erecting buildings and comfortable places for their horses and cattle, and it was many years before they began to erect sheds and buildings for their machinery. Wagons without spring seats sold at from $100.00 to $125.00; reapers and mowing machines were very expensive and they were generally only a few of these in each neighborhood. The household furniture was cheap and simple; there were no such things as furnaces or hard coal burners. Mostly old stoves were in use for the burning of wood, and these perhaps were second hand, or at least had seen better days. The young man in pioneer days generally started out in life with an ox team, a breaking plow, and a wagon. The wages for breaking were from $1.00 to $2.00 an acre, and when he was not breaking he would often be running a threshing machine or working in the saw mill or in the timber getting out logs. When ox teams were used for breaking, it took one to drive and one to hold the plow in the ground. A person generally broke more land than he could fence, and it was no use to sow wheat and not fence, for in those days the law permitted cattle and horses to run at large. Corn was not cultivated on the new ground to any extent, except that each one raised enough corn for his own use but no more. The corn was generally put in by hand, plowed only once or twice with a single shovel plow pulled by one old nag. In the early days all the cooking was done by the open fireplace; such an article as a stove was not much known. Corn bread and pork, with rye coffee, formed the average bill of fare at the wayside inn and at the farm house. The boarders actually preferred pork to venison; they got tired of game--it was so plentiful. Many a pioneer farmer could shoot from five to ten deer near his door before breakfast. In ye olden times nearly everyone would attend church, especially in summer. While many did not belong to any church, yet they were all interested in it. They supported the churches to the best of their ability. The influence of the country church did much in making this a county which still shows the effect of the early training and of the efforts of itinerant preachers and laymen who went from place to place visiting the scattered congregations. Such preachers as Troup, Searles, Ingham, J. Hodges, Hayden, Twing, Maxin, Dudley, Rankin, Boal, Cunningham, Keeler, Phelps, Roberts, Jones, Elias Skinner, Father Emmons and many of the early itinerant ministers did much to build up churches in this county. Then there were a number of laymen in various denominations who maintained in part some of the associations themselves, such as Tom Lewis, Levi Lewis, Chandler Jordan, Henry Rogers, and the Kurtzes, Runkles, Shueys, and many of the early settlers in and around Lisbon. The community around Mt. Vernon was also much influenced by the college atmosphere and by the itinerant preachers who visited the scattered members in Franklin township. These are only a few of many such communities where an interest was kept up in the small country churches where large congregations gathered weekly for meditation and for prayer. Many old pioneer families did much to help the church. One can converse with the old pioneer now, and he still loves to recall the old times, the old haunts and the wayside places. It was by some rail fence that a rural maiden had whispered to him as a young man, that the pain in her heart no human touch but his own could heal. It was here loved ones had spoken as they chattered away in childish whispers, when he came home from ended labors, and it was here that he took his family on Sunday to the little church where they all bowed silently in prayer, full of the faith and the hope which made his heart strong and his footsteps light. The simple mode of living in Linn county in an early date made strong men and courageous women. They were brought up to withstand the temptations of life and to despise the false veneer of a later generation. They lived up to the ideals of their way of thinking, and left sturdy families who grew up in the simple ways of the pioneer, themselves dutiful sons and daughters of the old settlers who came here in any early day to make homes for themselves and their descendants. Truly, the pioneers should be remembered for what they accomplished, for well might they sing with the poet: "Fading away like the stars of the morning, Losing our light in the rising sun; Thus would we pass from the earth and its toiling Only remembered by what we have done." [Illustration: BRIDGE AT THE PALISADES] [Illustration: THE PALISADES OF THE CEDAR] CHAPTER XIV _A Hero of the Canadian Rebellion_ What promised to have been a war to death in Linn county in the early '40s terminated because one of our old settlers, then a young man, said what he knew to be the fact and was willing to back it up with force. The interesting story is as follows: Political dissension had prevailed in Canada since 1820, and an open rebellion broke out in 1837. In lower Canada it began among the French settlers who wanted equality and their rights as Frenchmen, while in upper Canada it was brought about by leaders of the radical party insisting on a democratic form of government. The rebellion was lead by Lyon Mackenzie, a native of Scotland who had taken up journalism in Canada. The spirit of rebellion extended also into the United States, and many so-called filibusters joined the insurrectionists from a spirit of adventure. The papers mentioned in lengthy articles these so-called leaders, one especially being given much notoriety, one William Johnson, who, after the rebellion was put down, lived on one of the Thousand Islands in the St. Lawrence and evaded capture. His daughter, Kate, it was said, brought him food and the soldiers were unable to locate the hiding place of this rebel who defied the government militia. Robert Ellis met this so-called Bill Johnson at Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, in 1842. Johnson asserted with a great deal of gusto that he had escaped from the Islands and was going to make his home among the free people out on the borders. He was accompanied by a woman he claimed to be his daughter who received as much attention as the valiant soldier himself. Johnson drifted into Ft. Atkinson and finally located on a claim two miles above Quasqueton, on the north bank of the Wapsie river. Here he became a sort of feudal lord, told exaggerated stories about his valor, and was surrounded by a number of frontier soldiers who claimed to have fought in the war of 1812, as well as in the Canadian rebellion. For a time Captain Bill Johnson was idolized as no other person in this part of Iowa, and it is certain that his daughter Kate was laid siege to by more than one border hero under the guise of suitor. It was not long until the arrogant ways of Captain Bill Johnson, who jumped a claim, offended an old settler by the name of Henry Bennett, who resided near Quasqueton, and who was one of the first settlers in that community. Attempted arrests were made pro and con, but the Bennett party was successful and they drove Captain Johnson out of the community, after a sound flogging. He drifted into Marion and put up at the Phillips Hotel, telling stories of Bennett's abuse, how his property had been taken, and how he had been driven out of the county like a criminal. He wanted redress. The good people of Marion believed these stories, and soon a company was organized and provided with weapons of war to surround Bennett and demand restitution. A number of the old settlers of Marion were mustered into this company, such as George Patterson, Col. Durham, and others of the well known residents. It was in the winter of 1843, but that did not keep any of the company away from a forced march to Quasqueton. Bennett had friends and admirers also, and being made aware of the proposed attack he fortified his camp, laid in a supply of food, and had his guns ready. The attacking party demanded restitution, but the old man shook his head and told them to come on. The besiegers had to camp out, while Bennett's followers were well housed and warm. Finally the attacking army ran out of provisions, and after a council of war in which the peace loving spirit prevailed, they decided to return to the quiet haunts of Marion. Johnson still kept up his abuse of Bennett and his friends, and when that did not satisfy would resort to tales of his wonderful escapades on the St. Lawrence and how he had evaded the British officers with the assistance of his daughter, Kate. The good people at first entertained him as a guest, and he was always willing to accept of their hospitality, but stories were circulated that this so-called daughter, Kate, was not his daughter at all. But Bill Johnson still remained, having a number of supporters. One night Robert Ellis entered the Phillips Hotel while Johnson was heaping abuse on the Bennett party and on the courts of Iowa, telling Gen. James Wilson, who was surveyor-general of the territory, the story of his abuse. He said, that the day before he and his crowd had tracked Bennett as far as Delhi where the party escaped, being assisted by William Abbe, a prominent settler of Linn county. This was too much for Ellis, and he replied as follows: "That is not true, as Wm. Abbe drove from Ft. Atkinson with me, and we arrived in Marion today, and we were together all of the time." Johnson was full of "wrath and cabbage." He arose and in a much injured manner said, "You might as well call me a liar as to say that," to which Ellis replied, "If that suits you any better I can call you a liar, because that is what you are, if you want us to believe what you have been saying here tonight. You have been telling lies about my friend Abbe." Johnson pulled off his coat and was about to strike him, when Mr. Ellis spied a hickory stick in the wood box. With that he went after Johnson, who quietly retreated, put on his coat, engaged in conversation with Wilson, and the matter for the time dropped. The story leaked out that this Canadian boaster was nothing but a coward, and there were grave doubts as to whether or not he was the person he claimed to be. Finally so much opposition arose against him that he left Marion--much to the satisfaction of the people of the county for they had seen and heard things which reflected against Johnson's relations with his so-called daughter. In 1849 Robert Ellis drifted into the gold camps of Sacramento Valley on the American river, and who should he find out there but the daughter of Bill Johnson, now the wife of one of the miners. He learned that Bill Johnson had drifted into Southern Iowa and Missouri, where he assumed his old attitude, expecting free board and considerable consideration, but the pioneers in that community had to be "shown" and cared not much for what Johnson had been; the question was what he was then. A suitor in Mahaska county came to see his alleged daughter, but Bogus Johnson opposed and threatened him with dire disaster if he came within shooting distance. The suitor was not at all scared, having lived on the frontier longer than Johnson. The woman may have regretted the double life she had been living, and perhaps with her assistance--no one knows--Johnson was killed in a quarrel by the suitor, it was alleged, and prosecutions followed. The suitor and Kate after a long trial then drifted to California, and there Robert Ellis found them and heard the story that Captain Bill Johnson, once the terror of this part of Iowa, was a bogus Bill Johnson, and the light haired Kate was not the Kate of story and fiction at all. If it had not been for the obstreperous Bennett on the Wapsie and for the hickory stick in the hands of Robert Ellis bogus Bill Johnson might have terrorized this community much longer than he did. Another story was also told shortly after Johnson left by one of Johnson's henchmen, an old soldier, which shows the bad character and disposition of Johnson. William Abbe, one of the early settlers, and at one time a member of the legislature of Iowa, being in the employ of the government, having a contract to deliver provisions at Ft. Atkinson, was about to return to his home in Linn Grove, which fact was known to Johnson. The soldier related after Johnson's hasty departure that he and Johnson had entered into an agreement to blackmail Abbe and get some money out of him by inviting Abbe to remain in the Johnson cabin over night and then to threaten Abbe that he had assaulted the daughter of Johnson while accepting of his hospitality. Johnson was to remain in hiding while the soldier was set out on the trail to watch for Abbe and invite him to the cabin. This was done and the soldier sat out in the timber watching for Abbe during the afternoon and evening, but fortunately Abbe failed to make his appearance as expected and the deep laid plan fell through. Bill Johnson, whatever he may have been, was certainly an expert in his line and seemed to ingratiate himself into the good graces of many prominent people. He obtained the assistance and help of Governor Chambers, as well as Surveyor-General James Wilson, and many others in the various law suits which he had with the members of the Bennett party. General Wilson, as is well known, was a native of New Hampshire and on account of the personal friendship of Daniel Webster had been appointed to this office by President Harrison. Webster had intended to slate his friend Wilson for Governor of Iowa, but Harrison had appointed his private secretary and former aide-de camp, Colonel John Chambers. Thus General Wilson had to accept the only vacancy left, that of surveyor-general. On his trip over Iowa, General Wilson was accompanied by his daughter, Mary E. Wilson, better known as Mrs. John Sherwood, who later became one of the best known writers and society women on two continents. It was at Marion, according to the report of Robert Ellis, that Johnson first met General Wilson and that the friendship sprang up between them, and it seemed as though Johnson had known a number of Wilson's relatives and a great many of the prominent men in New England. It is thought, of course, that Johnson imposed upon General Wilson and no doubt used the names of parties he had known of in some way to further his own selfish purposes. The following may be quoted from the _History of Washington County_. Vol. I, p. 326, as told by H. A. Burrell: "A Mahaska county murder case of Job Peck, the murderer of Wm. Johnson, came here on a change of venue September 9, 1843; it was a melodrama: A cultivated Canadian revolutionist, a beautiful girl Kit claiming to be his daughter, horsethieves, etc., being the personæ dramatis, an elopement and kidnapping constituting the action of the piece. The Canuck was shot in his cabin and a lover of Kit was held for the crime. Kit was spirited to Pittsburg, Pa., and the lover proved an alibi; he had married Kit near Fairfield. While in jail here he did not know his bride's whereabouts nor for several months after, but he finally found her with fine people. They lived near Oskaloosa for years when they went to California. Who she was, was never known; she denied that Johnson was her father; he may have been her husband. After Peck's death she married again and had a noble family and was called the Queen of the Thousand Isles--in oil business. Johnson was the subject of state correspondence between the United States and England. A British subject, he revolted, turned renegade and spy in 1812, and robbed the mails to get information. Both countries offered a reward for him and he fled to the Isles." How much truth there is in the above it is difficult to say. It is at least based on hearsay. Colonel Durham knew Johnson well and was one of his friends in the Quasqueton affair, and Robert Ellis also knew him, as well as the members of the Abbe family. Whether Johnson was a Canadian or a citizen of the United States or had anything to do with the war of 1812 is uncertain. At least in Linn county he claimed to be the Bill Johnson of Canadian fame. For that reason he introduced this young woman as his daughter to carry out the story, as the original Johnson did have a daughter who carried news as well as food to him in his hiding. To supplement the above account may be mentioned the following from the "Early History of Dubuque," as written by L. H. Langworthy, and printed in the _Iowa Journal of History and Politics_, July, 1910: "In 1843 a most ludicrous affair occurred. A villainous fellow palmed himself upon the people of Buchanan county as the renowned patriot and celebrated hero of the Thousand Isles, Bill Johnson. This man, with his daughter Miss Kate Johnson, was suspected, it seems, of being any other than the far-famed Canadian patriot, by the citizens of Buchanan county, who thought fit to take Johnson out in the night, tie him to a tree and whip him severely with fifty lashes on his naked back. The offenders were arraigned before Judge Wilson. The court house was crowded by hundreds of eager spectators who listened with intense interest to the proceedings: all anxious to see the laws of our country administered faithfully. The prisoners' names were Evans, Spencer, Parrish, and Rowley, charged with burglary and riot. It appeared that these defendants accompanied by several other white men and five or six Indians after lynching Johnson, ordered him and his daughter to pack up their goods and be off in two hours, and not to return at the peril of their lives. Great sympathy was felt for this Johnson and the two tender females of his household, who were thrown out in the depth of winter and obliged to travel twenty-five miles over a cold and bleak prairie; so cold that it froze one of the lynchers themselves to death, another lost his feet, and several others were severely frozen. The citizens here declared that Johnson looked as if he was born to command, and betokened in every action that he was the same old Bill Johnson, the hero of the Thousand Isles, the Canadian patriot, and the great friend of human liberty and republican institutions; while all the young bloods of the town declared that Miss Kate Johnson was a very intelligent and interesting young lady, with rare accomplishments, agreeable manners and the worthy daughter of a gallant sire. The case was conducted on the part of the prosecution by James Crawford and General James Wilson; on the part of the defense by James Churchman and I. M. Preston: the counsel on both sides in their speeches were truly eloquent, they were fine efforts of legal talent, and so great was the interest taken in this trial that the ladies attended in goodly numbers until a late hour at night, determined to hear all the proceedings and speeches to which the occasion gave rise. Miss Kate Johnson received great attention and unequalled admiration as the celebrated heroine and daughter of the renowned patriot of the Thousand Isles. The jury after being out a short time returned a verdict of guilty; one was sentenced to the penitentiary for two years and the others to a fine of two hundred dollars, which imprisonment and fines however were afterwards remitted; for lo, and behold! the next thing we hear of the hero of the isles, is that he has grossly imposed himself upon the citizens of the place, he being a different man altogether from the Bill Johnson whom he represented, of a different name and style of character, a great thief and scoundrel. Letters were received showing these facts. The next news received from him by our crestfallen beaux of Dubuque, was that a Mr. Peck, a respectable man in Mahaska county, the place to which the family had removed, fell in love with Johnson's daughter, the heroic Kate, who returned his love. But old Bill would not give his consent to the marriage. So the two turtles fled to an adjoining county where they were united in bonds matrimonial. It was some time before the reputed father knew where his reputed daughter had gone. But as soon as he did, he pursued her and entered the house of Peck with pistol in hand and took her away unmolested. But a few days afterwards while Johnson was sitting in his own house he was shot through the heart with a rifle ball from between the chinks of the logs. Peck was arrested, but on trial acquitted. The lineage of the heroine was traced back to an obscure family in Ohio, her history and romance closing alike in contempt and infamy. [Illustration: BARNEY McSHANE CABIN Built in 1847 Near Springville] [Illustration: CABIN IN "CRACKER SETTLEMENT" NEAR MT. VERNON] "The young swains, and especially the editorial gallants, who were so greatly enamored with the charms of Miss Katherine Johnson while in our city, often rallied each other afterwards on the subject; and some who appeared from their newspaper eulogies to be the most moon-struck while the romance lasted, and had written the largest amount of very soft poetry on the lovely daughter of the hero of the Thousand Isles, were the first to forget the object of their adoration. Alas for the fickleness of man's affection and the mutability of his attachments." The above tells the story of how much trouble the various communities in Iowa had with bogus Bill Johnson and the various interpretations of the life and character of the outlaw and his alleged daughter. Mr. Ellis still insists that his interpretation of the life and character of this outlaw is as he tells it and no one perhaps knew the principal characters better than he did. Mr. Ellis was the first one who met Johnson in Wisconsin as he was about to emigrate into Iowa. He was one of the actors in the occurrence at the Phillips House in Marion, he was the old friend and companion of William Abbe and knew most of the men in the Bennett party, such as Evans, Parrish, Rowley, and others, and he met in California many years afterwards the heroine who had become the wife of Peck and there had a conversation with both of them. Mr. Ellis is of the opinion that when Johnson suddenly left Marion he went, to Missouri and later drifted back into Mahaska county, Iowa, where he was murdered. It was thought that Kate knew more about the murder than she let on, but living a life as she had lived it would not be best for her to tell all she knew of the various transactions with her so-called father. So far as Mr. Ellis ascertained Kate had reformed and carried herself in goodly repute among the miners of the far west where she was then known, it is said, at times as the Queen of the Thousand Isles. Her husband, it is stated, was a reputable person and had always stood well in the community up to the time of the Johnson murder, and what part, if any, he took in that no one ever knew. Bogus Bill Johnson is said to be buried in an unknown grave in Mahaska county and no stone has ever been found that marked his last resting place. Kate, Queen of the Thousand Isles, sleeps in one of the mountain valleys of the Sierras on the Pacific slope and no one knows just when she died or where she was buried. The dual lives of the characters in this drama ended as all such lives do end, in infamy and disgrace. CHAPTER XV _The Newspapers of the County_ BY FREDERICK J. LAZELL From the days of the early settlers until now the newspapers of Linn county have been among the most potent factors in the upbuilding of the community. They have been, as a rule, constructive newspapers. Their mission has been to build up, to help their communities grow in wealth and influence. The newspapers of the county have been noted for their sagacity and their breadth of vision, their conservatism and their tolerance. They have exerted a strong and a wholesome influence upon this and adjoining counties. In the state at large their influence for good has not been small. The old adage that the good die young has not been true of Linn county's newspapers. The best papers today are those which were started in the earliest days of the various towns in this county. They have prospered as their respective communities have prospered. Their publishers and editors have been, for the most part, men with personal and property interests in their respective communities. That is why they have been builders and boosters. Linn county's proud position among the counties of the state, commercially, intellectually, and politically, is largely due to the fact that men of ability and integrity have worked and written and fought for the things they knew would be helpful to their constituents. And this is as true of the weekly newspapers as it is of the daily press. Very few counties in the state have had such an able corps of newspaper writers. There were some weaklings, papers which were born and soon died. There have been a few freak newspapers. But not many. There have also been many able, brilliant young newspaper men who did good work in the Linn county editorial and newspaper offices for awhile and then left for larger fields of labor. Some of the county's ablest politicians and some of its most prominent business men have occasionally dabbled in newspapering, for the sake of some party or some pet project they were anxious to push through. That was in the earlier days. There has been very little of it in the county of late years. In the main the newspaper men of the county have been men to the manner born, with a knowledge of the business from the ground up, men to whom the smell of printer's ink is as essential to their enjoyment of life as the scent of the sea to a sailor. If, as Elbert Hubbard tells us, art is the expression of man's joy in his work, then nine-tenths of the newspaper men of Linn county have been real artists, for they have stuck to their papers when they might have made heaps more money in some other line of business. But this love of the work so characteristic among the brethren of the Linn county press doubtless has something to do with the fact that their readable papers are read and quoted by the readers of other papers, from one end of the state to the other. No chronological list of the newspapers of Linn county has been published, but it is interesting and instructive, and worthy of preservation in permanent form: 1851 _The Progressive Era_, started by D. O. Finch, in Cedar Rapids. 1852 _The Prairie Star_, started at Marion by A. Hoyt. Same year the name was changed to the _Linn County Register_, by J. H. and G. H. Jennison. 1854 Name of the _Progressive Era_ changed to the _Cedar Valley Times_. J. L. Enos assumes control. 1856 _Cedar Valley Farmer_ started in Cedar Rapids by J. L. Enos. This was a monthly agricultural paper. _Cedar Rapids Democrat_, started at Cedar Rapids by W. W. Perkins & Co. 1857 _The Voice of Iowa_, started at Cedar Rapids by J. L. Enos. Later this was called the _School Journal_. 1863 _Linn County Register_ bought by A. G. Lucas, who changes its name to the _Linn County Patriot_. 1864 _Linn County Patriot_ bought by Captain S. W. Rathbun, who changes its name to the _Marion Register_. 1865 The _Franklin Record_, started at Mt. Vernon by J. T. and J. S. Rice. 1866 The name of the _Franklin Record_ changed to the _Mt. Vernon Citizen_; passes into the hands of H. S. Bradshaw. 1867 The _Cedar Rapids Atlas_, started by A. G. Lucas. Lasted three months. 1868 _Western World_, started at Cedar Rapids. Republican in politics. J. L. Enos, editor. _Linn County Signal_, started in Marion by F. H. Williams. _Cedar Valley Times_ changes its name to the _Cedar Rapids Times_. 1869 The _Slovan-Ameriky_, started in Cedar Rapids by J. B. Letovsky. _Linn County Signal_ moves to Cedar Rapids. The _Daily Observer_, started in Cedar Rapids by J. L. Enos and T. G. Newman, father of A. H. Newman. _Linn County Hawk-Eye_, started at Mt. Vernon by J. T. Rice. Purchased the same year by S. H. Bauman, and its name changed to the _Mt. Vernon Hawk-Eye_. 1870 The _Daily Observer_, which had been started as a democratic paper, changes its name to the _Cedar Rapids Republican_, and changes its politics to correspond. 1871 The _Linn County Pilot_, started by C. W. Kepler at Mt. Vernon. 1872 Name of the _Cedar Rapids Republican_ changed to the _Daily Republican_. _Linn County Signal_ becomes the _Linn County Liberal_. 1873 The _Lotus_, started at Center Point by J. F. Wilson & Co. 1874 The _Linn County Pilot_ moved from Mt. Vernon to Marion by A. Beatty. The _Linn County Liberal_ moves from Marion to Cedar Rapids and takes the name of the _Standard_. The _Sun_ started at Lisbon by J. W. Zeigenfus. 1876 The _Center Point Mirror_, started at Center Point by T. J. Metcalf and S. M. Dunlap. 1879 The _Iowa Staats-Zeitung_, started at Cedar Rapids by A. Hunt. The _Iowa Farmer_, started at Cedar Rapids by Alex Charles. The _Independent_, started at Springville, editions also being printed for Prairieburg and Central City. The _Stylus_, started at Cedar Rapids by Ralph Van Vechten. 1882 The _People_, started at Cedar Rapids by A. J. Huss. The _New Era_, started at Springville by J. F. Butler, passing the same year into the hands of C. S. Shanklin. 1883 The _Walker News_, started at Walker by David Brant. The _Daily Gazette_, started in Cedar Rapids by Otis & Post. 1884 The Gazette Company organized in March and takes over the _Daily Gazette_. In July all the stock purchased by Fred W. Faulkes and Clarence L. Miller. The _Saturday Evening Chat_, started in Cedar Rapids by A. J. Huss. The _Linn County Pilot_ becomes the _Marion Pilot_, Rev. J. W. Chaffee, editor. 1886 The _Linn County Independent_ removes to Marion. 1888 _Kvinden og Hjemmet_, monthly illustrated magazine for the Norwegian and Danish women in America, with a Swedish edition, _Quinnan och Hemmet_, started at Cedar Rapids by N. Fr. Hansen. The _News-Letter_, started at Central City. 1889 _Town Topics_, started in Cedar Rapids by Ernest A. Sherman. The _Monitor_, started at Coggon. 1891 _Saturday Record_, started in Cedar Rapids by Sherman & Hatmaker. 1894 The _Herald_, started at Lisbon by W. F. Stahl. 1893 The _Record_, started at Mt. Vernon by Lloyd McCutcheon. 1902 _Iowa Post_ brought to Cedar Rapids from Iowa City by Henry Gundling. 1903 The _Tribune_, established by the Cedar Rapids Federation of Labor. 1906 The _Cedar Rapidske Liste_, Bohemian humorous weekly. The _Optimus_, started at Cedar Rapids by E. C. Barber. 1909 _West Side Enterprise_, started December 30th by W. I. Endicott, owner and publisher. Much of the early history of Linn county, and more especially of Cedar Rapids, is interwoven with the history of the _Progressive Era_, which afterwards became the _Cedar Rapids Times_. The _Progressive Era_ was established by D. O. Finch in 1851. It was democratic in politics and claimed to be devoted to the interests of Cedar Rapids and Linn county. It was a seven column, four page paper, and rather a credit to the town at that time. Worse papers have been published since. It was but a short time until Mr. Finch had all the newspaper experience he wanted. Joseph Greene then purchased the paper and ran it until 1854. During this time Ezra Van Metre, James J. Child, Esq., and James L. Enos were successively its editors. James L. Enos had something to do with nearly every paper that was started during the early days of Linn county. He loved the smell of printer's ink. The types had a fascination for him. He delighted to see his thoughts reproduced in print. In September, 1854, he and F. Augustus Williams purchased Mr. Greene's interest in the _Progressive Era_. They changed the name to the _Cedar Valley Times_. They changed the politics of the paper from democratic to the new Americanism of that time. Then came the organization of the republican party. Like other adherents to the American party living in the north, the editors of the _Times_ cast in their lot with the new republican party and warmly advocated and defended the principles on which it was founded. One J. G. Davenport figures also in the early history of the _Times_. He had acquired an interest in the paper, and during the campaign he was its nominal editor, although there were not wanting those who declared that he had not the ability to write a three line notice of a church supper, let alone an editorial. Anyway, he made the _Times_ his stepping stone into the postmaster's seat, and his conduct of that office was such that an investigation of his shortages followed. His bondsmen, one of whom was the late J. J. Snouffer, made good the loss, and shortly afterwards Davenport, after some more operations of a minor character and similar nature, left Cedar Rapids. They were rare old political fighters in those days. Politics, rather than news, was the chief end and aim of the owner of a newspaper. When Greene, Merritt & Co. closed out Davenport, having held a bill of sale on the _Times_ office, the Times was made the personal organ of Colonel William H. Merritt in his campaign against Kirkwood. To do this it had to change from republicanism to democracy, but it waged a hot fight, Colonel Merritt being its editor. However, Kirkwood was elected and in 1862 C. M. Hollis purchased the _Times_ and he made great success of it up to 1866 when he disposed of the paper to Ayers and McClelland. [Illustration: UNITED BRETHREN CHURCH, LISBON] [Illustration: MAIN STREET, MT. VERNON] Much might be written about some of the old printers who helped to publish those early Linn county newspapers. There has been a host of them and they have included some notable men. One was no less a personage than Mr. Rosewater, of the Omaha Bee, who once worked as a journeyman printer in the office of the _Slovan-Americky_. It was when he was on his way to the west. Some of the old printers have long since passed away. One of the latest of them was Stephen M. Jones, who died at Hampton four years ago. Concerning his work here in Cedar Rapids, Captain J. O. Stewart, himself one of the veteran printers of the state, writes interestingly as follows: "Stephen Jones commenced to learn the trade in the _Progressive Era_ office in this city, in the year 1851, serving a four years' apprenticeship, at the end of which time he went to Vinton and worked in the _Eagle_ office, at that time conducted by Fred Layman, I believe. The office of the _Progressive Era_ was located on the corner of First street and Third avenue, where the Warfield-Pratt-Howell wholesale building now stands, and was the first paper published in Cedar Rapids. It was an old frame building erected by the Greene brothers and formerly used as a store room. At the time of this story the lower floor front was used on Sundays by the Episcopal church for service, the printing office was overhead and the back part, three stories, including basement, was used as a store room for dressed hogs. 'Steve,' as he was called, and your correspondent were what was known as 'printer's devils.' After some years residence in Vinton Steve got about a wheelbarrow load of material and started his paper in Hampton and christened it the _Hampton Chronicle_, which is still among the live, able newspapers in Iowa. He was later appointed postmaster of Hampton, which position he held for twelve years. "There is one other who would rank with us if he is still living, and he was a few years ago, on his farm near Lone Tree in Johnson county. His name is Dan Shaffer. Dan, with a Mr. Foster, whose first name I have forgotten, were employed in the office doing the work on the Iowa Supreme Court Reports by Justice George Greene, formerly of this city. This was a book of some 600 or more pages and an edition of 500 volumes. This book can be found on the shelves of many of the Iowa lawyers, especially the older practitioners. This work was all done on a Washington hand press and 500 impressions was considered a good day's work. Steve's principal business, until he was relieved by the writer, was to ink the forms from which the impressions were made. This was done by passing over the type forms two large rollers made of glue and molasses, leaving and returning onto a large wooden roller revolved by a crank at one end, which process equally distributed the ink which was applied to the two rollers by a still smaller one and designated the 'brayer'--old printers will recognize the article. For nearly two years this was the principal part of the writer's duties, interspersed with hunting up and down the banks of the river dragging out floating slabs that got away from the saw mills up at the dam, for fuel for the office, the proprietors being too poor to buy cordwood at $1.75 per cord. The paper was published by Dan O. Finch who later became distinguished as a lawyer of high ability. The last I knew of him, a few years ago, he was still living, making his home with a son some place on the Pacific coast,--Seattle, I believe. The other publisher was William Williams, son of Chief Justice Williams of this state. The material was owned by the Greene brothers. Some time later the _Era_ office was moved to the building that stood on the corner where the Rudolph store now is. The proprietors changed hands pretty often, and finally the paper came into the hands of Robert and LeRoy McCabe, older brothers of the famous Chaplain Charles C. McCabe, who then clerked for Greene Bros. in their store under the printing office. The Masonic lodge room was in the third story of this building. While the McCabe brothers conducted the paper your correspondent graduated and started out as a full fledged journeyman printer. It may be of interest to the craft of the day to give your correspondent's salary. The first year he was to receive $35, second $50, third $75, and the fourth the princely sum of $100. Out of this he was supposed to pay his board and furnish his clothing. The first job he secured after his apprenticeship was $10 per week and pay his own board. This was in the year 1856. "The tramping jour. printers of those days, like Bret Harte's Heathen Chinee, were peculiar. As a class they were the best of workmen; bright and intelligent, knowing the 'art preservative' thoroughly, but possessed of that roving disposition so common to all printers of that time, and many of them given to drink. They would work for a time and get a little ahead and then get on a 'toot' and seek newer fields. They often resorted to peculiar methods to procure a job. I recall an incident while I was yet the 'devil' of the _Era_ office. It was on the day we were moving the office to the new quarters. The heavy press and material had to be skidded from the second floor to the ground through a large door in the front of the building. When the heavier part of the press was partly down a rather tall, strong built, intelligent looking man put in an appearance. He watched the process for a short time not saying a word. Finally he took from his pocket a slip of dirty paper and wrote on it 'don't you need some help?' and handed it to the proprietor, Mr. Robert McCabe. He was asked if he could talk. His reply was simply by signs indicating that he was deaf and dumb. He proved an excellent help and stayed for more than three months, never indicating that he could speak. He was a skilled printer, but cross and particular, and often we 'devils' called him hard names to his face. But his time had come and he must have his periodical, and he did. He threw his money to the kids on the streets and had a jolly time, never once indicating he could speak. About the third day he came into the office and took Mr. McCabe to the lodge room above and wrote: 'What will they do to me if I talk?' Being assured that he would not be harmed and to the astonishment of the boss he reached out his hand and exclaimed, 'How are you, Bob?' The same surprise was waiting for the rest of us, and you may be assured we 'devils,' who had been giving him such choice names, were looking for a chance to hide. He soon left and I never heard of him again. "As I have said, the publishers changed often, and for some time after the McCabe brothers left the paper it was hard to tell just who did manage the paper, the Greenes owning the material. After many vicissitudes, which all the papers of that early day had to pass through, it fell into the hands of Joseph Davenport, a practical printer who associated with him James L. Enos, well known and well remembered by the earlier settlers, who changed the name of the paper and re-christened it the _Cedar Valley Times_. Later it was changed to the _Cedar Rapids Times_, and was, after changing hands many times, finally owned by Dr. McClelland and L. M. Ayers, who published it for years, when it finally died of old age, owned and published by Dr. McClelland. The old _Progressive Era_ was the original progenitor of your present _Daily Times_." Full of interest are those old files of the _Times_ which deal with the beginning of the war period in the history of Linn county. There is the description of a "democratic field day" in Cedar Rapids, October 10, 1860, when Stephen A. Douglas came over from Iowa City and spoke to the multitude. Bands came from Vinton and Mt. Vernon; drum corps from Bertram and Cedar Rapids. A local merchant bought a barrel of good whiskey, diluted it sufficiently to accommodate the capacity of the six thousand who made up the audience, sold all of it and counted the meeting as the best thing which ever had happened in Cedar Rapids. There was a parade of the "Wide-awakes" that night, and the visiting bands remained over to furnish a part of the inspiration. There were big posters, beginning with the couplet "O, dinna ye hear the slogan, boys? 'Tis Douglas and his men." That gave the editor of the _Times_ an opportunity to write the first scare head which ever appeared in a Cedar Rapids newspaper. With the true newspaper instinct he remembered that slogan and used it for a sting at the end of the headline. This was the headline the week of the election: "ELECTION OVER ABRAHAM LINCOLN IS PRESIDENT-ELECT Shout the Glad Tidings, Exultingly Sing; Old Abe is Elected and Cotton Ain't King--Secession Rebuked--Popular Sovereignty Now Here--Fusion Worse Confounded--The Bell Tolling for the Dead--Union Preserved--Dinna Ye Hear the Slogan." Mr. C. M. Hollis, who was editor of the _Cedar Valley Times_ from 1862 to 1866, gives an illuminating insight into the history of Linn county during the early days of the war: "My office in Cedar Rapids was naturally the meeting place of politicians. There the men who controlled or sought to control got together and talked plainly. And the plain talk of politicians is very different from the phrasings which they use in public speeches. It was thus that our Linn county leaders reasoned. 'This war is becoming something in which the whole people have intense interest. They will judge of men from the fact of participation or opposition. When the struggle is over the men who control in politics will be those who have been soldiers.' And so these men went after commissions. They were wise and far-seeing and reaped reward of their prudence as well as of their valor. I saw the commission of one Linn county man made out for the majoralty in an Iowa regiment, not only before the regiment had been organized, but even before a single company had been raised. I saw another for a colonelcy, fixed out ahead in the same way, by reason of political grace and pull. Not but what these men, and others, made good officers. I am only explaining the reasoning which prompted some of them to enter service, and the means which were most efficacious in securing prominent places. "And after a time it was considered that to get a high commission was tantamount to drawing a big political prize. Men were thus rewarded for their assistance given to successful candidates, and opponents found their way to army prominence beset with many obstacles. You know that a movement was started in Linn county to defeat Kirkwood for governor for the second term. This developed considerable strength, and a ticket was nominated with William H. Merritt of Cedar Rapids at its head. Merritt had been lieutenant-colonel of the First Iowa, and his was known as the 'fusion' ticket. It was an attempt to combine 'war democrats' and some elements of the republican party. Kirkwood was successful, and those men who had sought his defeat were, naturally, persona non grata with the state government. When commissions were going they were not remembered. Seymour D. Carpenter was one of these. But he did finally become surgeon of a regiment, because there was crying need for surgeons. Then when he was away from gubernatorial influence promotion was rapid, and the doctor was given a position as medical director of a department. Ellsworth N. Bates was another who suffered because of participation in the anti-Kirkwood movement. Mr. Bates persisted, however, and his merits and standing could not be ignored. He was elected captain of a company. With his regiment he served with more than usual credit, until he sickened and came home to die. There were others in Cedar Rapids and in Linn county who had similar experiences. Some of those who are still living, if they would but give full statements, would verify my remark that the proportion of politics mixed with the patriotism of those times was greater than is generally known. "Speaking of Ellsworth N. Bates recalls to mind one whose name deserves to be remembered in Cedar Rapids and in Linn county. He came to the town fresh from college. He was a real scholar and a man of rare natural abilities. He had the art of making friends--of gaining and retaining esteem of all who knew him. He was one of the very best public speakers I have ever heard--quick to respond to varying occasion, with ready thought and a phenomenal command of language. His choice of words and use of appropriate imagery made his addresses models of their kind. As a lawyer he met with instant success. He represented Linn county in the legislature, and was acknowledged as a strong man among the law-makers. He made a splendid fight for the state senatorship candidacy, against H. G. Angle. He was assistant secretary of the second constitutional convention of Iowa. When the war broke out he was one of those who did much to rouse sentiment for support of the government. Then he raised Company A of the Twentieth, and proved himself a real soldier in camp and field. When he came home, near to death, he had lost none of his old enthusiasm. He and I were intimate friends, and to me he told his plans for the future. Had E. N. Bates lived, I know that he would have ranked among the real statesmen of Iowa. As it was he accomplished more and had greater influence upon contemporaneous affairs than many whose deeds are very carefully preserved." Mr. Hollis also tells us how newspapers were made in that awful period of the nation's history: "We were not sensationalists in those days. The events that we had to chronicle needed no trickery of headlines or large type to command attention. Here are the lists of dead and wounded in an Iowa regiment at the battle of Winchester," and the old editor opened a file of the _Times_ for 1864-65. "Do you think it needed a flaming poster effect to secure reading of that column? There are the names of friends and neighbors. To some of the readers of that paper those names represented their dearest ones. Those who had brothers or fathers, or sons or sweethearts in that regiment read over the battle lists with a fearful anxiety. We were giving weekly chronicle of facts--they have not yet been arranged into the order of definite history. When we wrote editorials it was not pretended that we understood all there was to the struggle. Only when and where we caught the partial views or grasped the immediate meaning of some development we gave our opinions. These may have been prejudiced by our personal sentiments or our political affiliations, but I believe, as a rule, the editorial utterances of those years were from the souls of the writers and had the ring of sincerity. And, with but few exceptions, the newspapers of Iowa were loyal. They directed or seconded loyal sentiment on all occasions. Few of the editors of those weeklies gained wealth or distinction, but they deserve to be remembered for a splendid work. They, too, are among 'the forgotten worthies.' It cost money to run even a weekly paper during the war years. When I began as publisher of the _Times_ print paper cost $6 a bundle; before the war was over I was paying $16 for the same quality and amount. And wages ran up and up, as printers were more difficult to secure; until I was paying double what I had first found necessary." At the close of the war the newspapers of the county began to turn their attention to other evils. A wave of temperance sentiment swept the county, and some of the editors were foremost among the fighters. The county was aroused by the great amount of crime. Much of it emanated from Cedar Rapids. "Can we expect," asked one writer in Cedar Rapids, "peace and quiet in a place of 3,000 inhabitants which supports not fewer than nineteen liquor establishments and several houses of ill fame and does not support a single reading room nor a public library?" [Illustration: ALEXANDER LAURANCE Long Prominent in Cedar Rapids] Then, as now, the newspapers were the best "boosters" of their respective communities. They were the first to point out the advantages in each community and to suggest ways in which natural advantages might lead to commercial growth and civic prosperity. Thus a writer in a Cedar Rapids paper, after enumerating and commending the progress made by the town since its organization, dwelt upon the value of the water power, pointed out how the woolen mills then in operation might be made more effective. There was an abundance of timber around Cedar Rapids at that time and he advocated the establishment of saw mills in the city. He saw no reason why staves should be brought all the way from Michigan to Cedar Rapids, when they might as well be manufactured here at home. He advocated that a packing house be established in this city, instead of shipping the hogs from Cedar Rapids to Chicago and then shipping the meat back. "This is only one item that would keep thousands of dollars in our town that now go out," he argued. He wanted a hub and a spoke factory, a fanning mill factory, and as for a "paper mill there is no better point in the state." History moves in ever repeating cycles and some of the things for which this old editor fought are still needed today in Cedar Rapids and in other towns of Linn county. But each cycle is better than the last. Proof of this is seen in the dispute which was waged over freight rates less than a decade after the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska Railway had been built into this city. The grain rates from Cedar Rapids to Chicago were thirty cents a hundred pounds and the noise of protest which was made then was quite similar to the noise which is sometimes THE NEWSPAPER GRAVEYARD The newspaper graveyard was established very early in the history of the county and it is still claiming its victims. Among its early victims was the _Cedar Rapids Democrat_. It was issued by W. W. Perkins & Co. Somehow or other, democracy never flourished greatly in the Linn county newspaper field, and the early democratic editors had not learned the art of switching to a "progressive" side. So their papers died. The _Democrat_ lived a year and a half. It deserved a better fate, for it was well edited and printed. In 1853 a monthly agricultural paper called the _Cedar Valley Farmer_ was commenced by James L. Enos. It lived through the first volume, but a grave was opened for it before it had reached the tender age of two years. The _Voice of Iowa_ was commenced in January, 1857, under the auspices of the Iowa Teachers and Phonetic associations, James L. Enos editor-in-chief, assisted by a board of corresponding editors. It was continued through two volumes and was then merged with another journal. In the autumn of 1864 A. G. Lucas & Co. commenced the publication of the _Cedar Rapids Atlas_. In January, 1865, it was changed to a weekly. Then it was enlarged. Its place in the newspaper graveyard was prepared a few weeks later. The editor and publisher had gone to study the geography of other fields, but he did not take his debts with him. The office was sold to satisfy them. This so weakened the shoulders of the _Atlas_ that it was not strong enough to hold up. The _Western World_ was born into a cold and unresponsive world, and soon it joined the ranks of the dear departed. Then came the _Linn County Signal_ which its authors hoped would be a signal success. But its signals became tangled and it failed to kick over the goal of success. It kicked the bucket instead. T. G. Newman, the father of A. H. Newman of the Cedar Rapids Candy Company, purchased the remains. From them he made the office of the _Daily Observer_, with J. L. Enos as editor. From the _Observer_ came the _Cedar Rapids Republican_. This was in 1870. In 1902 there was re-born the _Cedar Rapids Times_. The father _Republican_ and the strong and lusty son _Times_ are both in the full vigor of their powers, and this evolution of the two powerful dailies from the amoeba-like weakly _Signal_ is the most conspicuous example of newspaper evolution and the survival of the fittest on record. The present _Cedar Rapids Times_ is not to be confounded with the _Cedar Rapids Weekly Times_ which had such a long and prosperous growth under the management of Editor Hollis, and later of the good Doctor McClelland. The _Weekly Times_ lived until the death of Doctor McClelland, and it was a power for good. Then came two gentlemen from Milwaukee who converted it into a daily. They had a great run as long as their cash and their credit held out. And they were good newspaper men, too. But they drew nearer and nearer the gateway to the great and yawning newspaper graveyard. There were many mourners in Cedar Rapids when the _Times_ was buried. It had been purified before its death by its conspicuous work in a great tent revival conducted by an evangelist, M. B. Williams. This revival the other dailies refused even to mention. The _Times_ had a great deal of broadcloth endorsement. But the eulogies proved to be its premature obituaries. Cash came slowly. Advertising was coy. With the fall of the leaves came the death of the _Times_. The _Gazette_ bought up the household furnishings, the subscription lists and the good will. But the _Times_ was buried, and the ghost of competition which had haunted the _Gazette_ office was laid until the owners of the present _Evening Times_ resurrected the name amid a riot of red ink during the strenuous municipal campaign of 1902. STANDARD HAD A LONG LIFE The _Cedar Rapids Standard_, like the _Cedar Valley Times_, had a long life. It was first established in Marion in 1868, as the _Linn County Signal_, by F. H. Williams. The following year it was removed to Cedar Rapids, and Thomas G. Newman became the owner. In 1872 the name was changed to the _Linn County Liberal_, and the office was moved back to Marion. In 1873 James T. Simpkins became editor. The following year the plant made a final trip to Cedar Rapids and was changed to the _Standard_. For a long time it flourished, having a number of owners and editors. Among them were Thomas G. Newman, C. E. Heath, A. H. Newman, D. H. Ogden, H. A. Cook, Frank L. Millar, and in June, 1880, Charles H. Playter, of the Des Moines _Daily Leader_, came to town and bought a half interest of Mr. Millar. The firm name became Millar & Playter. This partnership continued until the fall of 1885, when Mr. Playter bought out his partner and became the sole owner. In the fall of 1886 Mr. Playter sold the _Standard_ to S. B. Ayers, who conducted it through the triumphal period of Iowa democracy, when Horace Boies sat in the gubernatorial chair. It was a strong democratic paper and had a large patronage in Linn county at that time. Later L. S. Saner became the editor. But the hard times came. Rightly or wrongly they were blamed on the democratic party. Republicanism triumphed; McKinley was elected. The _Standard_ of the democratic party was trailed in the dust. It soon died and took its place in the Cedar Rapids journalistic graveyard. The _Marion Pilot_ was established in 1871 at Mt. Vernon, as the _Linn County Pilot_, and C. W. Kepler was editor. In 1874 the office was removed to Marion and the paper was owned by Beatty & Whittits. It continued under this management for several years and was one of the strong republican papers of the county. In 1884 it was purchased by the Rev. J. W. Chaffee and its name was changed to the _Marion Pilot_. He built up a good paper, putting it in the front rank of the weekly papers of the state. But with his passing from the editorial chair and the rapid rise of the daily press in Cedar Rapids and its rival county seat newspapers its power and prestige waned. In 1906 it yielded up the ghost and was assigned to an honored place among those that have passed on. _The Good Ones Which Remain_ THE DAILY REPUBLICAN AND THE EVENING TIMES As narrated above, the _Daily Republican_ is the outgrowth of the daily _Observer_. In 1872 the _Observer_ was transferred to the Republican Printing Company, and the name, which at first was the _Cedar Rapids Republican_, was changed to the _Daily Republican_, the present name of the paper. A daily and weekly issue was published and the paper grew rapidly. For a time it was edited by William B. Leach. In 1877 it passed into the hands of the Republican Printing Company, who put in a great amount of capital and enlarged the office. There were many editors during this period. In March, 1881, the office was leased to J. R. Sage and D. G. Goodrich, with an option of sale within a year. During this period the paper was changed from an evening to a morning issue and an Associated Press franchise was secured, giving the paper full news service. Before the lease had expired Messrs. Sage and Goodrich had exercised their right to purchase the plant. On March 1, 1882, it was transferred to J. R. Sage, Johnson Brigham, Fred Benzinger, and H. P. Keyes. This quartette reorganized the old Republican Printing Company, with J. R. Sage as president. Nearly two years later Mr. Sage transferred his interest to Mr. Brigham, and later on Messrs. Keyes and Benzinger transferred their interest to L. S. Merchant. Messrs. Brigham and Merchant conducted the paper, Mr. Merchant as business manager and Mr. Brigham as editor, until 1892, when Mr. Brigham sold his interest and went to Des Moines to start the first Iowa literary magazine, the _Midland Monthly_. Mr. Sage had previously gone to Des Moines to become the director of the Iowa weather and crop service. Mr. Brigham's interest was purchased by Luther A. Brewer, who had been assistant business manager, W. R. Boyd, who had done some editorial work for the paper while living at home in Cedar county, and by L. S. Merchant. The paper was at the beginning of what seemed to be an uninterrupted period of ownership and prosperity when death suddenly claimed Mr. Merchant in 1894. Mrs. Merchant retained her husband's interest and the paper went on as before and waged a fight against free silver in the campaign of 1896 which made it nationally prominent. Mr. Brewer in the meantime had built up a very large job printing and book binding department. In 1898 the entire plant was sold to H. G. McMillan, of Rock Rapids, at that time United States district attorney, and Cyrenus Cole, who had for many years been associate editor of the _Iowa State Register_. Mr. Boyd became postmaster at Cedar Rapids, but Mr. Brewer remained with the paper as its business manager for some time. An evening edition, the _Evening Times_, was started in 1902, and made a rapid growth. It now has the largest circulation of any daily paper in Cedar Rapids. In 1907 Mr. Brewer left the business and opened up a big book-making plant of his own known as The Torch Press. In July of the same year however, The Torch Press bought out the interest of Mr. McMillan and the _Daily Republican_ and the _Evening Times_ have since been owned and published by Messrs. Brewer and Cole. The substantial building on Second avenue which had been erected during the regime of Messrs. Brigham and Merchant proved far too small and the property was sold. A large and modern newspaper and book-making building, four stories high, was erected at the corner of Fourth avenue and Third street, the present home of the _Daily Republican_, the _Evening Times_, The Torch Press Printery and Bindery, and The Torch Press Book-shop, which latter is managed by William Harvey Miner and is the biggest and most largely patronized book shop west of Chicago. THE EVENING GAZETTE There is not a great deal of "history" concerning the Cedar Rapids _Evening Gazette_, which has been one of the conspicuous successes among Iowa daily newspapers since it was started in 1883. On June 10 of that year, the daily _Gazette_ was founded by Messrs. Otis and Post. A weekly issue of the paper was started at the same time. In March, 1884, the Gazette Company was organized, and in July of that year the entire stock was purchased by Messrs. Fred W. Faulkes and Clarence L. Miller. The paper has had the same ownership ever since that time. The late editor Faulkes was a pungent and versatile writer, and under his editorial management the _Gazette_ rapidly rose to a commanding position in the Iowa newspaper field. It began as a republican newspaper. But after the memorable Frank D. Jackson campaign in 1893 Editor Faulkes became estranged from Governor Jackson and some of the other leaders of the republican party. Thereafter he was inclined to espouse the cause of democracy and the _Gazette_ came to be regarded as the democratic newspaper of Linn county. Still later it grew more independent, in matters of politics. Since the death of Fred Faulkes the _Gazette_ has been published under the supervision of its business manager Clarence L. Miller. Like the other dailies of the city it has abandoned the weekly field. THE SATURDAY RECORD The _Saturday Record_ is the outgrowth of a little amateur paper started away back in 1879 by Ralph Van Vechten, at present vice-president of the Continental and Commercial National Bank of Chicago. He was then a student with a taste for printer's ink and he started a little literary paper, known as the _Stylus_. Soon after that he was joined by Arthur J. Huss, and the two of them ran the _Stylus_. In the spring of 1882 Mr. Van Vechten went into his uncle's bank. The paper passed into the hands of A. J. Mallahan, and after a little time was temporarily discontinued. But Mr. Huss gained new courage and perhaps new capital. September 10, 1882, he started the _Cedar Rapids People_. It continued as a seven column folio until March, 1884, when it was bought by Fred Benzinger and R. Baer and its name changed to the _Saturday Evening Chat_. July 1, 1887, Fred Benzinger bought out Mr. Baer's interest and ran the paper for a number of years until he went to Chicago, where for a time he was one of the prominent figures on the old Chicago _Times-Herald_. Then the paper was acquired by B. R. Hatmaker, forever famous because of the sobriquet for Cedar Rapids which flashed into his mind one dreamful day--"The Parlor City." In 1889 Ernest A. Sherman came to this city and was city editor of the morning _Republican_ for a while. In February. 1891, he started _Town Topics_. He ran it until late in the spring of that year and then he consolidated with Hatmaker's _Saturday Record_. He became the editor, and Hatmaker was business manager until 1892 when Mr. Sherman bought the whole business. Since that time the _Record_ has been a permanent feature in Cedar Rapids, the largest and neatest of the weeklies, being printed in quarto form on book paper with many illustrations and spicy comment on "mentionable matters" of Cedar Rapids, with all the local news well edited. THE IOWA POST The _Iowa Post_ was founded in April, 1881, at Iowa City. After passing through the hands of several owners, it was purchased in March, 1902, by Henry Gundling of Chicago and brought to this city. Mr. Gundling changed the paper from a weekly to a semi-weekly and in an incredibly short time he had trebled the number of his subscribers. Mr. Gundling had a high school education in Germany, followed by an apprenticeship there of three years. He had sixteen years experience in Chicago and he has travelled extensively on three continents. He is, therefore, thoroughly equipped as an editor and this accounts for the high standard of his paper which is eagerly read by a very large constituency in this and adjoining counties and especially at the colony of Amana. [Illustration: OLD M. E. CHURCH, MT. VERNON] [Illustration: STREET SCENE IN LISBON] THE WEST SIDE ENTERPRISE The _West Side Enterprise_ is one of the latest newspapers in the Linn county field, having been started December 30, 1909. But it is one of the liveliest as well as one of the latest. W. I. Endicott is the owner and publisher, and he is a whole newspaper force in himself. Every issue of the _Enterprise_ contains something which makes somebody sit up and take notice. It is a paper devoted to the work of booming the west side; but it is read on both sides of the river by an ever increasing number of readers. IOWA STAATS-ZEITUNG The _Iowa Staats-Zeitung_ was established in the year 1879 by A. Hunt, who continued as publisher and editor for many years--until he retired from the newspaper business. The paper was then bought by John Young and afterwards sold to the Charles Stoudt Printing Company, who came from Des Moines to Cedar Rapids to make their home. The company consists of Charles Stoudt, the publisher, and E. J. Stoudt, editor. The paper is one of the largest German weeklies in the state, publishing from twelve to twenty-four pages each issue and going all over the state. It guarantees to have the largest circulation of any German paper published in Iowa. OTHER CEDAR RAPIDS PAPERS Several other Cedar Rapids newspapers ought to be mentioned. The _Cedar Rapids Listy_, a Bohemian humorous paper, was established in 1906. Fr. Hradecky is its editor and publisher. The _Optimus_ is a republican weekly edited by E. C. Barber, and is a most uncompromising foe of democracy in all its form. It was established in 1906. The _Slovan-Ameriky_ is a democratic Bohemian paper, one of the oldest, for it was established in 1869 and has held the even tenor of its way since that time through the sunshine and storm of democracy. John B. Letovsky & Sons are the editors and publishers, and they have been putting out a good paper week in and week out, year after year. The _Tribune_ is the organ of the Federation of Labor in Cedar Rapids. It was started in 1903 and has had a remarkable success. Its first editor was G. F. Taylor who gave the paper a great start and it is now edited by R. G. Stewart, who fills its columns full of gingery stuff week after week and shines best when there is a big political scrap on hand. THE MARION REGISTER In 1852 one A. Hoyt came all the way from New York to blaze the way of modern journalism on the prairies of Iowa. He established a paper called the _Prairie Star_. But the _Star_ didn't shine long. Mr. Hoyt found Iowa so different from old New York. Like the wise men of the east, after he had let go of most of the treasures he brought with him he retraced his steps to the east and the paper passed into the hands of J. H. and G. H. Jennison. They were Whigs with a big W and they renamed the _Star_ as the _Linn County Register_. When the republican party was organized, the _Linn County Register_ became one of its most able and enthusiastic advocates in the county. The late Judge N. M. Hubbard was in active politics at that time and during that memorable campaign he conducted the _Register_. Ah, "thim were the days." The judge was a past master in the art of "skinning" an opponent. That was the method of political fighting in those days and no editor ever had a sharper knife than Judge Hubbard. He used to say in later years that it was one of the most enjoyable periods of his whole life. "I made the paper grow," he said. "Everybody wanted to get it to see whose hide was put on the fence that week." The judge lived to tell the tale, but after the fun was all over and the battle had been won he decided that railroad law practice was more profitable than editing a newspaper. The _Register_ passed back into the editorship of J. H. Jennison. The next year Robert Holmes became its editor and subsequently its proprietor. He held this position for five years and it was five years of the most important period in the history of the county. Mr. Holmes successfully conducted the paper through the great struggle of the Civil war, and up till 1863 when he sold it to A. G. Lucas. Its name was then changed to the _Linn County Patriot_. In September, 1864, there came from Cedar county, a young soldier-lawyer, S. W. Rathbun. He purchased the plant and changed the name of the paper to the _Marion Register_. He has been editor of the _Register_ ever since that time. He has a few more gray hairs, a few more wrinkles, and a bit more avoirdupois than he had then, but he still wields a trenchant pen, still makes the _Register_ a readable and interesting paper. It has been one of the most influential papers among the weekly press of Linn county, and has always been firmly republican. THE MARION SENTINEL The _Marion Sentinel_ was originally called the _Springville Independent_, being established at Springville in the year 1879 by Fred Chamberlain, who afterwards served as county superintendent of the schools of Linn county. It was a seven-column folio, independent in politics, the forerunner of the independent papers of the county. It grew rapidly, and by 1884 had increased to a twelve-page paper. An edition was also published for Prairieburg, and one for Central City. In 1885 it had a circulation of 1600. It met with some reverses in 1886 and on July 1 of that year it was moved to Marion and its name changed to the _Linn County Independent_. Mr. Chamberlain made a big success of it in Marion. The name of the paper was then changed to the _Marion Sentinel_. Later O. M. Smith was taken into partnership. The paper then changed from an independent to a democratic paper, and has remained democratic until the present time, the only simon pure democratic paper in Linn county at the present time. In July, 1891, Mr. Smith sold the paper to Mr. J. J. Galliven, at that time employed as train dispatcher for the Milwaukee railroad. He conducted it for less than three months, selling it on September 19, 1891, to its present owner, T. T. Williams. During the greater part of the time since then C. S. Shanklin, one of the ablest political writers of the state, has been in charge of the _Sentinel's_ editorial page. The paper is one of the brightest and newsiest in the county. THE MT. VERNON HAWKEYE That splendid Linn county paper, the _Mt. Vernon Hawkeye_, was established January 1, 1869, by J. T. Rice, as the _Linn County Hawk-Eye_. Mr. Rice was well known in the early history of the county, and in late years was a resident of Denver, Colorado, where he died within the past year. The _Hawk-Eye_ was bought by S. H. Bauman on June 1, 1869, within five months after the paper was established, and its name was changed to the _Mount Vernon Hawk-Eye_. Mr. S. H. Bauman continued the business and was joined in partnership by his son, A. A. Bauman, January 1, 1892. On July 1, 1899, S. H. Bauman retired entirely, and the paper was then conducted by his sons, A. A. and Fred A. Bauman. This partnership was dissolved November 17, 1909, since which time the paper has been published by A. A. Bauman. The paper has always been republican in politics and has never been shaken by the winds of temporary popular prejudice or passion. It has had an abiding conviction of political honesty and integrity and it has been conducted on a high plane. It has rendered good service in the building up of Mt. Vernon and the county generally. THE WALKER NEWS The _Walker News_ was established as a seven-column folio in February, 1883, by David Brant, at present the owner and editor of the Iowa City _Daily Republican_. He continued as owner and editor for seven years, and then the paper passed to the hands of Charles A. Durno, Mr. Brant going to Cedar Rapids to become city editor of the _Gazette_. In July, 1891, Mr. Durno sold a half interest in the business to C. O. and J. Barry, who, in January, 1892, acquired the remaining half interest, Mr. Durno retiring. Mr. Durno was later appointed to a position in the government printing office at Washington, D. C, and died in that city a few years ago. The Barrys are still in possession of the _News_, which is one of the brightest and most influential newspapers in the county. THE CENTER POINT JOURNAL The _Center Point Journal_ is a republican weekly, owned and edited by J. A. Mahuran, one of the ablest of the Linn county newspaper men. The paper has had its ups and downs and for a time it was chiefly noted for its ardent campaign for a fishway in the dam across the Cedar river at Cedar Rapids. That was during the days of Editor Barber. The Journal grew out of the _Lotus_ which was started at Center Point, May 15, 1873, by J. F. Wilson & Co. T. J. Metcalf was its first editor, and he filled the leaves of the _Lotus_ with spice and sweetness until 1874 when W. T. Baker took charge and subsequently committed suicide. But that was not the fault of the _Lotus_. The office was then sold to H. A. Cook, of Cedar Rapids. In 1876 T. J. Metcalf and S. M. Dunlap purchased the plant and changed the name of the paper to the _Center Point Mirror_, the first issue appearing November 18. Then Mr. Metcalf bought out Mr. Dunlap's interest, and afterwards G. L. Wilson became the owner, changing its name to the _Courier-Journal_. M. A. Oxley and Charles F. Floyd afterwards bought the paper and it finally reached the hands of its present owner. THE SPRINGVILLE NEW ERA Springville is one of the best of the Linn county towns and it has one of the best of the Linn county papers, the Springville _New Era_. Its first issue appeared August 9, 1882. It was a six-column folio, independent in politics, and was established by J. B. F. Butler. In November, 1882, C. S. Shanklin became its editor. At this time it was changed to a six-column quarto. It became a democratic paper but lately grew towards independence in politics, a growing tendency among modern newspapers. There were some more changes of ownership and finally the paper was purchased by O. E. Crane, its present publisher and editor, under whom it has risen to a popularity and prosperity never before attained. THE LISBON HERALD Lisbon has one good weekly, the _Herald_. The _Sun_ was the first paper having been started August 27, 1874, by J. W. Zeigenfus. It was not a success at the start, or at least it did not bring in the coin of the realm rapidly enough to suit its proprietor, and he soon sold it to C. J. Weatherbee. He held it for a few weeks and sold it to W. T. Baker. Baker managed it admirably for a time but he later shot himself through the head in his office and for a time the paper was conducted by W. L. Davis for his widow. Then the Rev. Dewalt S. Fouse became its editor and did some good work upon it. So did A. M. Floyd, one of the best of Linn county's newspaper men. But finally the _Sun_ went down. The _Herald_ has been vigorous and active and prosperous since it was established in 1894 and it was never so prosperous as now. Under the able management of Will F. Stahl the paper has grown in size and in circulation and every issue is filled with up-to-date news and interesting comment. It is a paper of which Lisbon should be proud. CENTRAL CITY NEWS-LETTER Situated in a valley of entrancing beauty, the valley of the Wapsie river, Central City is one of the most beautiful towns in Iowa and it certainly is one of the most up-to-date. Much of its growth and its prestige is due to the fact that for many years it has had a first-class newspaper. The _Central City News-Letter_, which was started in 1888, has had a line of able men as its editors and they have all done their best to make the city grow. None of them ever worked harder at it than E. S. Weatherbee, who is the owner and the editor of the paper, the postmaster, the mayor, and an all-around booster for his town. THE COGGON MONITOR Since 1889 Coggon has had a newspaper, the _Coggon Monitor_. It has had a number of owners, but it is established on a firm basis. Clarence Cole was the editor until April of this year, when he sold the paper to William Crosier. THE MT. VERNON RECORD In 1893, the _Mount Vernon Record_ was established and it has had a successful and gratifying growth under the management of Lloyd McCutcheon, its publisher and editor. Advertising came slowly at first, as it always does to a new paper, but at present the merchants of Mt. Vernon are giving it good support. The paper has been "progressive"--strongly progressive in its editorial policies and there are many progressives in that neighborhood who have backed it. [Illustration: SCHOOL, FAIRFAX] [Illustration: METHODIST CHURCH AND PARSONAGE, FAIRFAX] CHAPTER XVI _The Bohemian Element in the County_ It is not the purpose of this history to note in especial manner all the different nationalities that have entered into the making of our cosmopolitan population. America is peopled by sturdy men and women who have come to this land of opportunity and freedom from all the civilized nations of the world. It is the amalgamation of these different races and peoples that has done much to give us our sturdy citizenship. Driven from their old homes by persecutions or the desire to better their condition, they have come to America and have helped populate our prairies and develope our cities. They have needed the opportunities here given them, and we have needed them in our work of erecting on this continent a nation that shall be an example to all the nations. By far the largest and most important element of foreign extraction represented in Linn county is the Bohemian. Some of our townships are almost entirely populated by these progressive immigrants and their descendants, and a goodly percentage of the residents of Cedar Rapids trace back their Slav ancestry to old Bohemia. These people have always made good citizens. They possess the desirable faculty of adapting themselves readily to new environments. Without destroying their own vigorous vitality, they grasp quickly the best there is in our thought and mode of life. They have borne nobly their share of the burdens incident to the establishment of new centers of civilization and of progress. They have acted their part in our civic life. They have adapted themselves to and have adopted our institutions. They have helped and are helping to make the county and the city centers of growth and prosperity. Trained through the years in habits of economy, and forced through necessity to keep up these habits, their life here has often been an incentive to others to go and do likewise. Lovers of the home, their ambition is to possess their own abiding place, and that as quickly as possible. The Bohemians are not renters. They are a class of home owners, and nothing is so potent for stability in any community as this trait on the part of its people. They are indeed a thrifty people, such as every state and county and city gladly welcome. Their buildings, though many of them may be small, are substantial in their character. The gardens and the grounds surrounding the dwellings in the towns and cities are neatly kept and attractive to the eye. Their farms are well tilled and as a result grow rapidly in productiveness and value. Our Bohemian citizens bear their part in the administration of public affairs. And they always make good in the positions in which they are placed. They have helped make our city councils; they have been men of ability and of influence on our school boards. They are numbered among our successful merchants and bankers. Indeed, there is scarce a line of human endeavor in which they have not been represented by men of capacity and of worth. At the request of the editors of this history Joseph Mekota, himself a splendid representative of a splendid people, contributes the following sketch of the Bohemian people to this volume: The history of the Bohemian people in Linn county does not differ greatly from the general history of this people in our country. Driven from their native land, on account of political persecution and official oppression, they sought America as the haven of liberty and opportunity. They brought with them an abundance of patience, industry, perseverance, and hope. Their beginning was full of hardships, privations, and obstacles. Their chief capital was their health and willingness to toil, and their ability to stand hardship. These were their native heritage. Coming to this country poor, unacquainted with its customs, its language, and its laws, their beginning had but few silver linings. Despite these inauspicious surroundings these early pioneers were contented and happy. Physical and material hardships and trials were cheerfully borne for the joys and sweetness of political and religious liberty. Under the broad and clear skies of the religious, political, and intellectual tolerance of America they felt the realization of the unfulfilled dreams of the glorious but unsuccessful struggles of their ancestors a century ago. Such a fine spirit towards the highest ideals in life and civilization, combined with inexhaustible energy and patience in industrial pursuits, has made this people loyal to our institutions and useful to the development and progress of our country. The early settlers came to this county with teams and wagons. At that time there were no railroads west of the Mississippi river. Many of them came from Caledonia, Wisconsin, with ox teams. Others came by railroad as far as the Mississippi river. One member of a family who came here in 1855 said: "They dumped us out at Muscatine and from there we hired teams and conveyances to take us to Cedar Rapids. We moved south of the city and lived under a tree that summer. When we wanted to buy anything we took a sample of the article in one hand and the amount of money we wished to expend in the other and would show that to our neighbors and make them understand what we wanted." These early settlers devoted themselves to agricultural pursuits. Most of them located on or near timber lands so that they would have plenty of fuel. Fuel was very scarce in their native land, and it was easier to build their sheds if they were in the timber. The prairies at that time were not desirable for location. A large portion of College township, which is now the best farming country in the state of Iowa, at that time was full of marshes, and high grass, and strong winds prevailed so that the early settlers avoided the prairies and located in timber districts. The early Bohemian settlers came to Linn county about the years 1852 and 1853. So far as known, the following families were among the early pioneers: The Ligr family about the year 1852 settled east of Ely. John Posler, in the year 1853, also located about eight miles southeast of the city. In 1854 or earlier, Paul Korab and his family settled about one mile east of the present town of Western, where also settled at that time John Witousek. The Korab family came here with an ox team from the state of Wisconsin by way of Dubuque. That year, 1854, Jacob Polak located about ten miles southeast of Cedar Rapids, and with him was Joseph Sosel. These families also came with teams from the state of Wisconsin. Anton Sulek located in the north part of Johnson county in 1854, and he afterwards lived near Hoosier Grove in this county on a beautiful, elevated spot called "Hradek," and meaning "Little Castle." Many other families came in 1855 and settled along the border line between Johnson and Linn counties, in College and Putnam townships. The numbers that came were not great, and it was not until after the Civil war that large numbers of these people came to this county. Among these people Joseph Sosel was a character of distinction. His scholarly attainments combined with his love of intellectual and political freedom easily made him the leader among his people. He was a political exile. He took an active part in the uprising of Bohemian students in the year 1848. This movement was for more political rights and broader freedom for the people in Bohemia. The uprising did not meet with success, and for his patriotic activity a price was set upon his head by the Austrian government. With many other students, who were in the same predicament, he escaped to this country. With him came Karel Jonas, who afterwards became lieutenant-governor of the state of Wisconsin; and with them also came Vojtech Naprstek, who left a name in Bohemian history that is known to every Bohemian. In this locality Mr. Sosel rendered many valuable services to his countrymen; being able to talk the English language, he became their legal and business adviser. He was loyal to his countrymen, and at all times insisted that they should learn and observe the customs of their new country. He served faithfully the interests of his people, and his memory will forever be kindly remembered by them for the many and useful services which he faithfully rendered. Up to the time of the Civil war, the Bohemian immigration was slow, but from those that were here quite a number enlisted from this county to preserve the integrity of their new country. Among those known who enlisted were the following: J. F. Bednar, Frank Renchin, Frank Peremsky, Joseph Wencel, Joseph Podhajsky, John Maly, Joseph Zahradnik, Charles Bednar, Joseph Horak, Wesley Horak, Frank Dolezal, Joseph Dolezal. After the Civil war Cedar Rapids became a prominent center of Bohemian population. Many came direct from their own country, others came from neighboring states, and still others came from the surrounding country in this state. So that at all times this city always had a large percentage of people of Bohemian origin, larger than any other city of its size in the state of Iowa. In the county they settled in Putnam, College and Franklin townships. From the year 1866, after the Prussian war in Austria, to 1880 were perhaps the banner years of Bohemian emigration to this country. These people all located in the city or southeast of the city. There are today in Cedar Rapids about 8,500 inhabitants of this nationality and about 2,500 more in other parts of the county. They are now scattered all over the county, but large and heavy settlements are in Putnam and College townships, these being almost exclusively settled by Bohemians. There is a large settlement in Fairfax township, and there are settlements in Franklin, Bertram, Boulder, and Grant townships. In agriculture they are successful farmers. No better improved farms, no better buildings, no better systems of farming exist in any other part of the state than in the communities settled by these people. They are progressive and up to date in all matters. They are hard working people and devoted to the interests of their farms. In Cedar Rapids they have also played an important part. A large majority came to this country very lightly endowed with worldly goods, but they were strong in health and body and not afraid to work. A very large percentage of these people belong to the laboring class. The women in the families worked as hard, if not harder, than the men. The first ambition of these people after their arrival in this country was to own a home. The father would work, the mother would work, and the children would work in order to buy and pay for a home. A great many of them bought vacant lots and improved them by erecting neat and comfortable dwellings. At times it was claimed they took their children out of school too early in order that they might work. In the early times there existed circumstances which could not very well avoid this situation. The wages were low; families as a rule were large and in order to pay for a home and in order that the debts be paid, and to meet expenses, it was necessary in many cases to press the children into service. This custom became somewhat contagious among the men, women, and children. One family was bound to earn and make as much money as its neighbors, and therefore had to have as many members of the family working. It is a source of congratulation that this custom, which had been one of necessity, is now losing ground among the ranks of this nationality and their children are kept in school as long as any children among other American people. The Bohemian people from the very first held tenaciously to their mother tongue. While they were loyal to our public schools and other institutions, they took steps to preserve and cultivate the mother tongue among themselves and their children. As early as 1868 a society called the "Reading Society" was organized. The purpose of this society was to cultivate the Bohemian language; give aid to Bohemian schools; furnish the best books of Bohemian literature to the people of our city, and in every way possible to promote and awaken the love for Bohemian language and history among the people. It was a center of national life and spirit. In this laudable purpose the Reading Society of Cedar Rapids has met with unparalleled success. The society today owns a fine library of nearly 3,000 volumes of the best works of history, art, and literature in the Bohemian tongue. Besides this, the Reading Society has always been helpful, and largely instrumental in starting, promoting, and encouraging other organizations of national character. The Bohemian people are fond of the theatre and theatrical performances. At about the time that the Reading Society was organized, they started an association for the purpose of giving theatrical performances in the Bohemian tongue. The plays given were popular and successful, and on many occasions there was displayed splendid histrionic talent among the members of this dramatic club. Their performances were always clean, instructive, and educational. Today we have in Cedar Rapids two large dramatic associations whose performances are a credit to our city and its people. In the matter of education, the Bohemian people always took an active part. Besides having their children attend the public schools, they took opportunity to have them taught in the Bohemian language during their vacations and sometimes on Sundays. This was so from their earliest settlement. At first one or two rooms in a public school building were used. Later on a building costing over $8000.00 was erected for this purpose. The building stands on the corner of Second street and Tenth avenue. This building has the honored distinction of being the only building in our whole country built and used exclusively as a Bohemian school. Another institution that has brought fame and favor to our city in educational circles, is the Council of Higher Education. This was founded here in 1902. It is an organization whose object it is to furnish honor loans without interest to poor but promising boys and girls of Bohemian origin to secure a college education. Since its organization this institution has aided many young men and women who were without sufficient means to secure a college education. Last year it had sixteen students it was aiding in the various state universities and colleges. Its operation is nation wide. It has students in New York, Michigan, Illinois, Texas, Nebraska, and Iowa. The funds of the institution are gathered by popular subscriptions among individuals and societies. Its scope covers every state in the Union where there is a Bohemian settlement. The institution has achieved wonders in encouraging young men and women of Bohemian nationality to attend universities and colleges. In musical circles the Bohemian people have distinguished themselves from early times. In the beginning when the Bohemian settlers came to this city they organized a musical society. This formed a nucleus for one of the most famous musical bands in the state. Kouba's National Band achieved state wide reputation; this band has always been composed of a large percentage of Bohemian musicians. In the material development of Cedar Rapids the Bohemian people have done their full share. In the ranks of labor they are known as honest, industrious, peaceable, and orderly. They are very largely employed in all the big industrial institutions of our city. They command the confidence and respect of their employers. This nationality is also well represented in every line of business in our city. All the professions are represented. When we consider that less than two generations ago their ancestors came here with bare hands and not knowing the English language and unacquainted with the customs and without any particular advantages, except those of honesty and willingness to work, it is remarkable that such strides forward have been made by this nationality in the realms of labor, business, and the professions. [Illustration: THE CHAPEL, CORNELL COLLEGE] [Illustration: CARNEGIE LIBRARY AND SPEER MEMORIAL FOUNTAIN, MT. VERNON] In religious work the Bohemian people of Linn county have accomplished splendid results. With the first settlers in this county, the Catholics of this city had a place of worship. From its modest beginning there grew one of the largest congregations in the city. And what enthusiastic and untiring workers this church has! The congregation consists very largely of the laboring class, but they have accomplished wonderful results. A splendid church building; a large parochial school; an assembly hall and a new parsonage are the reward of the patience and perseverance among the members of this congregation. St. Wenceslaus church of Cedar Rapids with its manifold work and influence is a great honor to the people of Linn county. Way back in the late sixties, on a beautiful and secluded spot on Hoosier Creek, about one-half the distance between the present site of Ely and Western, there was erected a small church of the Reformed Evangelical denomination. There a band of devout men and women met to worship in the simple manner of the Moravian brothers. Their leader and minister was a man of grace, of purity of character and rare and scholarly attainments. His name was Frank Kun. He was a great preacher and a great teacher. For a time he held the chair of Greek and Latin at Western College, but as his congregation increased he devoted all his time to his people. His congregation was entirely of the rural class. He loved his people and in turn was loved by them. His congregation was one of the best Bohemian congregations in the United States; his sermons were masterpieces of art and beauty, full of religious fervor, stately dignity and depth. His memory will forever be revered by the people of Linn county. This church is still there; broadening its sphere of work it now has two branches, one in Johnson county, and one in Linn county, the last being the old Baptist church in Putnam township. In Cedar Rapids the Bohemian people have three protestant churches: the Fourth Presbyterian, the Bohemian Methodist, and the Reformed church; all three are prosperous. All of them have large and substantial memberships and all of them are fortunate in having strong, capable, and popular men as ministers. Under the wise and liberal policies of these leaders these churches are doing excellent work among the Bohemian people. There is a large, respectable element of the Bohemian population that does not belong to any church organization. They are not opposed to churches, nor to religion, but do not affiliate with any church organization. They believe that every one should be permitted to think and believe as he pleases in matters of faith. In the Bohemian language they are called "Svobodamysli." This word does not mean Free Thinkers. "This Bohemian word is made up of two words 'Liberty' and 'Mind,' and it means the broadest toleration for the religious beliefs and opinions of others; and further it means that you should give the widest latitude to the religious beliefs and forms of worship of your neighbors, and that they should do the same to you; and it further means that you should honor and respect the religious views and professions of your neighbors and they should do the same by you." No sketch of the Bohemian people in Cedar Rapids and Linn county would be complete without referring to the Sokols. This is a society whose purpose is physical culture. The society is well represented in Cedar Rapids, and has among its members some of the best all around athletes in this country. In 1909 a team of six men of this organization captured the first prize at the National Contest in New York city of the Bohemian Sokols Society in the United States. The society owns a fine building and gymnasium here. It is an old organization, dating back to about the time when the Reading Society was organized, at that time being a branch fostered by the Reading Society. The society has several instructors of physical culture and gives to boys and girls, and young men and young women, a thorough course in gymnastics. The Bohemian people of this city are thoroughly and actively interested in the principle of modern fraternalism. Among this element the fraternal orders and societies find much favor and popularity. There are very few men and women of this nationality who do not belong to at least one fraternal order, and there are many who belong to a half dozen fraternal orders. In fact the Bohemian element in the city of Cedar Rapids is honey-combed with lodges, orders, and societies of fraternal character. The Reading Society, already mentioned, was the nucleus, from which, as time went on, manifold ramifications sprang, finally developing into an extraordinary number of fraternal societies and lodges. At first these societies were more of a national spirit and character, but later the insurance feature became an important part. The Bohemian people have great faith in fraternal insurance. The next thing after a home is acquired, fraternal insurance is provided. Some of the societies are exclusively for men, and some are exclusively for women, but the tendency of the last ten years is to permit both sexes to become members of the same lodge. This too has its advantages, and if fraternal orders are to be more than mere insurance companies, a greater diversity of membership, greater benefits and advantages will flow from them. All the orders and lodges are in a prosperous condition. Three fine and capacious halls have been built and there is need and place for them all. The C. S. P. S. hall was built in 1891, the Z. C. B. J. hall was built in 1908, and the Sokol hall in 1908. There is a Bohemian hall in Ely, Iowa. The Z. C. B. J. is a large and flourishing fraternal order whose supreme lodge has been located in Cedar Rapids since its organization in 1897. This in English is called the Western Bohemian Fraternal Association, and it is doing business in ten or twelve states in the Union. In 1885 there was an Odd Fellows lodge instituted, whose members are all Bohemians, and whose rituals and work are in the Bohemian language. This lodge has the distinction of being the only Bohemian Odd Fellows lodge west of the Mississippi river. The spirit of fraternalism has had a remarkably good influence upon the character and intelligence of the Bohemian people. The financial benefits to the widows and children flowing from these societies may be great, but the moral, intellectual, and educational benefits to the members are immeasurably greater. In the United States there are many Bohemian communities and settlements. In some of the eastern cities the settlements are very large, for instance in Chicago there are 100,000 Bohemians; in New York about 40,000; in Cleveland about 40,000; and there are very large settlements throughout Minnesota, the two Dakotas, Nebraska, Kansas, and Texas. In intelligence and educational advancement, in the broad scope and high ideals of modern fraternalism, in social progress and in business and industrial enterprise, and in the professions, the Bohemian people of Linn county and Cedar Rapids rank foremost among all the Bohemian communities in the United States. This is a recognized fact among other Bohemian communities and cities in our country. We are proud of the fact that our city has won the beautiful title of "Parlor City," but more proud should we be of the fact that in all the Bohemian communities and large centers of Bohemian population from New York to California, Cedar Rapids is known as "The Bohemian Athens of America." CHAPTER XVII _The Early Marriage Record_ An interesting book in the office of the county clerk at Marion is the first marriage record kept in the county. Through the courtesy of County Clerk William Dennis we are enabled to give below a record of marriages that took place in the county from 1841 to 1855. The names and the dates have been transcribed with care, though it is possible some names here printed are not correct in every particular, due to the inability to read the writing in the record. As a rule the penmanship of our early clerks was distinct and readable. This is true in especial manner of the incumbency of Hosea W. Gray, who was clerk during most of the years covered by this transcript. The book consulted in the preparation of this chapter contains both the licenses granted and the returns of the marriages. In a few instances the names in the licenses are different from those given in the returns. A thing to be noted in this early marriage record is the youth of many of the parties. In many instances the records show the marriage of young girls of 15 and 16 years. A number of licenses are recorded, but there is no evidence in the book that the marriages were ever celebrated, due doubtless to the failure of the officiating clergyman or justice to make the proper returns. Many names familiar in the early days appear in this record. And it is valuable not only because it lists those pioneers who here set up their household gods soon after they arrived in the county, but also because it gives the names of the early ministers and justices of the peace in Linn county. In this record book are recorded the licenses of the ministers of the gospel who were authorized to perform the marriage ceremony. Here are some of the names, many of them doubtless familiar to the survivors of that time: Reverends John Hodges, Michael Summer, John Stocker, William C. Rankin, Israel C. Clark, F. R. S. Byrd, James L. Thompson, Warren B. Morey, Salmon Cowles, Isaac Searles, Henry Reed, Christian Troup, John Hindman, Allen Johnson, Uriah Ferree, James M. Fanning, Peter Robinson, Joel B. Taylor, Daniel Worthington, Luther McVay, S. H. Greenup, Duff C. Barrows, Absalom A. Sellers, Charles D. Gray, John S. Brown, John Walker, Edward R. Twining, Jacob Miller, Joshua B. Hardy, James S. Fullerton, Robert Miller, Stephen Porter, Solomon T. Vail, Abner Corbin, Richard Swearingen, George B. Bowman, David Wanerich, Nelson Rathbern, Almiron R. Gardner, John Hayden, J. N. Seeley, J. H. Harrison, Danforth B. Nicholas, John W. Boal, Isaac Whittimore, Bennet Roberts, E. D. Olmsted, Wesley R. Blake, Nelson A. McConnel, Elder Noah Willson, Deacon Pliny B. Yates, William Sayler, John Williams, Solomon Kern, Charles N. Morbeley, John Demoss, George P. Smith, Lucas C. Woodford, Alexander Colwell, Samuel Farlow, Williston Jones. Here is the record of marriages covering the period noted: 1841 July 25, Joseph Crane to Agnes Bogard, by C. W. Phelps, J. P. August 26, James E. Bromwell to Catherine Gray, by Rev. J. M. Hummer. October 18, John Hunter to Hannah Barbary Hines, by Calvin W. Phelps, J. P. October 30, John Mann to Mary Mann, by C. W. Phelps, J. P. November 3, A. Safely to Margaret Hunter, by John Stewart, J. P. December 1, Julias Allen Peet to Ester Ann Crow, by Rev. Thomas P. Emerson. December 7, Aaron Moriarty to Hannah Ross, by Thomas Goudy, J. P. Dec. 12, Samuel Ross to Mary Vaughn, by John Stocker. ----, Charles Roe to Phebe Putnam, by C. W. Phelps, J. P. 1842 January 16, James Cummings to Mary Ann Dorsey, by D. W. King, J. P. January 18, Nathan Cochran to Eliza Ann Nichols, by C. W. Phelps, J. P. February 19, James Leverich to Hannah Brody, by Aaron Usher, J. P. March 8, William B. Hampton to Mary Ann Van Zant, by John Stewart, J. P. April 3, Jacob Minton to Charlotte Lewis, by Aaron Usher, J. P. April 17, Alfred Williams to Elizabeth Oliphant, by James M. Denison, J. P. April 18, Franklin Kimble to Lidia Bristol, by C. W. Phelps, J. P. April 24, David Rickey to Mary Coon, by Rev. John Stocker. May 22, Harvey Dwyer to Elizabeth Bartlett, by C. W. Phelps, J. P. May 29, Robert C. Cregg to Mary E. Dowing, by Rev. Wm. C. Rankin. August 25, David Willson to Mercy Brody, by C. W. Phelps, J. P. September 22, Casper Nick to Christena Briney, by John Stewart, J. P. October 9, James Huntington to Aurilla Archer, by Thomas Goudy, J. P. November 21, John Henderson to Manilla N. Howard, by L. M. Strong, J. P. December 1, William B. Harrison to Emma Osborn, by Thomas Lockhart, J. P. December 24, Andrew Jackson McKean to Abah Day, by Rev. Jesse L. Bennett. December 27, Joseph Jackman to Mary Ann Hall, by Rev. Jesse L. Bennett. 1843 January 1, Daniel Morland Peet to Sally Eliza Tryon, by Rev. Jesse L. Bennett. January 11, Wm. Stephen Trimble to Martha Drunnin, by Joseph Hale, J. P. January 20, Mark Jostin to Elizabeth Hale, by Rev. Thos. P. Emmerson. February 8, Edward L. Hays to Mary Elizabeth Kramer, by Rev. John Stocker. February 26, Joseph Mounts to Maria Christian Shoe, by Rev. Jesse L. Bennett. March 2, Hugh Brody to Joanna Osborn, by James M. Denison, J. P. March 12, Charles Pinckney to Amanda Brown, by Rev. Jesse L. Bennett. March 21, Edwin Birdwell Spencer to Martha Davis, by James M. Denison, J. P. April 17, Harry Oliver to Elizabeth Jane Bigger, by John Hunter, J. P. April 18, John King to Martha Matilda Torrence, by L. M. Strong, J. P. April 23, Philip Steinbaugh to Elizabeth Frileigh, by L. M. Strong, J. P. April 27, James M. Denison to Mary Jewel, by Hartsell Hittle, J. P. April 30, John Robbins to Margaret Ann Fagg, by Rev. Jesse L. Bennett. May 7, Gamaliel Walker to Sarah Catharine Winton, by Rev. Israel L. Clark. May 16, Nathaniel McBride to Christeen Kramer, by Rev. Wm. C. Rankin. June 1, Nelson Crow to Eliza Lane, by Isaac Butlar, J. P. June 26, Solomon Peckham to Harriet Brown, by James Gilliland, J. P. June 26, Edward R. Birney to Catharine Cummings, by John Wolf, J. P. July 9, Samuel Brazelton to Martha Freeman, by David W. King, J. P. July 16, Lyman D. Bardwell to Sarah Kinsinger, by David W. King, J. P. August 22, Hugh Simmons to Hannah Simmons, by Rev. Wm. C. Rankin. September 5, Hiram Joslin to Sarah Jane Hale, by Thomas Goudy, J. P. September 14, Chambers Thompson to Rachael Barr, by L. M. Strong, J. P. October 8, Thomas Hose to Eliza Jane Willis, by Rev. Isaac Searles. October 12, Thomas Lewis to Elizabeth Davis, by Hartsell Hittle, J. P. October 20, Alexander F. Camp to Mary Wilcox, by John Wolf, J. P. November 16, Seth Baker to Prudence Higley, by Warren E. Morey. November 19, Thomas Gainer to Catharine Lewis, by David W. King, J. P. November 21, John Corey to Margaret Smyth, by Rev. Salmon Cowles. December 7, Calvin W. Phelps to Mrs. Mary Stall, by A. Simmons, J. P. December 8, John McD. Bromwell to Rebecca Milner, by L. M. Strong, J. P. December 13, Samuel W. Durham to Ellen Wallcott, by L. M. Strong, J. P. December 25, William Brazzleton to Ruth Minton, by L. Lewis, J. P. December 26, Samuel W. D. Cone to Mary Dodd, by L. M. Strong, J. P. [Illustration: UNITED PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, SCOTCH GROVE] [Illustration: C. &. N. W. WOOD BURNING ENGINE, 1879] 1844 January 1, William Williams to Mary Angeline Nordyke, by L. M. Strong, J. P. January 25, Oliver Vanderwork to Maria S. Elliott, by Thomas Goudy, J. P. February 7, N. B. Brown to Catharine Craigo, by L. Lewis, J. P. February 22, Thomas S. Downing to Caroline A. Keys, by James L. Thompson. February 29, Horace Metcalf to Mary Jane Hollenbeck, by L. M. Strong, J. P. March 28, Bral Dorsey to Eliza Jane Railsback, by David W. King, J. P. April 7, James Ely to Lavina Beeks, by Horace N. Brown, J. P. April 17, William Heaton to Elizabeth Sutton, by Horace N. Brown, J. P. April 18, Garrison Crow to Mary A. Simmons, by Freeman Smith, J. P. April 23, Hiram Deem to Helen Mary Barnett, by John David, J. P. April 26, William Cress to Jane Cumming, by John David, J. P. April 28, George A. Patterson to Eliza Jane Emmons, by John David, J. P. May 19, George Cantonwine to Mary Malinda Lewis, by Isaac Searles. May 20, Timothy Stivers to Elizabeth Baugh, by Nelson Rathbun, M. M. C. May 30, Alonzo Heaton to Rebecca Heaton, by John Davis, J. P. July 21, John F. Cumbertin to Rilla Oliphant, by John Hunter, J. P. July 25, John L. Berry to Mary Williams, by David W. King, J. P. August 7, Joseph E. Boyd to Elizabeth Smith, by John David, J. P. August 8, Joseph Usher to Lydia Mariah Williams, by John Hunter, J. P. August 27, William A. Corson to Cynthia Vaughn, by Jesse N. Seeley. September 5, William A. Waller to Adaline A. Shipman, by John Hayden, G.M. Sept. 27, William Hamilton to Agnes Matilda Hunter, by John Hunter, J. P. October 3, Charles Hinkley to Mary Helms, by Perry Oliphant, J. P. October 10, Joseph Derbin to Melissa Kirkpatrick, by Daniel Rogers, J. P. November 28, William Greene to Louisa M. Higley, by John M. Baals. December 8, John S. Cully to Nancy Mounts, by John Hayden, M. G. 1845 January 13, Joseph T. Berryhill to Jane Butler, by John Hunter, J. P. January 15, Alexander Thompson to Marion Davis, by Hartzell Hittle, J. P. February 2, Amariah Hagerman to Angeline Gray, by John David, J. P. February 18, Joseph Lichteberger to Mary K. Holeman, by John Hayden, M.G. February 19, Joseph R. Strawn to Tabitha Lewis, by D. B. Nichols, P. G. February 27, Joseph Williams to Mary M. Lucore, by Rev. J. Hayden. Feb. 27, Ferdinand Kershner to Elizabeth Rogers, by Rev. Isaac Whittemore. March 2, John Eicher to Hannah Cox, by Rev. Israel Clark. March 6, Orlando N. Gray to Rosina Pratt, by Rev. Isaac Whittemore. March 16, Claiborn G. Worrall to Mrs. Ellen Connor, by John David, J. P. March 20, Chauncy Leverich to Marilla Usher, by John Hunter, J. P. March 31, John S. Torrence to Cephina Wilson, by John David, J. P. April 10, Daniel Robbins to Pricilla Gray, by Rev. John Hayden. April 17, Lister W. Hays to Anna Gritton, by Hartzell Hittle, J. P. April 20, George W. Utley to Maria Jane Sawyer, by Henry Weare, J. P. May 4, George Cochran to Susan Gunn, by Elijah Evans, J. P. July 3, James M. Burge to Sarah A. E. McRoberts, by Nelson Rathbun, M. M. C. July 16, Michael Zimmerman to Sarah Barclay, by Elias Rogers, J. P. July 20, David Mann to Mary Ann Whitlatch, by Thomas Goudy, J. P. July 31, Robert M. Forsyth to Amanda McCartney, by E. Evans, J. P. July 31, William N. Downing to Armena Applebee, by E. Evans, J. P. August 21, James Bell to Dorcas Martin, by Rev. John Hayden. August 27, Henry Rea to Martha L. Miller, by Rev. S. W. Ingham. September 4, Thomas McClelland to Ruth Ann Baugh, by Elijah D. Waln, J. P. September 7, Caleb S. Hendrix to Mary Hemphill, by Hartzell Hittle, J. P. September 7, Robert Fairly to Sarah Thomas, by John Hindman, J. P. September 9, James A. Dyer to Elizabeth Minton, by Hartzell Hittle, J. P. October 8, William R. Lewis to Mary I. Cofman, by Rev. John Hayden. October 8, Wilbert L. Lewis to Emily Cofman, by Rev. John Hayden. November 6, Thomas Craig to Martha Smyth, by Solomon Cowles, D. D. M. November 6, Frederick Jordan to Mrs. Adaline Firkins, by Uriah Ferrie. December 9, Michael Hine to Mrs. Catharine Hack, by Uriah Ferrie. December 25, Joseph A. Secrest to Sarah Osbourn, by Hartzell Hittle, J. P. December 28, John B. Cutler to Martha Heaton, by John David, J. P. 1846 January 1, O. P. Weeks to Margaret Archer, by John Hindman. January 1, Joseph Moulin to Sarah Goudy, by Uriah Ferrie. January 4, William M. Stockton to Ann Eliza Gilbreath, by E. D. Waln, J. P. January 25, Luke Taylor to Nancy Ann Dawson, by Rev. James M. Fanning. February 2, John Hindman to Emily Weeks, by Rev. A. W. Johnson. February 15, Thomas Jones to Jane Antrim, by Rev. A. W. Johnson. February 25, Benjamine Cobb to Sarah Holman, by Rev. A. W. Johnson. March 11, John C. Van Allman to Nancy Holler, by J. Kirkpatrick, J. P. March 12, William Hunt to Nancy Maria McLaughlin, by E. D. Waln, J. P. April 2, Hezekiah Starbuck to Mrs. Villamina Rice, by E. D. Waln, J. P. April 4, Asa White to Amanda F. Davidson, by Peter Robinson. April 12, Silvester P. Lyon to America Campbell, by E. D. Waln, J. P. April 14, Harrison Usher to Lucy Bevens, by John Hunter, J. P. April 30, Milton Squires to Eliza J. Mounts, by A. E. Skinner, J. P. May 9, Hiram Usher to Lucinda Williams, by John Hunter, J. P. June 14, Elmyrrh Howard to Elizabeth Boyle, by Ezekiel Cox, J. P. June 20, Thomas Donahoo to Sintha M. McClelland, by Rev. A. W. Johnson. June 21, William J. Berry to Violet Wagoner, by H. W. Gray, J. P. June 27, William Potter to Jane Elizabeth Fowler, by John Hunter, J. P. July 26, John Evans to Mrs. Christiana Nick, by E. D. Waln, J. P. August 9, George W. Metcalf to Mary Howard, by Elijah Evans, J. P. September 3, Jacob Harris to Betsy Staats, by John L. Shearer, J. P. September 3, Elijah Staats to Sarah Ann Cox, by John L. Shearer, J. P. September 15, George White Gray to Zernah Williams, by H. W. Gray, J. P. October 25, Alexander F. Camp to Mrs. Catharine Knapp, by E. D. Waln, J. P. November 5, Walter L. Brockman to Margaret Cummings, by E. D. Wain, J. P. November 8, Horace N. Brown to Sarah Jane Lewis, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. November 25, James Robb to Mary Patteson, by Rev. Burnett Roberts. November 26, John Harris to Elizabeth Cox, by John L. Shearer, J. P. December 25, Joel White to Sarah A. Garretson, by William Chamberlin, J. P. December 26, Richard Miller to Elizabeth Sargent, by Wm. Chambers, J. P. 1847 Jan. 3, Ephraim T. Lewis to Margaret G. McKinney, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. January 21, Samuel L. Wallace to Elizabeth Coffman, by Rev. A. W. Johnson. January 29, Isaac McCoffen to Rebeckah Beeler, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. February 14, Hiram Heaton to Susannah Nealy, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. March 18, Stephen L. Pollock to Marilla Lucore, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. March 24, Joel B. Taylor to Mary S. Ferree, by Rev. Henry W. Reed. March 25, Barney Riley to Kesiah Ramsey, by John Hunter, J. P. March 25, Phillip Beamer to Harriet Ramsey, by John Hunter, J. P. April 1, William Gardner to Mrs. Sarah Gritten, by Hartzell Hittle, J. P. April 1, Laurence Hollenbeck to Delila Lewis, by E. Evans, J. P. April 4, William A. Skinner to Mariette B. Hendricson, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. April 5, John Rath to Wilhelmina Reinheimer, by John Hunter, J. P. April 15, Hugh Martin to Sarah E. Blakesly, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. April 22, Norman W. Isbell to Elizabeth Pinch, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. May 2, William Davy to Charlotte Willis, by B. S. Knight, J. P. May 3, Robert P. Stuart to Asenith B. Soesbee, by Rev. John Himman. May 26, John Zumbra to Angeline Eggleston, by Rev. John B. Taylor. May 27, James B. Thomas to Elizabeth Neighbour, by Wm. Chamberlin, J. P. June 2, Chandler Jordan to Sarah D. Waterhouse, by L. S. Jordan, J. P. June 8, Levi H. Mason to Eunice Ann Smith, by A. J. McKean, J. P. July 1, Warrington G. Conden to Margaret E. Shaw, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. July 10, Abel E. Skinner to Mary Marshall, by Rev. John Walker. July 12, Jonathan R. Peatt to Omina Gray, by A. J. McKean, J. P. July 19, Aquilla Campbell to Rachael Daniels, by E. D. Waln, J. P. July 27, Dyer Usher to Rosannah Harris, by John L. Shearer, J. P. August 12, Andrew F. Brockman to Pernetta A. Gott, by Rev. Bennett Roberts. August 15, James Berry to Sarah Pattison, by Rev. Joel B. Taylor. August 26, John S. Dolerhide to Harriet Cooper, by Rev. Bennett Roberts. August 17, William M. Stuart to Phebe Ross, by Rev. Bennett Roberts. August 29, Thomas Dill to Nancy Seargeant, by E. D. Waln, J. P. September 16, John Mason to Hannah B. Railsback, by John Cue, J. P. September 23, William G. Darr to Mary E. Arford, by B. L. Night, J. P. October 4, Stephen Cook to Sarah Ann Isham, by Andrew J. McKean, J. P. October 7, Andrew Hollenbeck to Susannah Yates, by Rev. D. Worthington. October 7, Henry H. Baker to Lavina Crosberry, by H. W. Gray, J. P. October 9, Noah Wilson to Mary House, by A. J. McKean, J. P. October 9, John Cress to Lydia Neighbour, by Thomas Lewis, J. P. October 14, Christopher Amose to Sarah Tee, by Hartzell Hittle, J. P. October 18, David M. Richardson to Eliza J. Goudy, by Andrew J. McKean, J. P. October 19, John Bomgardner to Lucy Mariah Davis, by W. Chamberlin, J. P. October 19, Oliver Clark, Jr. to Barbary Ellen Brice, by E. D. Waln, J. P. November 1, Joseph Bigger to Frances Runner, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. November 16, Harmon Boyd to Issabella Grafton, by Rev. Bennett Roberts. November 19, John Shane to Hannah P. Goudy, by Rev. D. Worthington. November 18, James Scott to Hulda Newton, by E. D. Waln, J. P. December 21, Jacob B. Romine to Mrs. Jaurespa Harris, by Rev. Jas Fanning. December 23, William L. Waln to Frances Burge, by A. J. McKean, J. P. December 30, Peter Moriarty to Sarah Osborn, by Rev. Jas. M. Fanning. 1848 January 1, Josephas Stites to Sarah Burnett, by Ezekial Cox, J. P. January 9, Henry Hunter to Roann Beckner, by Hosea W. Gray, J. P. January 9, George A. Patterson to Hazeah Jones, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. January 9, Joseph Usher to Harriet Williams, by John Hunter, J. P. January 19, Nelson Usher to Pheba Vinson, by John Hunter, J. P. February 4, Martin Bennett to Sabitha Conrad, by W. Chamberlin, J. P. February 12, Benjamin Dewit to Hannah Ann Boid, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. February 20, Henry Tee to Rachel Stuart, by Rev. Duff C. Barrows. February 22, Asa White to Ann Eliza Stone, by Rev. D. Worthington. March 16, John Harmon to Susan A. Abbee, by Hosea W. Gray, J. P. March 18, Valentine Wrath to Mariah Jane Utley, by John Hunter, J. P. March 30, James L. Stevens to Minerva Andrews, by Rev. D. Worthington. March 30, Daniel Carlan to Eliza Ann Shaw, by Rev. D. Worthington. March 31, Joseph Waln to Ann Kinly, by Rev. John Hindman. March 31, Alexander Paul to Aurilla Rood, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. April 10, Henry Cress to Elizabeth Skinner, by Rev. Jno. Walker. May 4, Henry Hemphill to Emaline Wickum, by Rev. D. Worthington. May 6, Amos D. Morse to Mrs. Bethany Campbell, by Salmon Cowles, V. D. May 11, Jeremiah Burge, Jr., to Sarah Ann Archer, by A. J. McKean, J. P. May 16, George Smith to Sarah Torrence, by Hosea M. Gray, J. P. May 18, Conrad G. Darr to Bethira Ellen Hill, by E. D. Waln, J. P. May 29, John Rundall to Sarah Ann Storm, by Rev. S. H. Greenup. June 1, Isa Helm to Margaret J. Campbell, by Rev. Duff C. Barrows. June 4, James Knuckles to Susannah Heaton, by Rev. S. H. Greenup. June 8, Samuel Yule to Sarepta E. Clark, by Lemuel D. Jordan, J. P. June 20, Geo. Washington Gray to Prudence M. Berry, by Rev. D. Worthington. June 25, John Burge to Harriet Harless, by A. J. McKean, J. P. July 8, Luther McShane to Hester Willyard, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. July 16, John Wood to Elizabeth Jane Jaquett, by Ezekiel Cox, J. P. July 16, John G. McLoud to Martha Jane Vardy, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. August 17, Carmi Marshall to Mary E. Hazelrigg, by Isaac Butler, J. P. August 20, Benjamine Hoover to Sarah Ann Bressler, by Elder A. A. Sellers. August 31, David McCall to Eliza Jane Boxwell, by E. D. Waln, J. P. August 30, Abel Grove to Catharine Knoflock, by E. D. Waln, J. P. September 5, Thomas J. McKean to Sarah A. Gray, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. September 15, Wm. A. Thomas to Sarah A. Campbell, by Rev. Duff C. Barrows. September 28, James Nelson Howe to Margaret Hemphill, by L. Myers, J. P. October 5, James Poyner to Sarah Scott, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. October 5, Godfrey Heine to Lucy Barter, by Rev. D. Worthington. October 9, Darius M. Ross to Eliza Jane Stewart, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. October 26, William S. Rolff to Anna M. Wolf, by Andrew J. McKean, J. P. November 12, Henry Bressler to Mary Ann Seimiller, by A. J. McKean, J. P. Nov. 13, Edw. Crow to Mrs. Narcissa E. Bowman, by Rev. Lucas C. Woodford. Nov. 14, Lawrence Hollenbeck to Mrs. Prudence Millburn, by John Hunter, J. P. November 30, Turner McIntire to Elizabeth Gray, by Rev. D. Worthington. November 30, John C. Goudy to Amelia Jordan, by Rev. Lucas C. Woodford. December 14, Robison Conwell to Caroline Butler, by Isaac Butler, J. P. December 21, Dennis Tryon to Huldah Clark, by Andrew J. McKean, J. P. December 25, Alfred A. Holman to Lavinia J. Smith, by Rev. D. Worthington. [Illustration: MAIN BUILDING, CORNELL COLLEGE] [Illustration: SOUTH HALL, CORNELL COLLEGE] 1849 January 4, John Stanley to Ann Maria Freeman, by Rev. D. Worthington. January 9, H. Austin to Mrs. Sarah Sutton, by L. D. Jordan. J. P. January 16, Henry D. Rogers to Lucinda K. McRoberts, by Rev. Alex Caldwell. January 18, Aaron Van Dorn to Elizabeth Boylan, by Rev. D. Worthington. January 18, John M. Robb to Permelia V. Axtell, by Rev. Bennett Roberts. January 18, Greenbury Doss to Elizabeth Cook, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. January 21, Abraham T. Darr to Mary Jane Hill, by E. D. Waln, J. P. Feb. 1, Samuel D. McCally to Bartheba McClelland, by Rev. Alex Caldwell. February 4, Abel E. Skinner to Mrs. Mary A. Nation, by A. J. Ward, J. P. February 11, Samuel D. Thompson to Lucetta Wilson, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. February 12, Preston Daniels to Mary Ann Keys, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. February 15, Barney Riley to Elizabeth Nation, by Abraham J. Ward, J. P. February 17, Thomas M. Rose to Turza Ann Knapp, by E. D. Waln, J. P. March 1, Orson Lewis to Elizabeth Nicholls, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. March 1, William W. Hastings to Elizabeth A. Vankirk, by John Hunter, J. P. March 11, Simeon D. Loveless to Sarah Weiser, by Rev. J. M. Westfall. March 27, Joseph C. Tilton to Harriet C. Eggleston, by Rev. D. Worthington. March 28, John Barkley to Elizabeth J. Barkley, by Rev. Lucas C. Woodford. April 2, Lyman Wordan to Elizabeth McGaflick, by Rev. Williston Jones. April 3, William Clark to Sarah House, by Isaac Butler, J. P. April 5, Ebenezer Hull to Mehitable Jacques, by Thomas Lewis, J. P. April 5, Francis M. Leabo to Harriet Bryant, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. April 8, Wm. W. Woods to Polly Whitlatch, by Ezekiel Cox, J. P. April 10, John Perkins to Christiana Forsyth, by Rev. D. Worthington. April 19, Jeremiah Beall to Mrs. Elizabeth Whitely, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. April 22, Jonathan Kees to Rebecca Wickham, by A. J. Ward, J. P. April 29, Wm. M. C. Kirkpatrick to Elizabeth Irons, by A. J. McKean, J. P. April 29, Nathan Chapman to Margaret House, by Isaac Butler, J. P. April 30, David Barrows to Susan Jane Rhodes, by Duff C. Barrows. May 1, Joseph Current to Margaret Hunter, by Lewis Meyers, J. P. May 6, Samuel F. Hook to Sarah Jane Kennedy, by Rev. W. Jones. May 6, Janus Martindale to Ann Myers, by Isaac Butler, J. P. May 14, Wm. H. Harland to Sarah E. Leffingwell, by Rev. D. Worthington. May 27, Richard Barber to Orphia Clark, by Rev. Samuel Farlow. May 27, John Craig to Frances Burge, by A. J. McKean, J. P. June 10, Joseph Mentzer to Maria Hollenback, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. June 11, Ira P. Aldrich to Martha Maria Leverich, by Geo. P. Smith. June 14, Edw. H. Oliphant to Samantha A. Ankrom, by Rev. D. Worthington. June 20, James C. Alexander to Susan Smyth, by Rev. A. M. Stewart. June 21, Thomas Baldwin to Jane Ann McClelland, by Hosea W. Gray, clerk. July 1, Abel Groves to Abigail Miller, by A. J. McKean, J. P. July 1, James Dill to Martha Harbert, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. July 1, Joshua S. F. Briney to Rhoda M. Wolfe, by A. J. McKean, J. P. July 4, Luther Abbe to Permelia Edson, by Rev. D. Worthington. July 5, Chauncey Blodgett to Phebe Doty, by A. J. McKean, J. P. July 8, Calvin Newman to Mary Ann Howard, by Isaac Butler, J. P. July 12, Benjamine Wisner to Mary J. McKnight, by Salmon Cowles, V.D.M. July 28, Homer Bishop to Elizabeth Smith, by Rev. D. Worthington. August 7, James W. Fee to Tabitha Osborn, by Samuel M. Brice, J. P. August 13, Buonaparte Stansberry to Nancy Jane Johns, by Lewis Myers, J. P. August 14, Joshua Morford to Elize Jane Gibson, by A. J. McKean, J. P. August 16, Wm. P. Henderson to Lydia Cox, by Wiley Fitz, J. P. August 19, Samuel Heaton to Rebecca Heaton, by Rev. Samuel Farlow. August 27, John Vardy to Mrs. Nancy A. Praigg, by Rev. Williston Jones. September 6, Richard Gray to Martha Jane Scott, by Rev. J. B. Hardy. September 7, Wm. Cahoon to Miranda Cook, by Frederick Kindley, J. P. October 4, Robert Holmes to Eliza Keys, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. October 4, Dean Cheedle to Ruth Ives, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. October 8, Frederick Fisher to Joanna Henrietta Ruhl, by Rev. Williston Jones. October 18, Otho S. Bowland to Adalina Frazee, by Rev. R. Swearengen. October 25, Samuel Bressler to Isabella Seimiller, by Rev. John S. Brown. November 1, Joseph B. Kyle to Sarah Samantha Goudy, by A. J. McKean, J. P. November 2, Geo. Washington Roberts to Polly A. Cue, by Thomas Lewis, J. P. November 4, James C. Traer to Marcia W. Ferguson, by Rev. J. B. Hardy. November 5, Edw. L. Pierce to Romelia Peet, by Frederick Kindley, J. P. November 15, Henry C. Oliphant to Martha Jane Moore, by Duff C. Barrows. November 18, Raphael Cheedle to Evaline R. Ankrom, by Rev. J. B. Hardy. November 22, Wm. Hunter to Nancy McRoberts, by Rev. Charles D. Gray. November 29, Wm. I. Burge to Sarah Ann Burge, by Lewis Myers, J. P. December 6, George Ives to Hannah Jones, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. December 20, Samuel Miller to Hannah L. Howe, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. December 27, Geo. D. McLaughlin to Capa Morford, by A. J. McKean, J. P. 1850 January 3, Walter L. Brockman to Ellen Worrell, by A. J. McKean, J. P. January 24, James M. Oxley to Mary Jane Reneau, by Rev. J. B. Hardy. January 24, Solomon Moriarty to Jane Osborn, by A. D. Battorff. J. P. February 21, Wm. F. Howe to Barbara Miller, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. February 28, David N. Glass to Polly Johns, by Rev. R. Swearengen. March 7, Andrew Moffatt to Catharine Smith, by James S. Fullerton. March 12, Wm. V. Lagorgne to Elizabeth B. Austin, by Rev. S. T. Vail. March 16, Albert Russell to Climena J. Gray, by Rev. J. B. Hardy. March 17, Samuel Stony to Sarah T. Robinson, by Lewis Myers, J. P. March 30, Volney Carpenter to Susan M. Usher, by John Hunter, J. P. April 9, Morgan S. Parks to Lydia Gentry, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. April 12, Asa L. Harrow to Sarah Ann Troup, by Rev. John S. Brown. April 12, Nathan M. Donahoo to Susan Shafer, by Rev. John S. Brown. April 15, Levi W. Johnson to Ann Maria Kirkpatrick, by Rev. R. Swearengen. April 25, John Harris to Mrs. Elizabeth Harris, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. May 14, John Heilman to Mrs. Mary Ann Carman, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. May 28, John B. Ives to Hannah Jane Wallace, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. June 4, Joseph S. Carson to Phebe Vaughn, by James S. Fullerton. June 23, David Hunter to Luray Ann Reynolds, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. June 24, Harry G. Thomas to Alvira M. Andrews, by A. D. Battorff, J. P. July 4, Christian Neidig to Nancy Huber, by Rev. Jacob Miller. July 4, George Bayley to Sarah J. Goudy, by James S. Fullerton. July 6, Seymour D. Carpenter to Sarah L. Weare, by Rev. Williston Jones. August 15, Charles D. Gray to Candace Smith, by Rev. Robert Miller. August 22, Miron Bunce to Elizabeth McAfferty, by A. J. McKean, J. P. August 22, David Myers to Elizabeth Carbley, by John Emmons, J. P. August 26, Bartley Openchain to Nancy Morse, by J. M. Williams, J. P. August 27, Gilman Wells to Catharine Priest, by Wm. L. Winter. J. P. August 29, Henry Seimiller to Deborah A. Falkingburg, by Rev. D. Wenerich. August 29, Wm. Jordan to Margaret Montgomery, by Rev. J. Williams. August 30, Nathaniel A. Abbott to Margaret J. G. Stewart, by J. S. Fullerton. September 2, Joseph Robinson to Hannah Sanders, by Wm. L. Winter, J. P. September 5, Henry Cummins to Mary Ann Hamilton, by Rev. Williston Jones. September 7, Seneca Townsend to Nancy Fussle, by Henry Wagner. J. P. September 19, James Jennings to Emily Gash, by Daniel Albaugh. J. P. September 21, Hiram Ross to Eliza M. Palmer, by Rev. J. Williams. September 27, Daniel Cory to Elizabeth Morford, by James McClelland, J. P. October 12, Ira G. Wilson to Eve Montgomery, by Rev. J. Williams. October 17, Samuel Veach to Mariah Jane Parks, by Rev. Duff C. Barrows. October 24, Wm. Stewart to Eliza Lucore, by Rev. Williston Jones. October 30, Win. M. Stewart to Mary C. Watkins, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. November 6, John Bozenbareck to Lucy S. Martin, by Rev. Edw. M. Twineing. November 7, Harvey G. Higley to Anna Bishop, by Rev. Bennet Roberts. November 10, G. W. Bressler to Hadessa Thompson, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. November 17, Joseph Thomas to Isabel Johnson, by A. J. McKean, J. P. November 21, Benjamine Lapham to Ann E. Evans, by Wm. Cooper, J. P. November 30, Michael C. Paul to Nancy Wiekam, by Rev. Stephen Porter. December 10, Alfred Thomas to Elizabeth Lewis, by J. M. Williams. J. P. December 10, Alfred Thomas to Elizabeth Lewis, by J. W. Williams, J. P. December 14, Isaac Grimes to Eliza A. Cox, by Adam Berry, J. P. December 19, Wm. M. Torrence to Jane L. Commons, by James S. Fullerton. December 26, Richard Abbott to Phebe Reonalds, by Wm. L. Wenter, J. P. December 30, Edwin Rogers to Emily J. Williams, by N. C. Gage, J. P. 1851 January 1, David Brooks to Jane Morgan, by Daniel Albaugh. J. P. January 9, William Anderson to Rachel Harvey, by J. M. Williams, J. P. January 12, Orsemas Lebo to Catharine Daniels, by A. J. McKean, J. P. January 14, Hiram Brooks to Martha Hendrickson, by Rev. J. Porter. January 14, George W. Gray to Harriet Stone, by Rev. Williston Jones. January 14, Willis S. Gott to Elinor Carr, by James B. Thomas, J. P. February 6, Walter Hilton to Sophia Frager, by N. C. Gagesby, J. P. February 16, Orlin S. Harding to Margaret Morehouse, by Fred. Kindley. J. P. February 18, Wm. S. Reed to Jane E. Gagesby, by Rev. John Williams, Jr. March 7, Charles Robinson to Elizabeth T. Runels, by Jas. B. Thomas. J. P. March 21, N. W. Matson to Sarah Romine, by Rev. N. D. McConnell. March 24, Warren Payne to Catharine Freeland, by Rev. Jas. Keeler. March 25, Wm. H. Carpenter to Mrs. Susannah Wilsey, by John Cue, J. P. March 31, John Lash to Harriette Belt, by James McElhenna, J. P. April 3, John Nicholas to Anna Lewis, by Daniel Albaugh, J. P. April 6, Joel S. Austin to Elizabeth Metcalf, by J. H. Walton, J. P. April 9, Nathan M. Day to Hannah Bearly, by A. J. McKean, J. P. April 16, Charles H. Johnson to Lucy Clark, by John Cue. J. P. April 27, Oran J. Draper to Elizabeth Haddon, by C. N. Moberly, S. B. P. May 4, John Daniels to Martha Rindley, by Frederick Rindley, J. P. May 4, Jonathan J. Nugent to Roxina E. Ford, by Rev. N. A. McConnell. May 6, Wm. H. Bristol to Mariett Jones, by Rev. Williston Jones. May 9, Simon Roll to Catharine Keller, by Rev. Sol. Kern. May 10, M. S. Oxley to Nancy Poyner, by John Emmons, J. P. May 11, Joseph Brison to Elizabeth Remington, by John R. Speake, J. P. May 15, William Lutz to Dulybella Sedwick, by Rev. Zenas Covil. May 25, James W. Gaeby to Cynthia A. Hobart, by Rev. James S. Fullerton. June 1, Samuel Soesbe to Mary A. Chapman, by A. J. McKean. J. P. June 23, T. J. Speak to Mary Chambers, by Wm. A. Thomas. J. P. June 24, John Boxwell to Elizabeth Houston, by A. J. McKean. J. P. June 28, Jacob Pugh to Harriet Dollerhide, by Wm. Cooper, J. P. July 3, John Ellison to Rachel Curtis, by A. J. McKean. J. P. July 3, James Curtis to Mary Johnson, by A. J. McKean. J. P. July 8, George Henderson to Jannet Thomas, by Rev. John A. Vance. June 8, Jacob Hogland to Harriet Hollenbeek, by J. M. Williams, J. P. July 10, Jeremiah Campstock to Mary B. Johnson, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. July 10, John F. Rogers to Martha W. Elliott, by Andrew Perry. J. P. July 13, Nathan C. Gillilan to Mary Heaton, by L. D. Jordan, J. P. July 24, Johnson Gardner to Esther A. Tolman, by W. A. Thomas, J. P. August 14, Wm. Freeman to Nancy Jane Plant, by Rev. A. J. McConnell. August 14, Daniel M. Funk to Barbary Blessing, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. August 17, Samuel Justin to Mrs. Lydia Servenson, by Jas. B. Thomas, J. P. August 19, Jas. McAfferty to Alma Jane Willcox, by Rev. Geo. B. Bowman. August 28, N. B. Batterson to Emma L. Akers, by James S. Fullerton. August 31, Jonathan B. Keys to Hariet A. Smith, by Wm. Cooper, J. P. September 1, Alpheus McIntire to Cordelia M. Phelps, by Rev. Wm. Philips. September 2, Sylvester McKean to Mary Ann Kyle, by James S. Fullerton. September 10, Edwin White to Emily Edkins, by Rev. J. W. Williams. September 14, John Manley to Susanna Kirkpatrick, by Adam Perry, J. P. September 16, Daniel O. Finch to Ellen M. Calder, by Rev. James Keller. September 16, Joseph Green to Eliza Denison Harvey, by Rev. James Keller. September 18, Irvin Wilcox to Eliza McClelland, by A. J. McKean, J. P. September 18, George R. Peet to Sarah A. Parsons, by Rev. J. Williams. September 24, James Bliss to Lutitia Osborn, by James S. Fullerton. October 2, Thos. Jacobson to Sarah M. Heaton, by Rev. E. W. Twining. October 2, Fielden Travis to Patsa Campbell, by John Emmons. J. P. October 12, Thomas Newel to Frances A. Allensworth, by Rev. D. C. Barrows. October 12, John W. McDaniel to Miranda Willson, by John Emmons, J. P. October 15, Sam'l H. Minear to Lucy Davis, by John Emmons. J. P. October 17, John McCartney to Eliza J. Caldwell, by N. W. Isbelle, co. judge. October 30, John Brison to Elizabeth Speaks, by Rev. Edw. W. Twining. November 19, Parson Jones to Harriet Phelps, by Fredk. Rinley. J. P. December 14, Joseph S. West to Susannah Hawn, by J. E. Kurtz, J. P. [Illustration: HENRY BRUCE HOUSE Springville, Built in 1855] [Illustration: FIRST SPRINGVILLE BAND] 1852 January 1, Peter Betzer to Catherine Gibson, by Rev. S. W. Kern. January 4, Isaac B. Reed to Mariah Vanderwork, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. January 4, D. S. Brown to Amanda M. Hunt, by David Albaugh, J. P. January 20, Thomas Milborn to Levisa Gower, by Wiley Fitz, J. P. January 23, Alexander Renfaw to Amanda Andrews, by Rev. Solomon W. Kern February 12, Emerson E. Barter to Esther McKnight, by Rev. J. S. Fullerton. February 15, Jesse Turner to Matilda Grandon, by Isaac Butler, J. P. February 18, Jonathan Hess to Nancy Mann, by Isaac Butler, J. P. February 24, Hannibal B. Davis to Elizabeth Acres, by Rev. J. S. Fullerton. February 27, Horatio P. Smith to Mary Severson, by J. M. Williams, J. P. March 16, J. C. McConnell to Sophronia Harrington, by Rev. E. W. Twining. March 23, Samuel Craig to Miranda Cheedle, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. March 25, John Hemphill to Elizabeth Thompson, by Rev. Elias Skinner. March 25, Oran Strewn to Emil A. Doolittle, by Rev. Williston Jones. March 25, Wm. F. Travis to Mary P. Willson, by Rev. E. W. Twining. April 1, Hiram Beals to Catharine Stinger, by Rev. E. W. Twining. April 7, Eber L. Mansfield to Lucy A. Warriner, by Rev. John Williams. April 7, Milo Bunce to Mary Ann Carnahan, by A. J. McKean, J. P. April 15, Wm. Kellernan to Elizabeth Allensworth, by John R. Speak, J. P. April 18, Isaac Robinson to Mary J. Daugherty, by Daniel Albaugh, J. P. May 1, John Rundall to Lydia Gregg, by Rev. Orlin Harding. May 6, George W. Harvey to Sarah R. Wolfe, by A. J. McKean, J. P. May 11, Horatio Morse to Miranda Smith, by John Palmer, J. P. May 11, Jacob Lanning to Sarah A. Yambret, by Rev. Elias Skinner. May 12, Thomas Allbones to Elizabeth Kirby, by N. C. Gagely, J. P. May 13, Abraham Ward to Nancy J. Lanning, by Rev. E. Skinner. May 13, Abraham Ward to Nancy Jane Lanning, by Rev. Elias Skinner. May 30, Luther H. Keys to Frances Nelson, by Rev. E. W. Twining. May 31, Alexander McKinnon to Martha Mathews, by James B. Forsythe. June 2, James McFarland to Hannah J. R. Walton, by Rev. O. S. Harding. June 10, Alex Glover to Susanna Frager, by Rev. N. A. McConnell. June 10, Joseph Myers to Sarah Dickall, by Rev. E. W. Twining. June 22, Albert Sytezman to Julia Ann Walker, by W. A. Thomas, J. P. June 24, Morris Neighbor to Laura Ann Hollenbeck, by Wm. A. Thomas, J. P. July 4, Clark Draper to Barbary Hesberger, by Rev. Elias Skinner. July 6, John Carnes to Dorcas Robinson, by John Palmer, J. P. July 15, Richard M. Jones to Mary E. Tyler, by John Palmer, J. P. July 25, John Winter to Christina Martin, by Rev. John H. Yambert. August 14, Gordon B. Parish to Laura S. Hughes, by Rev. E. W. Twining. August 19, Albert Taylor to Martha Hampton, by Rev. N. Rathburn. August 31, Samuel Worthan to Polly Frager, by Rev. N. A. McConnell. September 1, Hiram Jenkins to Elizabeth Sawyer, by Rev. E. W. Twining. September 2, Cephas Dood to Catharine Swan, by Rev. J. S. Fullerton. September 5, Wm. McLelland to Sally Ann Shanklin, by Rev. O. S. Harding. September 9, David Eckley to Mary Nihart, by N. C. Gageby, J. P. September 15, M. H. E. Higley to H. E. Emery, by Rev. James S. Fullerton. September 26, Frederick Enders to Rachel M. Carnes, by N. C. Gageby, J. P. September 30, Absalom Lanning to Nancy Hemphill, by N. C. Gageby, J. P. October 14, Thomas Hill to Mary L. Connay, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. October 18, Wm. Prosser to Cirena Bickerstaff, by Rev. O. S. Harding. October 21, William Oxly to Henrietta Benham, by Rev. N. A. McConnell. October 26, Samuel Cole to Mary Shaffer, by Daniel Runkle. November 14, James Johnson to Silvie Bliss, by Rev. John C. Ward. November 16, John Walser to Hannah Metcalf, by N. C. Gageby. J. P. November 21, Nelson Van Nott to Susanna McAfferty, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. November 28, Wm. J. Lewis to Joanna Blackburn, by Thomas Lewis, J. P. November 30, Joel Courtney to Mary Ann Keynon, by John Emmons, J. P. December 7, Washington R. Given to Emaline Chester, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. December 23, John Chambers to Emeline Reynolds, by W. A. Thomas, J. P. December 26, Jacob Shanklin to Sarah Bollinghouse, by Rev. Orlin S. Harding. 1853 January 27, Jonathan Pipes to Mary Laughrey, by N. O. Gageby, J. P. February 3, Edward Pugh to Ester Mann, by N. W. Isbell, county judge. February 10, John Busenbark to Agnes Martin, by Rev. G. N. Jannison. February 14, Amos Nicholas to Ruth Ransen, by Thomas Taylor, J. P. February 20, Simon S. Wickham to Hannah Conner, by Rev. E. D. Olmsted. February 24, John McArthur to Julia A. Straley, by Rev. Williston Jones. February 27, Wm. H. Warren to Rosina Neel, by E. F. Williams. J. P. March 9, Lysander Jones to Mary Straley, by Rev. Williston Jones. March 12, Jos. N. Kirby to Mary Ann Remington, by Alfred Wright. March 13, Waller C. Brooks to Martha Brooks, by Benj. Harris. J. P. March 24, Joseph Carnahan to Susan A. McLaughlin, by A. J. McKean. J. P. March 27, Daniel Smith to Anna M. Bruner, by Rev. David Winrich. March 27, Janus Ship to Rebecca Barkly, by Rev. James B. Burch. March 31, David Giger to Margaret J. Montgomery, by John C. Ward. March 31, Lewis House to Elizabeth Clymour, by Rev. Williston Jones. March 31, Daniel A. Newman to Lucinda Ennis, by Daniel Albaugh. J. P. April 19, James Holman to Phebe Blodgett, by G. H. Jennison. April 21, John W. Gray to Emeline Oxley, by Rev. G. H. Jennison. April 27, John Barr to Syntha Ann White, by Rev. John C. Ward. May 5, David Blakely to Julia A. Carroll, by Rev. Williston Jones. May 5, Mathias Kirshner to Irene Arrasmith, by Philip Smith, J. P. May 8, Henry Eaton to Sophia Hollister, by David W. Ring, J. P. May 12, Moses Albaugh to Sarah Wilyard, by Daniel Albaugh, J. P. May 15, Christopher Foremaster to Caroline Rhinehamer, by N. C. Gageby, J. P. May 15, John W. Courtney to Margaret Runan, by Rev. James B. Burch. May 22, Henry Busenbarreck to Judith Scott, by Rev. G. H. Jennison. May 25, Nathaniel Harris to Matilda Allis, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. May 26, Wm. B. Torrance to Nancy Rozel, by Rev. Hiram J. Burley. May 26, Fra A. Steadman to Eliza J. Foster, by Philip Smith, J. P. May 30, Joseph Parker to Rachel More, by Wm. L. Winter, J. P. June 9, Gabriel Carpenter to Mariah Clifton, by Rev. Charles A. Gray. June 12, John Carbie to Sarah G. Hampton, by Jos. Leonard. J. P. June 19, Wm. Lineback to Margaret A. Hutchison, by Rev. D. Runkle. June 23, Ezra P. Morehouse to Rachel Jordan, by Rev. J. H. Jennison. June 23, Joseph Brown to Susan C. Snow, by Benj. Harris, J. P. June 25, James W. Freeman to Jerusha Jones, by N. C. Gageby, J. P. June 29, Joal A. Doty to Mary E. Rollfe, by A. J. McKean, J. P. June 29, Oradon Lebo to Amanda Newton, by A. J. McKean, J. P. June 30, John Millse to Lucy A. E. Coleman, by N. C. Gageby, J. P. August 17, George Clark to Syrena Taylor, by Wm. Phelps, M. G. August 25, Frederick G. Mason to Mary McAferty, by A. J. McKean, J. P. September 4, Lanty Johnson to Narcissa Davis, by Rev. N. A. McConnell. September 13, Hiram Deem to Sarah Jane Vandorn, by Rev. Williston Jones. September 13, Jos. Morford to Barbary A. Welshimer, by Rev. J. R. Marshon. September 26, Lorenz P. Warren to Elizabeth Hamilton, by N. C. Gagely, J. P. September 29, Richard Wood to Effy Putnam, by Isaiah Booth, J. P. October 2, David Bedell to Minerva Holler, by Isaiah Booth, J. P. October 4, Jackson Quick to Nancy Ann Shanklin, by Rev. James S. Fullerton. October 20, John C. Summers to Mary Smith, by Benjamin Harris, J. P. November 1, Havir B. Sawyer to Permelia Andrews, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. November 4, Orrin H. Smith to Eliza Pisel, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. November 13, Robt. T. Holman to Mary E. Kepler, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. December 6, John Minehart to Rachel Slife, by Wm. Wagner, J. P. December 8, Simon Tuttle to Margaret Elliott, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. December 22, John Miller to Emily Callahan, by Rev. N. A. McConnell. December 28, Miron N. Nickerson to Sophia L. Snow, by Rev. John C. Ward. December 29, Isaac D. Worrall to Nancy A. Thompson, by Rev. G. H. Jennison. 1854 January 1, John C. Mackey to Sarah Grubis, by Wm. A. Thomas, J. P. January 4, Luther Stinson to Elinor Coleman, by N. C. Gageby, J. P. January 17, Wm. Neely to H. Louisa Roberts, by Rev. Jas. R. Marshon. January 19, Madison Fee to Phebe M. Wright, by J. K. Speake. J. P. January 19, George Booze to Elizabeth Straley, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. January 31, Thomas Flathers to Meralda McMillan, by Joseph Leonard, J. P. February 1, Philip Hoglan to Mary J. Cress, by John Carr, J. P. February 4, Henry Philips to Mary J. Harless, by Rev. J. K. Young. February 5, Geo. W. Harron to Margaret E. Schoonover, by Wm. Wagner, J.P. February 7, Abraham McAfee to Elizabeth J. Glison, by Rev. John T. Tate. February 26, Massom Metcalf to Augusta Egleston, by N. C. Gageby. J. P. March 2, Joseph W. Baker to Mary Jane Davy, by Rev. Josiah Jackson. March 2, Jesse Tryon to Mary L. Cron, by John Carr, J. P. March 9, Jacob Grey to Catherine Leabo, by Rev. E. Skinner. March 9, Martin Floyd to Elizabeth Hoover, by Rev. Jacob Newman. March 9, Chesley L. Brockman to Rizpah Lucore, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. March 12, Truman J. Peet to Mary Ann Connis, by Rev. J. F. Tiry. March 13, David Morgan to Charlott West, by Benj. Harris, J. P. March 16, Edwin Clark to Charlotte Thomas, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. March 16, Henry B. Hollenbeck to Emily C. Smith, by Rev. H. J. Busby. March 19, Martin Perrigo to Arvilla Griffin, by Benj. Harris. March 22, Wm. P. Hazlett to Margaret W. Kyle, by Rev. James S. Fullerton. March 22, George C. McCorckle to Ardelia Yates, by Rev. H. I. Burley. March 26, Milton Monroe to Elizabeth Terrill, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. March 29, Chas. E. Pollard to Fanny M. Hakes, by Rev. James S. Fullerton. April 2, Simeon Burge to Elizabeth Archer, by Rev. S. K. Young. April 13, Alexander Noble to Rebecca McFarland, by Rev. O. S. Harding. April 16, Julius Griffing to Mary D. Ellis, by Wm. P. Gardner, J. P. April 16, Alfred Davis to Maria Palmer, by Rev. N. A. McConnell. April 19, John G. Tennant to Esther Hill, by Benj. Harris, J. P. April 23, Volney Leverich to Elizabeth Griffin, by Wm. J. Gardner, J. P. April 25, Robert Berry to Nancy Thorington, by Rev. E. Skinner. May 3, Richard Aucutt to Louie Homer, by Rev. Elias Skinner. May 4, Addison Stewart to Cyrena Axtell, by Rev. James S. Fullerton. May 4, Walker Terrill to Jane T. Crue, by N. W. Isbell, by County Judge. May 12, Jacob McShane to Mary Milyard, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. May 14, Spencer C. Coleman to Belinda Kairns, by James Coleman. J. P. May 18, David Berry to Phebe McVay, by John Cue, J. P. May 25, Charles Cooper to Mary White, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. May 30, John Plummer to Mary Harshenberger, by James W. McKnight, J. P. May 30, Samuel Berry to Louisa Biggs, by Rev. Williston Jones. June 1, Absalom Sims to Mary L. Wadsworth, by Rev. E. Skinner. June 2, Daniel Myers to Matilda Burly, by A. J. McKean, J. P. June 8, Wm. D. Letzenberg to Lydia Crawford, by Rev. J. V. Dewitt. June 8, Charles S. Kabler to Saloma Crawford, by Rev. J. V. Dewitt. June 10, Taylor H. Tedford to Colesta Morris, by Benj. Harris, J. P. June 11, Henry Sutser to Emily Kelly, by T. J. Speake, J. P. June 28, Hugh Torrance to Rhoda Dyke, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. June 28, A. B. Mason to Mary Cone, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. June 29, John T. Hollenbeck to Mary Hepker, by John Cue. J. P. July 2, Henry Chamberling to Fanny Stine, by A. J. McKean, J. P. July 2, James H. Swain to Priscilla Walker, by John Plummer, J. P. July 4, Joseph S. Butler to Mariah Renau, by A. P. Risley, J. P. July 9, Frederick Helbig to Anna Hilman, by Daniel Albaugh, J. P. July 13, Daniel Bigler to Catharine Mikesell, by John Weare, J. P. July 19, Joseph B. Limback to Lucy A. Donahoo, by A. J. McKean, J. P. July 27, John M. Bailey to Emily Stoddard, by Rev. J. V. Dewitt. July 28, William Lockhart to Catharine Miller, by Thos. G. Lockhart, J. P. August 2, George W. Osborn to Mary E. Rucker, by Rev. S. W. Kern. August 3, Benjamin Hampton to Caroline Shipman, by Rev. Elias Skinner. August 6, James S. Carpenter to Mary E. Klumph, by Rev. Williston Jones. August 12, E. D. Hazeltine to Mary Mitchell, by Thomas G. Lockhart. J. P. August 17, Enoch White to Adaline A. Waller, by Jas. M. Berry, Co. Judge. August 24, Francis Smart to Louisa Williams, by J. W. McKnight, J. P. August 29, Frederick to Joanna Bryan, by Rev. Jas. S. Fullerton. August 31, Christian Martin to Mary Barrer, by Jas. McKnight, J. P. September 7, Uriah Rumbaugh to Mary Ann Sutton, by Rev. John P. Fay. September 12, John Thompson to Mary Rogers, by Rev. E. Skinner. September 17, John Ringer to Barbary Hershey, by Rev. S. K. Young. September 17, Wm. B. Penn to Elizabeth S. Pearson, by Rev. Orlin S. Harding. September 28, George Howard to Lovinia I. Grigg, by Joseph Leonard, J. P. September 28, James Pennington to Elizabeth Pence, by Rev. A. Manson. September 30, Isaac Kinley to Mary A. Houghton, by Rev. J. V. Dewitt. October 5, Ira Neal to Mary Fink, by Francis McShane, J. P. October 8, John T. Stewart to Charlotte L. Barter, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. October 8, Wm. Reynolds to Lucretia Vannote, by Rev. Asher Cattrell. October 10, Lowell Daniels to Harriet S. Weare, by Rev. A. Manson. October 12, James W. McAfee to Rachel Beerley, by Rev. A. Manson. October 12, Richard Scott to Priscilla Cox, by Rev. John P. Fay. October 13, Thos. W. Stephens to Sarah E. Fenlaw, by Rev. John Hindman. October 17, James Vanness to Nancy A. Whipple, by Rev. J. V. Dewitt. October 22, John N. Smith to Charlotte Smith, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. October 23, Cyrus Ross to Mary A. Stoddard, by Rev. A. Manson. October 24, Charles Cameron to Mary Pardee, by James M. Berry, Co. Judge. November 2, Morgan L. Parsons to Sarah Beckner, by Rev. A. Manson. November 2, John Pugh to Charlotte Thurston, by Daniel Albaugh, J. P. November 2, Samuel M. W. Hindman to Jane McAlester, by J. Shanklin, J. P. November 5, John B. Leigh to Elizabeth A. Leigh, by Rev. Alfred Peek. November 7, Killion Lichteberger to Martha Gidons, by Rev. Williston Jones. November 8, Elson Ford to Mary McQueen, by John B. McQueen, J. P. November 9, Harvey Cook to Sarah Carnaga, by Rev. J. V. Dewitt. November 9, Samuel H. McClure to Ellen Fay, by A. J. Ward, J. P. November 9, Charles Cary to Christina Whitmire, by John Weare, J. P. November 12, Charles Hahn to Almira Wolfe, by Rev. Asher Cattrell. November 19, Manley Morgan to Sarah Barber, by Wm. P. Gordon, J. P. November 20, John Holman to Rebecca Tarlow, by Rev. E. Skinner. November 21, Geo. K. Mifford to Eunice A. Austin, by J. M. Berry, co. judge. November 22, Peter Fritz to Barbary Kale, by James Coleman, J. P. November 23, Elijah W. Gregg to Polly A. Barkley, by A. P. Risley, J. P. November 23, Thomas W. Wells to Martha I. Combs, by Rev. N. A. McConnell. November 28, John Morrison to Ellen Tedford, by Benj. Harris, J. P. November 29, Orrin E. Thomas to Irene Nuckolls, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. December 7, Edw. Bedell to Mary Hampton, by Joseph Leonard, J. P. December 7, Robert Rogers to Mary Jane Thompson, by Rev. E. Skinner. December 12, Wm. H. Coombs to Harriet A. Brown, by J. M. Berry, co. judge. December 19, Sidney Williams to Celia Oxley, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. December 25, Daniel Cavin to Mary H. Ellsworth, by Rev. Samuel Goodale. December 28, Geo. W. Garretson to Almira Corporan, by W. P. Gardner, J. P. Dec. 31, Wm. H. H. Flemming to Ann E. Eliza Eastman, by Thos. Taylor, J. P. ---- Jesse Beechley to Harriet Craig, by Rev. G. B. Bowman. [Illustration: THE "OLD SEM", CORNELL COLLEGE] [Illustration: BOWMAN HALL, CORNELL COLLEGE] 1855 January 3, John O. White to Mary A. Metkeff, by Levi H. Mason, J. P. January 3, Enoch Irish to Rhoda J. Dodd, by Rev. J. S. Fullerton. January 4, David Stambaugh to Sophia Boyce, by Thomas G. Lockhart, J. P. Jan. 9, Ladurnia Larrabee to Amanda S. Renfrew, by Rev. Williston Jones. January 24, Greenberry Daniels to Susan Doty, by Rev. Elias Skinner. January 25, Jonathan Simpson to Isabella McCaughey, by Rev. Daniel Runkle. January 27, Wm. Croghan to Cornelia Ellis, by Wm. P. Gardner, J. P. January 28, Thomas Skales to Lucy Serton, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. January 31, Henry Ogan to Charlotte Cress, by Thomas Taylor, J. P. February 19, Jas. Richardson to Elmira Blanchard, by J. M. Berry, co. judge. March 1, Wm. Wilson to Jane Thompson, by Rev. Daniel Runkle. March 9, Jacob Cress to Lucy Ann Porter, by Thomas Taylor, J. P. ---- Wm. Winsor to Rachel Leatherman, by John Plummer, J. P. ---- George Justin to Sarah Chandler, by John Plummer, J. P. ---- A. I. Allen to Ann Eliza Kaufman, by Rev. J. T. Tate. ---- James Biggs to Margaret Mitchell, by Rev. Rufus Ricker. ---- Byron Rice to Hannah C. Colder, by Rev. C. C. Townsend. CHAPTER XVIII _Historic Roads and Other Monuments_ In the early days it was essential to establish means of communication between points. Where there were no navigable rivers the legislatures, and even congress, passed certain acts establishing roads. The Territorial legislature which met in Burlington in 1838 and 1839 among many other road laws approved the following passed January 25, 1839: "That Isaac [Israel] Mitchell, of Linn county, Iowa, John G. Fay, of Cedar county, and Jonathan Pettibone, of Muscatine county, be and are hereby appointed commissioners to lay out a road commencing at Bloomington, Muscatine county, thence to Rochester and Cedar county and thence to the county seat of Linn county. That said commissioners, or a majority of them, shall meet at Burlington on the first Monday of May next to discharge their duties."--Section 3, p. 461, Laws of Iowa. "It is further enacted that Alfred Carter, Warren Stiles and A. F. Russell, of Scott county, be and are hereby appointed commissioners to lay out a territorial road commencing at Davenport, Scott county, thence to Hickory Grove, thence to Poston's Grove, thence to Red Oak Grove, thence to Pioneer Grove, thence to Big Linn Grove, thence to the seat of justice of Linn county, said commissioners to meet, or a majority of them, to discharge their duties at Davenport on the first Monday of May next."--Section 8, p. 462, Laws of Iowa. A number of these laws were passed laying out what were known as "territorial and state roads." For example, there was the well known Dubuque-Iowa City road passing through Anamosa, Springville, and Mount Vernon. Then there were the two well known roads passing through Marion, one known as the Toledo road running nearly directly west of Cedar Rapids to Toledo, and a road much travelled in the early day; the other road branched from the Toledo road about four miles west of the city and was an angling road known in this county as the Marengo road, the State road, as well as the Des Moines road, which also was laid out over high ground in nearly a straight angling line to Marengo, and then west through Brooklyn, Grinnell, and Newton to Des Moines. This road was used much by the forty-niners crossing the state for the gold fields of California, and now and then some farmer has picked out of his field where the old road has been changed little horse shoes, shoes used for oxen, hammers and hatchets, and other utensils which had been left or lost by the early gold seekers. There were two roads between Cedar Rapids and Marion well known in the early days, one called the old Marion road and the other running about where the street railway now runs. Another road which was much used in the early days was known as the Cedar Rapids and Center Point road. It was much travelled by all people from the north part of the county. Another road was the Marion-Mt. Vernon road, as well as the Western road, and the Mt. Vernon-Ivanhoe Bridge road leading to Iowa City. The Code of 1851, referring to the State roads, directs that these roads shall be maintained by the respective counties but that such State roads shall not be discontinued or diminished in size.--Sections 557, 558, Code of Iowa, 1851. At this time roads were under the supervision of the county court. Later they came under the supervision of the county supervisors. For many years it was believed that a certain hill overgrown by trees near the Milwaukee tracks in the edge of Kenwood had been a fortification erected by the United States government in the early days for defending the settlers from Indian attacks. A school house was later erected on or near this locality and was known as "Ft. George School House." Many of the old settlers remembered this locality and called it the old fort. An investigation was made and the following letter written by Samuel W. Durham explains itself: "The house was built by a man by the name of George, of German descent, and afterwards bought and occupied by Ambrose Harland who gave the little irregular tract and house the name of Ft. George in honor of its first owner and its having the appearance of being constructed to resist, not Indians, but cold winds as they swept up Indian creek. Harland was a character, born in Kentucky, removed to Crawfordsville, Indiana, and was the sheriff of that county. This was the home of Lew Wallace, the author of Ben Hur, and also the home of Henry S. Lane who first named Abraham Lincoln as president in a convention in Chicago in 1860. Harland moved to Linn county succeeding Hosea W. Gray as sheriff, and was succeeded by me in that office. He was a six-footer and large and would fight, but once fell heavily before Perry Oxley's huge fist." The person who erected the house which appeared like a fort was no other than George Hesing, who owned the land and was a peculiar character in his day. He did plant cottonwood trees around the house and also scraped up dirt so as to keep out the wind and snows as much as possible from his yard. In a few years the trees grew up and the rubbish accumulated, and they gave the place the appearance and made it look like an old abandoned fortification. It is said that a certain Mr. Willard having charge of the erection of a school house near this location named it the "Ft. George School House," which name it bore as long as it stood there. A number of plats have been filed in the recorder's office at Marion, and these have again been transcripted for public use, but before towns could be platted a number of towns were staked out before the land was laid out and surveyed by the government; of these plats we have no record. The first plat was, no doubt, that of Westport, located on the banks of the Cedar river and near Bertram. This was staked out by Israel Mitchell July 4, 1838. Ivanhoe was laid out some distance below at the present Ivanhoe bridge in the same year. Another town was staked out by J. Wilbert Stone along the Cedar river at the lower rapids within the corporate limits of the present Cedar Rapids. There is no record of any plat of this town. In 1844 Westport was again platted as Newark by James M. Doty. This is the first recorded plat and seems to have been filed November 21, 1844, by John Zinbar, recorder. (See Vol. A, p. 301, Lands.) This is now a corn field and has long since been vacated. New Linden was another town platted in the early days; this plat was filed by P. S. Embree, surveyor, April 15, 1853, being property owned by A. E. Simpson and A. P. Risley and located on sections 27 and 28, township 84, range 5, Brown township. This, also, now is nothing but a corn field. Another was the plat of New Buffalo in the town of New Buffalo which is filed in Vol. 4, p. 217, of the Land Records of Linn county; this has also been vacated. The plat of the town of Mayfield was made by J. M. May and filed for record in Vol. 143, p. 624. It bordered on the Cedar river and embraced lot 4 and part of section 34, township 83, range 7. It also has been abandoned, although May's twenty-five additions, re-plats, etc., made by Major May, are still parts of additions to Cedar Rapids. Major May was a man of enthusiasm, and speculated, believing, with Colonel Sellers, that in every enterprise he undertook there would be millions, but he died a poor, unknown and disappointed man. Many of the old town sites have been vacated, and many of the old postoffices and country stores which one found throughout the county in the early fifties can no longer be found on the map. From _Iowa as It Is_, published in 1855, at page 153 we find the following notices concerning Linn county towns and postoffices: Spring Grove, Boulder, Central Point, Cedar Oak, Newark, St. Julien, Ivanhoe, and Hoosier Grove, besides such towns as Cedar Rapids, Palo, Marion, and Mount Vernon. The book also mentions Iowa Conference Seminary, with a three story building, and with Rev. S. N. Fellows as superintendent. N. H. Parker in his _Handbook of Iowa_, issued in 1856, mentions a few more new towns not mentioned in the previous list, as follows: Fairfax, Lisbon, Lafayette, Mon Diu, Necot, Oak Grove, Prospect Hill, St. Mary, Springville, and Valley Farm. This author also speaks of the newspapers published in the county, the _Register_ at Marion, and the _Times_, the _Farmer_, and the _Democrat_ at Cedar Rapids. Another handbook of the state, published by J. G. Mills, of New York, in 1857, mentions the towns set out in the handbook of a year previous and adds the new town of much promise by the high-toned name of Paris, located in Jackson township, near the present town of Coggon. Few, if any, today can locate those villages and towns which sprang up from time to time over the county, and which long since have passed out of history and memory. Of the newspapers published at that time only the Marion _Register_ has continued to be issued. The others have passed away and one does not now know who were the editors and publishers of these early attempts at journalism in the pioneer days. These newspapers, no doubt, did much in keeping open the spirit of the people and in advertising the state. [Illustration: BUTLER PARK AT SPRINGVILLE] [Illustration: BUSINESS DISTRICT OF SPRINGVILLE] CHAPTER XIX _Some of the Old Settlers_ It is, perhaps, impossible to say even now with any degree of certainty, who was the first actual settler in Linn county. However, it is not very difficult to mention at least some of the early settlers. It is said that Dyer Usher and James Ames came up the Cedar river as far as the rapids on a hunting expedition as early as the spring of 1836; how long these men remained in what later became Linn county is not known, but it is not likely that they stayed very long. We have pretty good evidence that later during the summer came Daniel C. Doty, his two sons, James, and Elias, and nephew, Jacob Crane, as far as Bertram and viewed the country expecting to locate when land was thrown open for settlement. Mr. Doty was born in Essex county, New Jersey, in 1764, had early drifted west to Cincinnati, and by boat had come down the Ohio and up the Mississippi, landing at what is now Muscatine. His children were born in Ohio. They followed the Cedar river until they struck what became later Linn county to locate claims. There were no settlers here, and they found no people with whom to converse, but figured that here would be a good location to get cheap land when this land was opened for settlement. They returned to Ohio for their families, expecting to return the following spring, but they did not, in fact, return for three years on account of the financial depression. Israel Mitchell staked out the town first called Westport in July, 1838, which town was later called Newark, named in honor of Newark, New Jersey, where the family originally came from. Here Elias Doty, Jr., was born in October, 1841. Elias Doty, Sr., erected the first sawmill on Big creek in 1841, in the erection of which mill he was killed in the raising of the timbers. Daniel Doty, Sr., had the following sons, to-wit: James, Elias, John, and Daniel, all young men who early drifted west. Daniel C. Doty, the father of these sons, was never a resident of this county, but simply came here to find homes for his children. He died in Ohio in 1849; the widow died in Ohio in 1863 at the advanced age of ninety-eight. James Doty, born in 1809, was the first real pottery maker in Iowa. He had learned the trade in Ohio. This crude pottery building was standing on the old homestead up to within a few years ago. At the time of his death, January 17, 1847, he had over three hundred jars, jugs, crocks, etc., ready for delivery. In this early day there was great demand for such merchandise as it was something every farmer had to have, and it could only be obtained in a few places and at high prices on account of the transportation. Another Linn county pioneer well known in the early days was Israel Mitchell, who staked out the town of Westport in 1838. Mr. Mitchell was born in Kentucky, January 15, 1796, the son of Moses Mitchell, of Scotch descent, and on the mother's side, Elizabeth Grant, of Welsh descent, and a near relative of Daniel Boone, the Indian fighter. As a young man Israel Mitchell attended a Kentucky college and graduated therefrom. He studied for the ministry, but gave that up on account of his voice, and later took a course in medicine, but gave up the practice, as his step-daughter, Mrs. Slavin, writes, "because he was too tender hearted." He had studied law as well as surveying. After his marriage he removed to Ohio in the early '20s with his wife and two children, viz: Angeline and John Mitchell. He soon drifted into Indiana, and from there he removed to Wisconsin, working in the lead mines near Apple river in the southwest part of the state as surveyor. From Wisconsin he came by way of Dubuque to Linn county in the spring of 1838 in company with John, James, and Chamber Hunter, and Jacob Leabo. They all settled on the banks of the Cedar river in sections 32 and 33, township 83, range 6. Mr. Mitchell was a widower at this time and he and his children stayed with the Leabo family. At Marion he married Mrs. Mary Ross, nee Mary Arnold, a native of Princeton, New Jersey, on November 7, 1845, Esquire Goudy, one of the first justices of the peace, performing the marriage ceremony according to the territorial laws of Iowa. Of this marriage were born five children: Luther H., Caroline, Israel, Boone, and Maris Morton. By her first marriage Mrs. Ross had four children. She died in Oregon in 1858. Mr. Mitchell sat on the first grand jury summoned in the county, was one of the first justices of the peace in the county, and was also the first probate judge. He acted as a frontier lawyer, did more or less surveying, at which he was an expert, and in many ways was a most useful man to the community. Mr. Mitchell was a true southerner, his home was always open, and he did much entertaining. He spent much of his time interesting his friends and acquaintances in new enterprises, and in various ways tried to build up a great town on the banks of the Cedar river. Whether it was due to the failure of his new town to materialize or the western fever that got hold of him, we do not know, but just at a time when he should have remained he saw fit to emigrate, going with oxen overland with his family in 1847, locating about eight miles southwest of Portland, Oregon. Here he tilled the soil and became a noted surveyor. In 1873 he returned to Linn county to visit his old friends, giving glowing descriptions of the far west and especially of the Spokane country. On his return by way of San Francisco to Portland he fell in one of the gangways on the steamer, and received injuries from which he died a few days later after reaching home. Mr. Mitchell was a member of the Presbyterian church and affiliated with the democratic party. J. J. Daniels, his old friend, described Judge Mitchell as follows: "He was truly an educated man, and in early life had learned the science of surveying, and this was the work he was particularly called for; when not engaged in this occupation he farmed and kept a ferry. When the writer became acquainted with him on the Cedar river he was an active man on foot and could swim almost equal to a duck; bathing in the Cedar in warm weather was his usual custom. He was a medium sized man and stood very straight and erect, having black hair a little tinged with grey, large blue eyes, a high, round forehead, and in appearance resembled Edgar A. Poe, and was equally as brilliant a poet as Poe, having enough manuscript to make a book of poems. He was truly a Christian man in many acts of kindness, and verified his profession of faith in a true Christian religion." Robert Ellis, Linn county's oldest living settler, was born in Westmoreland, county, Pennsylvania, January 20, 1817, emigrated to Ohio in 1837, later to Michigan, and started on foot to Iowa Territory in the winter of 1838. He remained for a few weeks in Cedar county and started again on foot looking for a claim in the timber near some river. Coming to the present site of Cedar Rapids the first man he found was a man by the name of Hull, who held down a claim where the T. M. Sinclair Company packing house is now located; coming further up along the river he found the tavern of Osgood Shepherd. Mr. Ellis liked the place and staked out his claim on his present location near what is known as Ellis Park. He was at work there cutting wood one day when Shepherd came along with another man, and insisted that this claim belonged to him. Ellis was not easily frightened, and as Shepherd was going to attack him, Ellis raised his ax and threatened to chop his head in two if he took another step. This threatening attitude on the part of Ellis frightened Shepherd and he and his companion retreated, Ellis never being disturbed afterwards. Shepherd never referred to the matter. The next summer when Shepherd's father died Ellis and Lichtebarger made the coffin and assisted at the burial, when Shepherd seemed to be very much touched by the kindness of these two men and thanked them profusely. Ellis became a friend of the Lichtebarger boys and also of O. S. Bolling. Bolling and Ellis assisted Tom Lewis, the old pioneer, to get his wagon and cattle across the river when he came west to locate, on what became later known as "Lewis Bottoms." Ellis worked for awhile at the Winnebago Mission at Ft. Atkinson, Iowa, where he met a number of military men who later became known in the Mexican war, as well as in the Civil war. As he was frequently in company with men who took newspapers and who had travelled about the country, he heard of the gold excitement in California and at once crossed the country to Marion wanting to go west. At Marion he met Dan Mentzer, a man by the name of Harvey, and another person by the name of Green. They purchased an outfit and started for California in April, 1849, arriving at the diggings in that state the same summer after many hard experiences. He remained for several years digging gold as a placer miner and keeping a grocery store, and for a time he ran a stage between Georgetown and Coloma, earning express, passengers, and the mail. Here he met and associated with Sutter, the old German who discovered the first gold diggings, as well as his partner, saw Fair, Huntington, Mackey, and the boisterous Stewart, some of them "running saloons today and owning mines tomorrow." After remaining in California for seven years he returned home by way of the Nicaragua route and there met and talked with General Walker, the famous filibusterer. Philip Hull, according to Robert Ellis, had arrived in what became Cedar Rapids just a very few weeks before he came. He says: "Hull was of my age and I took a liking to him. He weighed about 170 pounds, was about five feet eight inches tall, had dark hair and was stoop shouldered. He was a native of Ohio, and returned to Illinois or Ohio in 1840 to get married, as he was very lonesome out here on the prairies of Iowa. Hull never returned to Cedar Rapids. Mr. Hull and I walked to William Abbe's and bought four yoke of oxen, a wagon, and a breaking plow. We had but little money so we agreed that in payment for this property we should break 75 acres of land and cut and split 10,000 rails, which we did. It took two men to break, one to handle the cattle and one to hold the plow. It was no easy job on a hot day when the oxen would pull for a pond with all their might if not closely watched, and many were the times they would give us the slip and would lie down in the pond and we could do nothing but wait till the air cooled and night came on. Neither one of us made anything, and I saw nothing of Mr. Hull till I met him at Sacramento, California, where he had preceded me by several months. We often talked over our lives in Linn county, neither one at the time even believing that Cedar Rapids had any future. Hull was an agreeable companion, a splendid fellow and square in all his dealings. He preferred frontier life and would be content in no other locality except on the frontier." Ellis says further of Wm. Abbe: "Abbe and I were in partnership in dealing with the government. Abbe made the deals with the government and I made most of the purchases from the settlers. At one time Abbe and I had just completed a contract with the government for provisions, and then Indian Agent Harvey in St. Louis insisted that we must also furnish 100 cattle within six days at Ft. Atkinson. This was rather a difficult task but Abbe said we had to do it and we rode away in a hurry back home to buy up cattle and drive them back to be there in time. We worked day and night and had the cattle at Ft. Atkinson on time. As Abbe had to go to Prairie du Chien I was ordered to return home with $1,000.00 in gold which had been paid for the cattle. I did not like to go alone over the open prairie with the money but there was no way out of it and so I started bright and early. That night I reached Quasqueton and stayed over night at a small tavern where there were all kinds of people hanging about. The next day I set out again and got down in the neighborhood of Center Point and there spied a deer. I got off my horse and loaded my gun, aimed, and fired. The horse shied and off it started on a dead run with the gold in the saddle bags. I next wanted to shoot the horse for it was worth much less than the money, but before I could reload the horse was out of range. I ran as fast as I could and in an hour found the horse tied to a tree in the timber with the gold safe in the saddle bags." Asked how about the deer, Mr. Ellis replied, "Well, I never took time to see whether I killed that deer or not. I was so excited about that gold and that horse that I forgot the deer at that time and never turned around to look." Since his return home Mr. Ellis has lived quietly on his claim, which now for the most part has been platted into city lots. Mr. Ellis is the only person now living who can remember when he saw one cabin here become a city of 34,000 inhabitants. John J. Daniels, the son of Jeremiah Daniels, came to Bertram township in the spring of 1844, his father entering land on what is known as Indian creek, erecting a log house and barn thereon. J. J. Daniels was one of the first school teachers in the county. He held many township offices, and was for a time county recorder. Jerry Daniels died in 1882, and John J. Daniels a short time ago. James Bassitt and wife came to Linn county in March, 1839, and Mrs. Bassitt is supposed to have been the first white woman to cross Indian creek, a stream which empties into the Cedar river below Cedar Rapids. A short time afterwards Rufus H. and Sarah Ann Lucore came from Pennsylvania and stopped with the Bassitts. On the first day of April, 1839, arrived Joseph H. and John Lichtebarger, locating on what became Kingston or West Cedar Rapids; later a brother, Isaac, also arrived. These brothers erected one of the first cabins, in May of that year, on the west side of the river. It is still standing. At what became Central City arrived in August, 1839, Joseph Clark and family; this place was for a long time known as Clark's Ford. Here Mr. Clark erected a primitive grist mill by selecting a hollow gum and placing in the trunk of the tree a stone; upon this was placed another stone which was operated by a long sweep and turned on a pivot; in this rude manner enough meal was ground out to supply the family. Joel and James Leverich arrived in this county some time in 1839, and chose for their home what became later known as "Mound Farm." Ira Leverich jumped a claim which had been staked out in April of this year by Rufus Lucore and after more or less trouble, in which the settlers took Lucore's part, Leverich had to yield and give up his pretended right. Joel was a noted character. He is described as a man of commanding presence. For a number of years he controlled the elections and it was told that "as Joel Leverich went so went Linn county." Dr. S. D. Carpenter, who arrived in 1849, has the following to say about Joel Leverich: "I had hardly got settled until I was interviewed by old Joel Leverich, the noted character of Linn county of that day. He was known as the 'bogus coon' because, as was alleged, he had to do with counterfeiters. He was a power in politics and was the kind of a man from which the modern boss has evoluted. Joel looked me over, asked where I was from, where I was going, and what my business was, etc. I was somewhat indignant and tried to be sarcastic, but Joel in terminating his interview with me squelched me by remarking, 'Young man, a fellow who wears such a hat as you may pass in this country, but I consider it d--d doubtful.' I, unfortunately, wore a black plug hat which was not the style in Iowa at that time. In after years Joe and I became fast friends and I became quite convinced that the shady stories told of him were the talk of enemies who were jealous of him because he was smarter than the greater majority of them. I was with him when he died and although he was a free thinker he passed away with all the calmness of a stoic philosopher." When on his death bed some one said to Leverich, "Joe, you have burned the candle at both ends." "Yes," he replied, "and now it burns me in the middle." [Illustration: PICNIC AT HOME OF GEO. L. DURNO, SPRINGVILLE, 1884] [Illustration: ILLINOIS CENTRAL DEPOT, CENTRAL CITY] George R. Carroll in his _Pioneer History_, speaking of Leverich, says: "The Mound Farm did not remain long in the possession of Broady, possibly a year and a half, when it came into possession of the notorious Joel Leverich; everybody knew him and everybody dreaded him, especially when he was under the influence of liquor, which was often the case. Even his best friends then felt it to be prudent to give him a wide berth, not knowing what instant he would take it into his head to knock them down. Whiskey seemed to make a demon of him, and to attempt to reason with him while under its influence would have been as futile as to try to reason with a cyclone. His poor wife, a most patient and estimable Christian woman, would sometimes hide away from him for days lest in his fits of uncontrol and uncontrollable passion he might take her life. And yet old Joe, as he was popularly called, had a good deal of influence in the community. He was a strong partisan politician, and whoever arrayed himself against him was sure to have a hard battle to fight and in the end would very likely meet with defeat. He was as keen and cunning and wily as the old serpent himself, and it was very hard to circumvent him in his plans. He was accused of harboring horse thieves and of making counterfeit money; as to whether he ever did either or not I could not say." While T. S. Parvin was United States attorney at Muscatine Joel Leverich was tried for counterfeiting, and while Parvin had said some hard things about Joel's mode of making a living he had also said some very nice things about Joel's wife. Later Leverich called on Parvin at the hotel, insisting upon speaking with him. Parvin's friends warned him not to do so as Joe would likely kill him, but Mr. Parvin thought he would take his chance and Joe did see him. Leverich said, "Ain't you afraid of me?" "No," replied Parvin, "you can kill me if you want to but you cannot scare me." "Well," replied Joe, "I admire your grit; I came not to scare you or to hurt you but to tell you that you did tell the truth about my wife." Some time after that Parvin passed where Leverich lived and accepted of Mr. Leverich's hospitality. Joel Leverich's brother, James, was a saloonkeeper in Cedar Rapids and when he ascertained that Joel's death was due to his dissipation, causing a serious stomach trouble, he quit the business. Joel Leverich sold his claim in 1843 to Judge Greene. He resided near the McCloud Run for a short time and then moved to town, dying in the '40s. One of the most unique characters in Cedar Rapids, and a person we know the least about, was Osgood Shepherd, who was a hunter and trapper and who is said to have erected the first log cabin on the banks of the Cedar river where the Y. M. C. A. building now stands, unless Wilbert Stone's claim is correct that he was first. When Robert Ellis came to the Shepherd tavern in April or May, 1838, Shepherd had lived here for some time. He had a wife and his father was living with him at that time, and he also had a number of men who hung about his place, but what their business was no one knew. The log house was about 16�20, covered with clapboards which were held in place by logs on top with ends protruding at the gables. There were also in the family three children, who made things lively about the house. This small cabin was known as Shepherd's Tavern. From Mr. Ellis's description of Shepherd, he was more than six feet tall, of a sandy or reddish complexion, was good natured as a rule and was an accommodating and agreeable landlord. He was accused of being a horse thief, but Mr. Ellis does not know that he ever engaged in this kind of business. However, this is true, that his morals were not of the highest order and it is believed that he harbored horse thieves who, in fact, were his special favorites. On the various islands in the river they secreted their stolen goods. It was also stated that in Wisconsin he was convicted of horse stealing and sent to the penitentiary, but how true this is no one knows. His father and one or two children died here and were buried on top of the hill where the Cedar Rapids Candy Company's large building has since been erected. Mr. Ellis says that Shepherd told him he was from New York state and for some time had been a sailor on the lakes before coming west. He held all the land as a squatter, and when N. B. Brown, Addison Daniels, H. G. Angle, and others came they had to buy Shepherd off in order to get title to this property. The patent to this land was dated December 1, 1845, although quit claim deeds and prior rights were dated in 1843, Addison Daniels and Nicholas B. Brown being the patentees. The patents included grants in the amount of two hundred and sixty-nine acres, and showed that they had paid the amount due at the land office at Marion according to the provisions of Act of Congress of April 24, 1820. Osgood Shepherd had a friend named Bill Fisher, who always stuck by him, and of whom Shepherd's father used to say, "that when he moved something was going to happen, but it was not very often that he moved." He was a slow-going, lazy sort of an individual, and what Shepherd saw in Fisher, Ellis never knew. Nothing is known of Fisher and what became of him. In the fall of 1841 Shepherd removed to Wisconsin and was later killed in a railway accident. His widow married a person by the name of Carpenter and removed to Linn county, residing near Center Point. What became of the Shepherd family no one has been able to learn. Osgood Shepherd and the pioneer settlers with whom he associated were perhaps no worse or no better than the average frontiersmen. They had been trained in hardship and sordid poverty, and the women bore the stamp of the early pioneers, devoted to their families, shirking no hardships, ever willing to move westward on account of the freedom gained and the opportunities offered. Of a different type of mankind was the progressive, enterprising and enthusiastic Nicholas B. Brown, who purchased Shepherd's claim, the most prominent figure in the history of the early days of Cedar Rapids. Mr. Brown arrived in 1840, purchasing the rights of Shepherd with Addison Daniels and others. On August 4, 1841, he began surveying what was then known as Rapids City. He improved the water power which Brown early foresaw would make the town. A saw mill was completed in 1842 and the waters of the Cedar began to make its machinery hum; this was the first real enterprise of which the town could be proud. A woolen factory was also erected by Brown, which was later disposed of to the Bryan family. In 1846 and 1847 a grist mill was also added. On account of his many enterprises in which he had to depend on others Mr. Brown was involved in much litigation, but he was a born fighter for whatever he thought was right and accumulated a fortune because he had the tenacity of purpose to hold on to what he had purchased. As a pioneer he did some excellent work and certainly was one of the shrewdest business men of Cedar Rapids in his day and generation. Mr. Brown was born in the state of New Jersey in 1814, removing as a young man to the state of Kentucky. His first wife was Catherine Craig, daughter of Thomas Craig, one of the pioneers. She lived only a few years. His second wife was Susan Emery, daughter of one of the early settlers of this city. Mr. Brown died in 1880, one of the most honored and respected men in the community, survived by his widow and two sons, Emery Brown and Harry Brown. The widow died in 1909, one of the best known and most respected in the city, having personally known nearly all of the settlers in the '50s and '60s. Dyer Usher is said to have hunted and trapped in Linn county as early as 1836 in company with one Jim Ames; how true this is cannot be ascertained, but he did come to locate in 1838. He came of a sturdy family, was born in Ohio, and at the age of eighteen in 1832 he crossed the Mississippi, being one of the first white settlers to step upon Iowa soil. Mr. Usher brought the first divorce suit in Linn county. This business has grown by leaps and bounds since that time. He attended for a number of years the old settlers meetings and was a well known figure in the early days in this county. Mr. Usher was thrifty, honest, and fair in his dealings. He died December 11, 1894, at the age of eighty years. His widow, Rosanna Harris, died in 1909 at Covington at the age of seventy-nine. She was born June 6, 1829, in London, Canada, and with her parents emigrated to Iowa in 1845. She was united in marriage to Dyer Usher July 29, 1847. To this union were born twelve children, of whom five survived her: Willard R., of Alberta, Canada, Mrs. Alice Harris, of Estherville, Mrs. A. H. Miller, of Cedar Rapids, Mrs. Ray Lockhart, of Shellsburg, and Dyer N. Usher, of Covington. She had been a resident of Linn county for sixty-three years. It is still a disputed question as to who was the first actual settler on what later became Cedar Rapids. It is true that Shepherd ran a sort of hotel or tavern and was the best known man in this part of the country in that early date, but it is not likely that he was the first man to build a log cabin here. Philip Hull had been located in the lower end, when Ellis arrived in 1838, and Ellis also found William or Wilbert Stone in possession of the land on the west side of the river, and he was the one who staked out what he called "Columbus" in 1838, having previously staked out Westport and sold his claim to John Henry. Information as regards William Stone has lately been discovered through a daughter residing at North Liberty. She states that her father's name was James Wilbert Stone, but he was commonly called William or Billy; that he was born in the state of Rhode Island and drifted west into Iowa in 1832 or 1833, and that he always asserted that he built the first cabin on land which later became Cedar Rapids. It is said that he drifted west by way of Muscatine or Rock Island and followed the Cedar river as far as Ivanhoe, later coming to the rapids of the Cedar river. Mr. Ellis says that he knew William Stone very well; that he was a quiet, congenial, splendid fellow, and at this time resided on the west side, having a claim along the river extending northward to the bluff, and that a Mr. Galloway claimed south of a large cottonwood tree on the same side of the river. Stone and Galloway were on good terms and owned the adjoining claims. John Young and a man by the name of Granger, O. Shepherd, and Philip Hull were the owners or claimants of the land on the east side of the river. The daughter of Stone asserts that her father always said that he first located his claim on the east side of the river. It may be that Stone may have moved across the river after Shepherd erected his tavern, and made claim to the land near and adjoining the rapids. It is intimated by Ellis that Stone and Shepherd were not on the best of terms and Shepherd, being a large, pompous kind of a person, he might have driven the more quiet and less assertive new neighbor across the river. The daughter of William Stone, or James Wilbert Stone, Mrs. Elizabeth Hrdlicka, states that her father bought goods and traded with the Indians for furs for some years, and that the last time her father talked to her he told her that he was sorry he ever gave up the town of Cedar Rapids but did not think then that it would amount to anything. In 1843 he removed from what was Cedar Rapids to the Iowa river and married Elizabeth G. Brown and settled in Oxford township, Johnson county. To this union were born two girls: one, the eldest, died and the second girl, Elizabeth, now Mrs. Hrdlicka, was taken by her grandfather, Joseph Brown, on her mother's death when the daughter was only four weeks old. After the death of his wife Stone removed to Hudson, St. Croix county, Wisconsin. He returned to see his daughter about once a year. He died at the age of forty-eight years in the state of Wisconsin. It seems from the story of the daughter of Stone, who is still living, that James Wilbert Stone was undoubtedly the first actual settler on the site which later became Cedar Rapids. From investigation it seems that Shepherd may have jumped Stone's claim and for that reason Stone removed across the river. In Bailey & Hair's _Gazetteer_, 1865, the following mention is made of William Stone: "The next [town site] in order of time was called Columbus, built by William Stone, in September, 1838. He abandoned his town the next spring, then being a single log cabin. The site was that occupied by the present city of Cedar Rapids." Mr. Stone was a speculator and a trader and had made some money trading with the Indians prior to the advent of Shepherd. This is true, that Stone did not harbor any people of unsavory reputations, and his whole life bears the imprint that he was a gentleman even on the frontier. Such a person people would not remember as well as a frontier character like Shepherd. Shepherd, on the other hand, whatever may have been his failings, was a man of a big heart, who attracted people to him. He had the love of adventure, and it is not any secret but that he harbored thieves and gave them more or less encouragement. Mr. Stone, on the other hand, was an honest, quiet man, the opposite of his neighbor, and it is not to be wondered at that they did not get along. Another settler who came here at an early date was O. S. Bowling, or Bolling, who came in the summer of 1838 making a claim on the west side of the river and in whose honor Bowling's Hill in the south part of the town was named. Mr. Bowling was a quiet man, a good neighbor, and one universally loved by the old settlers. In June, 1839, came Thomas Gainor and David W. King. These gentlemen found Wilbert Stone, the Lichtebarger brothers, and the claims of Young, Hull, Ellis, and Bowling. It is said that Mrs. Rosanna Gainer, wife of Thomas Gainer, was the first white woman to locate on the west bank of the river and consequently would be the second woman to locate in what became Cedar Rapids, Mrs. Osgood Shepherd being the first. Mrs. Gainer did not reside long in Cedar Rapids, as she died June 8, 1840, giving birth to a daughter who also died the same summer. David W. King became one of the most enterprising of the men of that early day. He ran a ferry, platted the town of Kingston, and died, the owner of much land, in the autumn of 1854. His death caused much sorrow in Cedar Rapids. In July, 1839, arrived Isaac Carroll and family, consisting of nine persons, all of whom were well known by the early settlers. A son, Rev. George R. Carroll, has written interestingly of the Carrolls, Weares, and others of the early settlers in his _Pioneer Life in and Around Cedar Rapids from 1839 to 1849_. Another early character was John Vardy, who arrived in July 1841, and built, it is stated, the first frame house at the corner of Third street and Sixth avenue, during the summer of 1842. Mr. Vardy was a cabinet maker and an all-round person in the use of tools. He removed to Texas in 1856 where he died in the fall of 1878. Another of the old settlers was Thomas Downing, a native of Posey county, Indiana, and a tailor by trade who at the age of nineteen drifted into Iowa and in the early '40s came to Linn county. He was a clerk in the Daniels Company store, removing in 1855 to Waverly to conduct a business for Greene Bros., of Cedar Rapids. He died in Waverly in 1896. Samuel F. Hook was another of the residents of Cedar Rapids who came in 1845 at the age of twenty-one, a native of the state of Virginia. He died in 1848, and it is thought he was one of the first, if not the first, real store keeper within the boundaries of what became Cedar Rapids. J. H. Kelsey was born in New York state in 1819, and arrived in Cedar Rapids in 1848. He was a carpenter by trade. He removed to Vinton in 1863, going later to Nebraska where he passed away some time ago. [Illustration: METHODIST CHURCH, CENTER POINT] [Illustration: SOUTH MAIN STREET, TROY MILLS] Steve L. Pollock, a native of Pennsylvania, arrived in Cedar Rapids in the early '40s and married Marilla Lucore, a daughter of one of the early settlers, in March, 1844. He was the pioneer blacksmith and is supposed to have built the third or fourth house in the city. Harrison Campbell, it is stated, was the owner of the first blacksmith shop, in 1843. Mr. Pollock emigrated west in 1865 and died in Hood River, Oregon, in 1902. He was a brother-in-law of William Stewart, one of the old settlers of this city, both of them well and favorably known among the early pioneers of Cedar Rapids. Hiram Deem was a native of Ohio and at the age of twenty-eight or twenty-nine located at Cedar Rapids and hired out to N. B. Brown. He helped to build the dam across the river, erected saw mills, and otherwise was a very useful man in a town with the boom spirit that Cedar Rapids had at that time. He was also one of the first justices of the peace and many a scrap was settled in his house, which stood on First street on the west side. He entered the army and died from exposure in a hospital boat in January, 1863. What later became known as "Time Check" was first entered by Farnum Colby, who came here in 1839 and made his claim along the river about a mile northwest of the First avenue bridge near Robert Ellis's claim. He was a native of Pennsylvania and a very useful, hard-working man. From here he removed to Olin, Jones county, where he died some years ago. In the early '40s also came Charles R. Mulford from Hoboken, New Jersey, and at once began as a town merchant, opening a store in the Vardy house on Third street and Sixth avenue. He was one of the most wide-awake business men of that day and had a good business, but was caught with the gold fever and emigrated in 1849 to California, where he died. One of the best known men in the state in an early date was Col. William H. Merritt. Mr. Merritt was born in New York city September 12, 1820, and received a fair education at Lima Seminary. At the age of eighteen he was compelled to rely on his own resources and sought the west, settling in Rock Island, Illinois, where he obtained a clerkship. Through government officials and others he was sent to Ivanhoe on the Red Cedar river in 1839 to take charge of an Indian trading depot. Ivanhoe was a squatter town, being staked out in October, 1838, by Anson Cowles. To this place, which was expected to become a large trading center, came also at the same time George Greene, who taught school in the vicinity during the winter of 1839. Mr. Merritt ran the store with considerable ability, and long before the Civil war showed his presence of mind and bravery. At this time, like in all other stores of its kind, whiskey, tobacco, and groceries were sold over the same counter, and one day a number of Indians came, insisting on buying "goody toss," designated in English as whiskey. Mr. Merritt refused, as he had such orders from his employers, but the Indians insisted and began to take possession of the store, and intended to drive the young clerk out. A few pioneer hangers-on fled, but not so the young clerk in charge of the goods and the store. He got hold of an axe and with this he cleaned out single handed a whole squad of Indians, who left as quickly as they had made their appearance, much to the surprise of the white settlers, who up to this time had always fled when the redskins outnumbered them ten to one. Mr. Merritt was related to George Greene by marriage, and the two men were much together from this time on. Mr. Merritt became clerk in the Assembly at Burlington in 1841 and in company with George Greene edited the _Miners' Express_ at Dubuque. Later he was caught with the gold fever rush and emigrated to California, returning in 1851, becoming once more editor and part owner of the old paper. In 1855 he removed to Ft. Dodge, being appointed registrar of the land office at that place. He returned once more to Cedar Rapids and founded a banking house under the style of Greene, Merritt & Co., which firm later disposed of their banking interests to Sampson C. Bever. He was nominated for governor on the democratic ticket in 1861 but was defeated by Samuel J. Kirkwood. Later he enlisted and served with distinction during the Civil war. After the war Colonel Merritt became editor of the _Statesman_, one of the leading democratic papers of the state. He died at his home in Des Moines in 1891, mourned by a large circle of friends all over the state. Colonel Merritt was for half a century one of the most all-round men in Iowa and a leader of his party. The Weare family arrived here in 1848 and for more than fifty years were prominent factors in the upbuilding of Cedar Rapids. John Weare became a noted banker and railroad promoter. Charles Weare became engaged in constructing railroads and took charge of large contracts, was mayor of Cedar Rapids, postmaster, and consul in foreign countries. He was also connected with the First National Bank of Cedar Rapids, as well as with the Cedar Rapids Water Company. George Weare became a noted banker in Sioux City, and P. B. Weare and Ely E. Weare promoters and members of the board of trade in the city of Chicago. Later they promoted steamboat traffic in the Yukon country at the time of the gold fever rush. All these were sons of John Weare, Sr., who removed here from Michigan in the spring of 1845 in order to be with his children who had previously emigrated. Mr. Weare, Sr., held the office of justice of the peace up to the time of his death in 1856. William Stewart, a native of Pennsylvania, located in Cedar Rapids in 1847 and entered the blacksmith shop of Pollock, later putting up his own shop, and besides operating a large farm. Mr. Stewart removed to California and died there in 1891, having acquired a fortune in Cedar Rapids real estate. Samuel S. Johnson was another Pennsylvanian who came to Cedar Rapids in 1847. He was a carpenter and joiner by trade but gave that up for farming on arriving in Linn county. Mr. Johnson lived to the grand old age of eighty-five, and passed away at the home of his daughter, Mrs. Robert Taylor. One of the most enterprising, active business men who located in Cedar Rapids in 1849 was Dr. Seymour D. Carpenter, who was then twenty-three years of age, and had ostensibly come out here to practice medicine, but he later turned his attention to land speculations, politics, and other enterprises. Dr. Carpenter is still residing in Chicago, enjoying a hale and hearty old age. In order to give the reader an impression of Cedar Rapids as it was at that time we shall quote Carpenter's splendid article contained in the _History of Crescent Lodge_, by J. E. Morcombe, as follows: "I turned north and went to Ottumwa where I met Judge Greene, then a member of the Supreme Bench of Iowa; he persuaded me that Cedar Rapids was in the near future to become a metropolis and I decided to go there. After four days' hard riding and swimming several swollen streams, I struck the town on the afternoon of June 14, 1849; I crossed the river on a rope ferry operated by David King, who lived in a cabin on the west side; on the other side of the river stood a cabin, once the home of a man named Shepherd, and said to be the resort of thieves in an early day. I can not say that I was very favorably impressed by the thirty or forty small one-story unpainted houses that were scattered about near the river. There seemed to be a great deal of sand, and the houses were so situated that there was no sign of a street. There were three two-story houses, one on the river near the foot of what is now Third avenue called the 'Park House' in which the Greenes had their store, one on Second street in which John Coffman kept a hotel, and one on Third avenue back of the Dows & Ely block, also a hotel. I was discouraged and would have travelled further but only had about $10.00 left and from necessity had to stop. I put up at the Coffman hotel which, as I have said, was a two-story structure with a wing; it had been built of unseasoned oak lumber and was not plastered; the whole of the second story of the main building was in one room and contained eight or ten beds and was the common sleeping room of the guests. The lumber had shrunk and there could be no complaint as to ventilation, however short the accommodations might be in other respects.... "Within a week I made the acquaintance of all the people of the town. Among the leading persons were William and Joseph Greene, brothers of the Judge, Lowell and Lawson Daniels, Homer Bishop and John Weare, all of whom were merchants. The three stores of which they were the proprietors would not compare well with the department stores of today, but all the same they were department stores and in their miscellaneous stocks the customer could find all he wanted--from castor oil to broad axes. "Pollack and Stewart were the blacksmiths, and the carpenters and wagon makers were represented, but I can not recall their names. There was also a saloon kept by James Leverich, a brother of Joe, a respectable man and a good Mason. The inhabitants were mostly young people, John Weare, Sr., Deacon Kennedy and Porter Earl being the exceptions. I found three doctors already located, Dr. Mansfield, Dr. Traer and Dr. Larabee, the latter being what was called a 'steam doctor.' Isaac Cook and Henry Harmon represented the law. "The town was by no means dull; emigrants were coming daily, and the saw mill operated by John Weare, Jr., was kept busy cutting lumber for the new houses that were going up. There was no church building, but Parson Jones preached in the school house, as did preachers of other denominations, and Sunday schools and Bible classes were in full blast. "On the Fourth of July a grand ball was given at the Coffman Hotel, to which flocked young people from Marion and all the surrounding country; there were at least fifty couples. The beds were removed from our common sleeping quarters, which, decorated with green boughs, became a ball room. Every part of the house was crowded and the fun was fast and furious. Only one mishap slightly marred the festivities; near a stove pipe hole at one end of the room the floor was defective, and a husky reveler of more than ordinary weight while executing the double shuffle broke through and fell upon the heads below; no injury was done and the dance went on. "Dr. Mansfield took me as a partner and in company with Judge Cook we had a room 10�16 in a small one-story building opposite the mill, the other part being occupied by S. L. Pollock and family; his blacksmith shop was nearby. Our medicines were kept on a shelf and a store box made a table; our bunks occupied one side and a few stools and two split bottom chairs made up our furniture. We took our meals at the Coffman Hotel; our field of practice embraced the settlers, not numerous, in the valleys of the Cedar and Iowa rivers and their tributaries; we made very long rides. I was called to see a patient two miles above the present town of Vinton not yet begun; I got lost in the night and waited for daylight under a tree on the bank of the river at the very place where Vinton now stands. Bilious fever and ague were the prevailing diseases, all the newcomers having to undergo one or both.... "We had mail three times a week from Dubuque and Iowa City; the Higley brothers did the service in a two-horse hack; I think Joseph Greene was postmaster. John Weare, Sr., was justice of the peace; he was a very original character, fond of company and full of interesting reminiscences extending back to the war of 1812 in which he had lost a leg. His small office was in the rear of Mrs. Ely's residence which stood on the ground where the Dows and Ely block now is. He gave 'nicknames' to many people and places which stuck to them like burrs; the First Presbyterian church building was begun that summer and as the walls were built of cement, Old Mr. Weare named it 'The Muddy,' which it retained to the last day of its existence." Dr. Carpenter states how they tried to promote a railway from Cascade to Fairfield, held meetings concerning railway extensions, and appointed delegates from various counties to these conventions to discuss the matter fully and to authorize the government to donate land and have eastern people furnish the money. He says: "Dr. J. F. Ely and myself were selected to go to Fairfield; we left Cedar Rapids on December 3 and after a three days' hard and cold travel reached Fairfield; Marion sent Col. I. M. Preston and Dr. Ristine. The convention met in a small school house; all the counties were represented; the Hon. C. W. Slagle, of Fairfield, then a very young man, was chosen president, and I was chosen secretary.... "We departed for our various homes thinking the work half done, but sad to relate Cedar Rapids had to wait ten years longer for a locomotive. These two meetings were, I think, the first railroad conventions held in the interior of the state. Soon opposition claims were started for east and west lines and our project was ignominiously called the 'Ram's Horn.' The next year was quite a stirring one; new people were coming in great numbers and many were leaving, for the California gold fever had broken out. Several outfits left Cedar Rapids, with one of them Dr. Mansfield, my partner, whose place was taken by Dr. S. C. Koontz, a cousin of mine, well known to the old citizens. "That year the first brick buildings were erected; a dwelling on Iowa avenue, near Greene's opera house, and a three-story building on Commercial street by Judge Greene, which for a long time was the show building of the town; we began to put on airs. "In the spring of 1852 a steamboat came to Cedar Rapids; it was a great event and attracted people from near and far; she brought a cargo of freight, among which were the household effects of Mr. Bever and my father, both of whom from that time forward became citizens of the town. This year, also, came Mr. Daniel O. Finch with a printing press and forthwith started the _Progressive Era_, the first paper in the Cedar valley. [The _Era_ was established in 1851.] Ezra Van Metre, a talented young lawyer from Circleville, Ohio, also came that year. Everyone was rejoiced that we had an organ and the editor was overwhelmed with original matter. There were at least a dozen young fellows in the town, myself among the rest, who thought they 'knew it all,' and anxiously rushed into print. The paper changed hands in a year or two, and became the _Cedar Valley Times_, and continued until a few years ago." Dr. Carpenter sold his practice to Dr. Koontz and went into the land business and in politics. Again we must quote what he has to say about the county seat fight which commenced the first few years he was here: "Cedar Rapids claimed that she was to be the commercial metropolis and therefore ought to be the political center. The question was brought to an issue by the county commissioners ordering a new court house at Marion, subject to the approval of the voters of the county. Cedar Rapids opposed the measure, believing that the building would insure the permanent location of the county seat. Then ensued a most bitter canvass. The voters were deluged with oratory. Marion put on the stump Judge Isbell, I. M. Preston, Col. William Smyth, N. M. Hubbard, W. G. Thompson, and R. D. Stephens, against whom Cedar Rapids opposed Jas. J. Child, Ezra Van Metre, Donald McIntosh, A. S. Belt, E. N. Bates, I. N. Whittam and others. Every school district was canvassed and much bitter feeling engendered. The Marion people were more adroit politicians and carried the election, but the result did not discourage our citizens, who asserted that no election could affect 'manifest destiny.' [Illustration: M. E. CHURCH, TROY MILLS] [Illustration: MILL AT PRAIRIEBURG] "About 1852 Major J. M. May came to Cedar Rapids from Janesville, Wisconsin. The Major was a stirring man with a head full of schemes. He said that Cedar Rapids was a place of immense possibilities and only wanted enterprise to make it the great town of Iowa. He bought land at the lower part of town adjoining that owned by my father, and land on the west side adjoining the river and below that owned by David King. He platted out town lots on both sides of the river, and induced my father and King to do the same, which were the first additions made to the original town. He also surveyed the island, sent a plat to the general government and took possession of it, much to the chagrin and surprise of the old settlers. Then he began to agitate the question of a free bridge. Everyone wanted a free bridge but were undecided as to the location. The Major induced my father to subscribe $1500.00, and he gave $1000.00, which with sums contributed by others in the lower end of the town secured the location below the island at the narrowest place in the river. The bridge was completed and thrown open to the public, I think, in the late fall of 1852, and proved a great convenience. The construction was defective and when the ice broke up in the spring, the heavy cakes knocked down two of the piers, and destroyed the greater part of the bridge. All the people of the town were collected on the bank of the river watching the event, and two young women who were crossing went down with the structure and were drowned. This was the first bridge built at Cedar Rapids. The next was a bridge of boats at the foot of Iowa avenue which I believe was also swept away by ice." Dr. Carpenter speaks next of the formation of the real company who had money and who meant business in the formation of what was then known as the "Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska Railway," which built from Clinton to Cedar Rapids and to the Missouri river. "Cedar Rapids was given first directors as follows: Geo. Greene, John Weare, H. G. Angle, S. C. Bever and S. D. Carpenter, which positions we held till the road was built to Cedar Rapids." In speaking of the amount of money put up by these men in order to get this railway it is said that $200,000.00 was pledged by Cedar Rapids, which amount was raised as follows: $100,000.00 by private subscription and $100,000.00 by city bonds. Greene & Weare, then bankers, subscribed $10,000.00; George Greene, $5,000.00; John Weare, $5,000.00; N. B. Brown, $5,000.00; S. C. Bever, $5,000.00; Gabriel Carpenter, $5,000.00, and numerous other smaller sums to make up the amount. Then a city election was had and the $100,000.00 voted by an overwhelming majority. Surveys of the route were begun at once, and from Mount Vernon and Cedar Rapids two lines were seen; one by the way of Marion, and the other by the river. It was ascertained that the latter route would be the shorter and cheaper by $100,000.00 than the former, but the company proposed to adopt the Marion route if she would subscribe $100,000.00. This she declined to do, and the river line was chosen. Work progressed slowly and the first year found the rails no further west than De Witt, Clinton county. Dr. Carpenter speaks of another railroad venture when a company was formed known as the "Cedar Rapids & Missouri River Railroad Company" with L. B. Crocker, of New York, as president, and with Major Bodfish and a number of Cedar Rapids men as directors. "When the legislature assembled in 1859 and 1860 we invaded the capital, and established our headquarters in an old hotel near the river, the name of which I have forgotten. Major Bodfish was the commissary of the body. We had no money to expend, but determined to be hospitable. The Major laid in a barrel of old rye whiskey; as it was before the war, whiskey was cheap; also several boxes of cigars. One of our strongest henchmen was J. W. Woodbury, a leading man from Marshalltown, and with him Peter Hepburn, now an honored congressman, then a very stripling, but showing evident signs of what was in him. John A. Kasson was then a young lawyer in Des Moines, and we secured him as our attorney.... "The lawmakers were not in a hurry, but towards the last of the session they passed our bill, and you may be sure there was great rejoicing in Cedar Rapids. On our return the citizens gave us a grand banquet in Greene's Hotel, and we felt that we had at last secured a substantial victory for our city, as in fact it was, for thenceforth Marion could no longer be our rival. The cars came to Cedar Rapids in the summer of 1859, just ten years after we had our first railroad meeting, and we felt at last that hope had ended in fruition. An immense concourse greeted their arrival from all parts of the surrounding country. General D. N. Sprague, then mayor, welcomed the guests, and the citizens threw open hospitable doors to all comers. From that time forward Cedar Rapids assumed metropolitan airs as the leading town of the Cedar valley." On politics Dr. Carpenter speaks as follows: "From the first, on my arrival at Cedar Rapids, I became an active partisan. General A. J. McKean of Marion was the acknowledged leader, but the following was small. At the state convention in 1851, held in Iowa City, I was the sole representative from Linn county, and there were not more than fifty delegates from the whole state. State officers were nominated and also a candidate for congress. Colonel Henderson, the father of J. W. Henderson of Cedar Rapids, was named for congress, and without much opposition I secured the nomination for secretary of state for my friend, Isaac Cook, who up to that time was entirely unknown. I well remember with what surprise he received the news. Although there was no chance for his election it was the beginning with him of a long and useful career in many offices of trust, alike honorable to him and his constituents. As time rolled on and our population of immigrants from the north and especially from the New England states, and with the bearing of the whig party towards slavery, they became more hopeful, and by the year 1853 or 1854, the whigs carried the county, electing both members of the legislature and the county officers. John P. Conkey was the first member of the legislature living in Cedar Rapids, and at the same election Isaac Cook was chosen for a county office. "About this time Charles Weare, Isaac Cook and many others cut loose from their old convictions and became ardent free soilers." Dr. Carpenter speaks of how he abandoned medicine, how he opened a banking house in 1855, and became a land owner, having at one time as much as 1,600 acres of land near where the town of Norway now stands. He was first connected with Lehman & Kreider, later forming the partnership of Carpenter, Stibbs & Company, the firm doing business until 1861. Dr. Carpenter attended the convention at Chicago that nominated Lincoln and was one of the first to enlist in the Civil war as a surgeon. He was mustered out in 1865. Henry E., Harvey G., Wellington W., and Major M. A. Higley were for a generation merchants, financiers, and leaders in many enterprises in Cedar Rapids. They were born in the state of Connecticut, coming to this county in the early '40s. Henry and Harvey Higley for some time operated a line of stages from Dubuque to Iowa City, and for that reason knew personally nearly all the prominent men of Iowa in the '40s and '50s. Iowa City being the capital and Dubuque the most enterprising city in the territory and state, the public men frequently travelled to and from these cities. Harvey Higley "got caught" with the gold fever and went to California, returning in a few years to Cedar Rapids. The Higley brothers made large fortunes in real estate which have descended to their children. The brothers, C. J. and Jacob A. Hart, natives of Maryland, came to Cedar Rapids in the early '50s, and for a generation were two of the most successful lumber dealers in Cedar Rapids. Alexander L. Ely was one of the early millers, who died in the '40s. His brother, Dr. J. F. Ely, came later to look after the business interests of his deceased brother, and for some fifteen or twenty years was a successful practitioner in Cedar Rapids. He and his wife for a generation were leaders of the business and social life of this city. Homer Bishop was an old-time merchant, arriving in the early '40s, and for eight years was postmaster of Cedar Rapids. He was a congenial person, well known, and an enterprising and free-hearted man who did his best to build up a city on what was then thought to be the western frontier. No doubt the first Scandinavian settler to locate within the confines of Linn county was Nels C. Boye, a native of Denmark, who emigrated to the United States in 1827 and arrived in Muscatine in 1837 and located in the vicinity of Lisbon in 1838 where he purchased land and engaged in farming. Being brought up as a merchant he removed with his family to Iowa City in 1843 and for a time operated one of the most up-to-date stores in the new capital. On a business trip to St. Louis in 1849 he fell a victim to the cholera and died there on June 23. A number of his children continued to reside in Linn county, and a number of relations are still residents of this county. One of the old settlers of Ivanhoe was Dr. S. Grafton, who arrived there in 1843 and travelled horseback up and down the Cedar and Iowa river valleys as far as Jones or as far northeast as half way to Dubuque in the practice of his profession. He was born in Ohio in 1800, and died during the typhoid epidemic in 1845 and 1847. He was one of the best known of the early physicians, a gentleman, a scholar, and a man who did, perhaps, more during the few years of his practice to help the poor and the needy than any other of the early settlers. He was married to Isabelle Patterson, also a resident for many years of East Liverpool, Ohio, but born in Pennsylvania. After the death of Dr. Grafton she married Herman Boye, a son of Nels C. Boye. Mr. Boye was a cabinet maker and farmer. He got caught with the gold fever and emigrated to California in 1850, returning to Ivanhoe within a few years. It is said that he made more money in California seining for fish, which he had learned in Denmark, than he did in digging gold. He died in 1880 at the age of sixty-two years. The widow died January 11, 1897, at the advanced age of eighty years, and is buried at Mount Vernon. Another of the old settlers of Bertram may be mentioned--Joseph Crane, a cousin of James Doty, who has the honor, at least, of obtaining the first license to marry within the Territory, viz: in 1840 when he was married to Agnes Boghart. The first settlers seem to have been William Abbe, Daniel Hahn, C. C. Haskins, and Edward M. Crow. Which one of these men actually was the first settler within the confines of the county may ever remain a disputed question. We have the record when they entered lands, but this does not at all indicate that they did not live on these lands for several years before actual entry was made. The first settler in the vicinity of what became Mount Vernon was, no doubt, Charles Haskins, who located about a mile and a half east of the village in the summer of 1837. He was at least one of the first to locate in that vicinity. It is said that Daniel Hahn came in the spring of 1837, made a claim and built a log cabin, his wife assisting him in building the house. Edward M. Crow has been supposed to have been the first settler, but it seems that he came in July, 1837, in company with his brother, and located near what later became known as Viola, where he made a claim and erected a small shanty. He returned to the Fox river settlement for provisions and did not come back until in August, when he was accompanied by his brother and by James Dawson. About this time also came Joselyn and Russell. Their cabins were located in the back woods in Brown township and was called "The Settlement" for some time. Later in the fall of 1837 arrived Jacob Mann, having resided previously in Jones county. He located on what was known as "Big Creek" in Linn county, but he did not take possession of his rude cabin or claim until in February, 1838, when he and his daughter, Sarah, moved onto the claim and began housekeeping. He afterward built a grist mill on Big creek or purchased one built by John Oxley which was swept away in the spring of 1851, when Mann lost his life, refusing to leave his mill which, he said, "was dearer to him than his own life." Sally Mann is supposed to have been, if not the first white woman in the county, at least one of the first, and many are the stories told of Sally, or rather Sarah, Mann. She was more masculine than feminine in her make-up and knew few of the customs and manners of good society. She raised cats for a living and used to sell these at fancy prices to the pioneer settlers. There was nothing attractive about Sally, for she was noted more for her strength and endurance than for grace and beauty. But even though Sally had very little to recommend her, women were scarce in those days and the settlers were, perhaps, not so particular as they later became, and on July 21, 1840, Sally Mann and Aaron Haynes were duly married by John Crow, a justice of the peace. Sally Haynes nee Mann, had many good traits of character. No one was turned away from her door hungry and she would help neighbors with any kind of work if necessary. The western life appealed to her, as it had to the members of her family, and when settlers came thick and fast she and her husband left for the far west in order, it was said, that they could breathe the pure air of the frontier. It was always thus. "'Tis not the fairest form that holds The mildest, purest soul within; 'Tis not the richest plant that holds The sweetest fragrance in." Gabriel Carpenter, a native of Lancaster, Pennsylvania, was born in 1801. He arrived in Cedar Rapids in 1852 and invested all his funds in 500 acres of land in what has now become the heart of the city. Various additions in this city have been named in honor of this early real estate owner, who devoted all his time in the upbuilding of this city until his death in 1881. Mr. Carpenter saw many hardships in his early career in life, but with great perseverance overcame all. The first lumber he used was hauled by oxen from Muscatine. He became early interested in various enterprises in the city. He always gave liberally of his means to all worthy objects and assisted in advancing all public enterprises which he believed would prove a benefit to the city. His widow, Mrs. Maria Carpenter, born in 1820, is still living and resides in this city, honored and respected by all. Dr. S. D. Carpenter was born in 1826, and is a son of Gabriel Carpenter. In the early fifties he came to Cedar Rapids and located here for the practice of medicine. He soon gave up medicine for the more exciting and more lucrative vocation of railway building, banking, and handling of real estate. He now resides in Chicago. John E. Kurtz was born in Lancaster county, Pennsylvania, in 1817, emigrated to Iowa in 1847, and became one of the founders of Lisbon. He was for more than half a century a well known farmer, merchant, and miller. In early life Mr. Kurtz was a whig in politics, later going over to the republican party. A large number of his descendants still reside in this county. Peter D. Harman was a native of Adams county, Pennsylvania, where he was born in 1816. In 1840 he came to Iowa City, locating in Linn county two years later. Mr. Harman assisted in the building of the state capitol at Iowa City, and also in the erection of the first court house in Linn county. In his day and generation Mr. Harman was considered one of the most skillful stone and brick masons in this part of the country. He died in Bertram township in 1896, and is survived by a number of children who are residents of this county. [Illustration: AT OLD SETTLERS' REUNION, MARION] [Illustration: A PARK SCENE IN MARION] Barnett Lutz came to Linn county in 1839 and was one of the best known of the old settlers. At the time of his death in 1901 he was one of the oldest pioneers in the county. Mr. Lutz was a true pioneer, and did much in building up the new country. C. J. Ives was not a pioneer settler in Linn county, but he was a pioneer in developing railway properties in the state. Mr. Ives was a native of New England, coming to Lee county in 1847, drifting into mining in Colorado, and not till 1862 did he turn his attention to railroading. He was for a number of years president of the B., C. R. & N. railway, which he developed into one of the best paying railway properties in the west. He resigned when that road was absorbed by the Rock Island system. Mr. Ives during his long residence in Linn county was deeply interested in the welfare of his employees, and in the upbuilding of Cedar Rapids. He was also interested in banks, electric light companies, and other large enterprises. He was a practical business man, capable and forceful, with a mind ever active in planning and executing great things. He was universally respected by his employees, and never forgot in word, act, or deed that he was only an associate and not a superior. No railway official at the time of his death a few years ago had more friends among the railroad men than Mr. Ives. David W. King, the founder of Kingston, settled in Linn county in 1839 when Indians were numerous and the white settlers scattered. Mr. King was a native of Westmorland county, Pennsylvania, who went to Michigan early and from there drove an ox team across the country to Iowa, entering land on the west side of the river, which land is now a part of Cedar Rapids. Mr. King operated the first ferry across the Cedar river and had to obtain his material for the erection of the same from Dubuque and Muscatine, all of which was hauled in wagons across the country. The cable used in operating the ferry was of wire, which was brought from Dubuque on horseback. The town of Kingston he platted in 1850. Mr. King was a real promoter, who early comprehended the future of Cedar Rapids. In order to induce people to locate on the west side of the river he was liberal and public-spirited, giving away many lots for factory sites and other enterprises. He passed away in 1854 at the age of forty-six, just at a time when he had attained to a prominent place as one of the leading citizens of the town, in the promotion of which he had devoted all his time and versatile talents. Robert Smyth, who died in 1898 at his home at Mount Vernon, was in many respects one of the most enterprising men in Linn county. Born in Ireland in 1814, and emigrating to America in 1834, he drifted into Linn county in 1840 and soon became an extensive dealer in real estate, as well as a banker, and during all his life took an active part in politics. He was a member of the Sixth Territorial legislature in 1843-44, a member of the state legislature in 1846-48. Mr. Smyth was also paymaster of the United States army, disbursing more than $10,000,000.00 during his term of office. In 1868 he was once more returned to the state senate where he served for four years, and in 1884 served another term in the house. He was also delegate to many state conventions, and outside of the late Charles Weare knew more of the public men of Iowa than any other man in Linn county. Mr. Smyth was a brother of William Smyth, the well known jurist, who died a member of congress from this district. Edward M. Crow, by some people believed to be the first actual white settler in the county, was born in Orange county, Indiana, in 1816 of ancestors who had previously emigrated from North Carolina. John Crow, the father, came to Linn county to the neighborhood of Viola in 1838, and there he died in March, 1841. It is thought that Ed Crow crossed the Mississippi river in 1837 and on July 4th laid claim to a tract of land on section 13 in Brown township. Thus, it would seem, that Abbe preceded him by several months. In company with Crow at that time there came Harrison Crow, a brother, as well as James Dawson, who built cabins on what is now known as Crow's creek near Viola. They also put up a little hay that fall. Thus, while these were among the first settlers, it must be conceded that they did not precede Abbe, Haskins, or Hahn in locating in Linn county. Ed Crow, it is true, was one of the early settlers and well known, a typical pioneer, but he was not the first settler, although he arrived in the historic year of 1837, when the white settlers were beginning to move into the territory not yet vacated by the red men. In mentioning the men who were factors in the upbuilding of Iowa, Theodore S. Parvin should not be omitted. During his residence in Linn county he devoted most of his time to the upbuilding of a unique Masonic library. He was known throughout the United States as one of the leaders of that order. Mr. Parvin's love of collecting together many things was only one of the many sidedness of a remarkable personage. Mr. Parvin was born in Cedarville, New Jersey. Educated in the east, he drifted west to Cincinnati and there met Robert Lucas, recently appointed governor of Iowa Territory. Mr. Parvin had been a teacher and had been admitted to the bar so he was well qualified for his mission as secretary to the governor. After coming to Burlington Mr. Parvin was United States attorney, clerk of the federal court, registrar of the state land office, and for many years professor and regent of the State University of Iowa. During all these years he lectured and wrote much. He died June 28, 1901, one of the most widely known and most honored men in the state. "Steadfast in faith, without trace of cant, he walked the ways of life with simple trust in the Infinite wisdom and passed to his death relying on the guidance of an unseen hand," says his biographer. Julius E. Sanford was one of the platters of the city of Cedar Rapids, and was a wide-awake, enterprising young man who for a while was in partnership with N. W. Isbell. Mr. Sanford was a native of Connecticut and was well educated on coming west where he took up the practice of the law and engaged in real estate. He removed to Dubuque in 1845, where he died in 1847, leaving a widow, Henrietta E. Sanford, who in 1848 married David Wilson. She died in 1898. Perit Sanford, who figures in early real estate transfers, was the father of Julius Sanford, and heir of the estate, as the son died without children. Thomas Craig was an old settler in Linn county, and one of the best known men in the community. Mr. Craig was odd in some ways. He wore a white overcoat and had a fondness for horses. He was a stanch Methodist, and at times would be reprimanded, for he refused to lead in prayer. Mr. Craig died many years ago, respected and honored by all with whom he had come in contact. One of his daughters was married to N. B. Brown and another to Jesse Beechly, who recently died in his old homestead in Franklin township. Dr. Eber L. Mansfield was born in Canaan, Ohio, in 1821. He received a classical education and also took a medical course later. On leaving home his father gave him a horse, saddle-bags, and an outfit, and he started out for himself. He taught school in Kentucky and then came overland on horseback to Iowa in 1847, crossing the Cedar river near the lower bridge. He was assisted by W. W. and M. A. Higley, two young men who later became his friends and fellow workers in the upbuilding of Cedar Rapids. The gold fever of 1850 took the doctor away from his practice, and by August, 1850, he had arrived at the gold diggings. On the way he had made money, as he doctored a great many who were sick with fevers. He purchased two teams and did teaming from Sacramento to Shaw's Flats for about two years when he got tired and sold out, returning by way of Panama and New Orleans. He came back to Cedar Rapids, which city remained his home until his death. Dr. Mansfield was one of the best known and most successful physicians of his day and generation. He invested in city real estate, in bank stock, and was stockholder in insurance companies. His was a rugged, strong character. He early saw the possibilities of the city, and was one of the first to invest in its real estate. He erected brick buildings in the heart of the city which are now owned by his children, and are very valuable. William Rogers, a native of Ohio, where he was born in 1830, came to Linn county and settled in Rogers Grove in the early forties. Mr. Rogers was an enterprising man and was one of the first to erect a saw mill and to raft lumber down the river to Muscatine in order to find a market for it. In an age when straw sheds were common he went to work and erected one of the best and largest barns in the country. In this barn he stacked his grain and threshed it by walking the horses over it, the wheat dropping through the floor to a floor below where it was cleaned. Mr. Rogers died many years ago, one of the best known men in southern Linn county. His widow, Elizabeth McNie, is still living, making her home with her son, James M. Rogers, of Fairfax township. Chandler Jordan, born in 1820 in the state of Maine, came to Linn county in 1844, where he made his home until his death a short time ago. Mr. Jordan was a lifelong member of the Baptist church, which he supported and in which he was an active worker all his life. He was interested in the public schools, and in public affairs in general. Jordan's Grove is named in honor of this sturdy old pioneer. G. W. Matsell, for many years a resident of Buffalo township, where he owned some 2,000 acres of land which he purchased at an early day, was a well known character in New York city in the old days of Tammany Hall. He was chief of police and a prominent politician for many years till the breaking up of the party with which he was closely associated. Then he came here where his family still resides. Mr. Matsell of course spent much time in New York, where he had financial interests, but he liked the west and enjoyed the summers in Iowa. He was a democrat of the old school, but never entered into the game of politics after coming west, having had his fill of it in the New York political ring for many years. The Matsell home was a hospitable one and many were the people George Matsell entertained during his residence in Iowa. Visitors came from all over the country, for he was well known. Mr. Matsell entertained royally and knew how to entertain. The history of New York city cannot be written without the mention of G. W. Matsell, police chief, a member of the Committee of Seventy, and a well known character for many years during the stormy days of the Civil war. His son still resides on the old homestead. Robert Safely was a native of Scotland. He emigrated to New York at the age of fourteen. He saw the first engine to run with steam in the state of New York. For many years Mr. Safely was master mechanic for the old B., C. R. & N. system, and was a familiar figure on the streets of Cedar Rapids up to the time of his death, a short time ago. Mr. Safely was an expert mechanic and up to the time of his death was interested in everything pertaining to mechanical science. Many of our earlier citizens only remained here for a shorter or longer time and left for other parts where they later attained to prominence. Who does not remember W. H. Ingham, one of Kossuth county's pioneers, who lived in this county in 1850 and for five years was engaged in surveying and locating lands for early settlers? Judge Thomas Burke, a noted character of Seattle and now wealthy, tried his luck at the law here waiting for clients who never came. When Mr. Burke was picked up by J. J. Hill on the coast then every one wanted this once briefless barrister as his legal adviser. Bishop C. C. McCabe lived here for a number of years, and no one had any idea that the rollicky, fun-making, joking young beardless lad in the employ of Judge Greene and others would develop into a great lecturer and a Methodist bishop. Dr. J. T. Headley, of lecture fame, practiced medicine here in the late sixties, and was a quiet, unassuming man, who minded his own business and devoted days and nights to books and science. Here lived for some years the eloquent divine, Rev. Fawcett, a person of great eloquence and force of character who left Cedar Rapids better for having lived in it. One cannot forget Rev. Elias Skinner, now living in Waterloo, also a Methodist minister of force and eloquence who at various times lived in Linn county. Rev. Skinner, despite his eighty-three years, is well and hearty and can relate many things which occurred in this county in the fifties and sixties. He writes as follows: "I think Linn county is about the very best county in Iowa. Five different times I had my home in old Linn. I never did anything worthy of special mention at either time. In each of the four places where I lived I blundered into doing things which I would rather not have recalled. So please excuse me. I write with pencil because I can't guide a pen. "Yours, E. SKINNER." COL. DURHAM TO THE OLD SETTLERS--ADDRESS BEFORE ASSOCIATION. AUGUST 1902 _Ladies and Gentlemen of the Old Settlers' Society_: In calling this assemblage to order I wish to say to you all, to the new-comers, the strangers who honor us with their presence, that, in the name of our society, we bid you a most hearty welcome and say as a good hostess would, come again. Many of you I knew in territorial times, when we were seeking and establishing new homes, in the far new country beyond the Mississippi, and aiding in our humble way to lay the foundation of the present famous commonwealth of Iowa. The first settlements were made along and near the Mississippi river. There were but two counties, Dubuque and Des Moines, and the country was called the Black Hawk Purchase. The purchase negotiated with the Sac and Fox Indians, by General Scott and Governor Reynolds, at the close of the Black Hawk war, consisted of a strip averaging about fifty miles wide, beginning in the northeastern part of the state and running to the north boundary of Missouri, though not on a straight line, at a point fifty miles west of the river. It was under the jurisdiction of the territory of Michigan, and was represented in congress, as a territorial delegate, by George Wallace Jones. In 1837 a few townships in the northwestern part of this county were surveyed by a surveyor general deputy named Haight. And soon thereafter Edward Crow and a few other adventurers came. Their only roads were fragments of Indian trails. They were delighted with the country and the smooth, polished surface of the unbroken prairie in all the grandeur and sublimity of its primeval state. Sages have sung of the charms seen in the face of such solitudes and I would say that I never felt nearer the great Creator and Ruler of the universe than when in regions before untrod by civilized man, where the forces of nature reigned supreme, and no sounds broke the silence except the hoo-hooing of owls, the drumming of pheasants, the bugle notes of the swan, the quacking of smaller fowls, the barking of prairie wolves, and in a timbered country, the hungry, desolate howl of the large wolf, and sometimes, though seldom, the piteous wail of the panther. It's no wonder that Moses retired to the top of a distant mountain with the roar of thunder and the flashes of lightning beneath him to talk with God. In 1838 another strip of country was acquired from the Indians, embracing the remainder of Linn county. Possession was given in 1839, when a continuous immigration commenced, which dates back to the coming of many of the families represented here today, our respected secretary among them, and not long after that our treasurer. Previous to its organization in 1839, Linn county was, with Jones county, attached for judicial, revenue, and election purposes to Jackson county. In 1838 the territory of Iowa was struck off from Wisconsin, Robert Lucas was appointed governor by President Van Buren, and William Wallace Chapman was elected first delegate to congress, with both of whom I was acquainted in the constitutional convention in 1844. Governor Lucas was a Virginian by birth, though raised in Ohio, where he had served as governor. He was one of nature's noblemen, not for pomposity and fine equipage, but for all the traits that make up true manhood--modesty, courage, honesty, integrity, patriotism, and morality. [Illustration: COURT HOUSE, MARION] [Illustration: WAPSIE RIVER AND MILL Built in the '50s at Central City] Soon after the organization of the territory the Missouri war began. This related to the boundary line between the two states. It lasted some time, but like the Ohio and Michigan war, was bloodless, though a good deal of patriotism and red tape and military titles were shed. The trouble was finally settled by the surveyors and the courts. In 1839 Linn county was organized. The first officers were John C. Berry, commissioner's clerk or auditor; Hosea W. Gray, sheriff; Dr. Tryon, clerk of the court; Luman W. Strong, Samuel C. Stewart, and Peter McRoberts, county commissioners. Squire Strong was a potential factor in all Linn county affairs. Mr. Stewart was distinguished for his piety. His wife was a sister of those sturdy pioneers, the Scott brothers. In 1840 the territory contained 43,000 inhabitants; Augustus C. Dodge was elected delegate to congress, and George Greene a member of the territorial council, or senate, to represent Cedar, Linn, and Jones counties. In 1841 the remainder of Linn county was surveyed by the United States deputies, with all of whom I was acquainted and in their camps--but chiefly with Mr. Welden. After these surveys were made, claim-making and improving and trading became very lively, and the ratio of immigration increased all the time. There was more disturbance and trouble and fighting about claims than from all other causes put together. I will give only a few instances of the many with which I am acquainted. A man by the name of Wolcott, near Mount Vernon, had his claim entered. He reported it to the claim association. They sent a committee of three men to the intruder and demanded that he should release and cancel his purchase, which he refused to do. Whereupon they procured a conveyance and told him that he must go to Dubuque with them. Knowing the settler's law was against him, he made no further resistance, but went before the register and receiver, cancelled his entry, and his money was returned to him. The matter came up shortly after that before the grand jury at Marion on the charge of coercion and kidnapping. Samuel Hunter, Sr., of Hunter's Cross Roads, was one of the jury, Joseph Williams was judge, P. W. Earle, clerk, and Nathan Peddycord, of Yankee Grove, was another juryman, and I was foreman. William Abbe and Squire Waln of Mount Vernon were witnesses. Robert Smith was secretary of the claim association and Oliver Day or Allison Willits president. No bill was found and the matter stopped and never reached the supreme court. Another claim case originated in the Dry Creek country, and came to a climax in a rather exciting way. There were a number of us attending an Indian banquet and pow-wow at a place called Wick-i-up Hollow, near the Cedar river, two or three miles south of the Oliphant and Ashlock neighborhood. The regular guests were seated in a semi-circle in the wick-i-up; we were only callers. The exercises consisted of short talks, chants and choruses, each keeping time with a deer's bladder dried and filled with air and some buckshot in it to make it rattle, all accompanied with the music of a sort of home made fife. The banquet or dinner to follow was being cooked by the women. It consisted, as far as I could see, of dried venison, stewed dog meat, beans, and pancakes. Before the dinner was ready some of our party went outside and renewed a quarrel that had been pending for some time about their claims. Pretty soon the lie was passed, and it was immediately followed by a blow, and directly five or six were in the fight all at once. The struggle and angry shouts of the combatants frightened some of the Indian women who were near and they ran screaming away. This broke up the exercise in the wick-i-up and the braves rushed out, thinking that their women were being misused, for a brave man will always resent an insult to his wife. The fight so disrupted everything that we left without waiting for dinner, especially as some had to withdraw for repairs. The Chambers were in it. William Garrison and some of the Nations were in it, but not Carrie with her little hatchet. John Hunter and, I think, Dyer Usher, were there, but not in the fight. The case came up before his honor, Aaron Usher, a justice of the peace, who fined some of the participants $1.00 each, which ended the litigation and the claim dispute. The last claim case I will mention was of much greater magnitude, and out of it originated the Bill Johnson war, in which several lives were lost, including one Indian. It began in Buchanan county. William Bennett and a man purporting to be Bill Johnson of the Canadian patriot war were the principles in the extensive trouble. Bennett was an enterprising, public-spirited man and had a quantity of workmen and retainers helping build the first grist mill at Quasqueton, on the Wapsipinicon river. He was a man of sturdy muscular frame, swarthy complexion, dark eyes, strong jaws, a man who would be a good friend or a bad enemy. Johnson was older, tall and angular, with black bushy hair, on whose lips shone no smile, under whose brow lurked treason, stratagem, and spoil. I became acquainted with Johnson in a rather romantic way, which you will excuse me for relating, as it shows some of the perils and hardships incident to the settling of a new country. On the 12th of November, 1842, a deep snow fell and remained till the next April, with additions during the winter. It has always since been called the hard winter of 1842 and '43. During the winter my friend, Anderson Chambers, later a prosperous business man of Muscatine, and I had been up in the country between the Wapsipinicon and the Volga. The snow drifts were so deep and the day so dark that night overtook us several hours ride from any human habitation. Before dark we went into a little scattering timber on a small stream and under the bluff hitched our horses to a bush. We found some dry poles and got some dry rotten wood out of a tree, scraped away the snow with our feet, and with the aid of a flint and some tow and powder, we managed to start a little fire. Matches were not then in use. We cut some brush and laid it on the ground, spread one horse blanket on that to lie on, and with another to cover us and our saddles for pillows, we slept through the long night until daylight, when we resumed our ride. About the middle of the forenoon we came in sight of an improvement in the edge of the timber, and I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled that a frontiersman's log cabin was there. We went into the house, which was neat and clean, and told them of our hard experience during the preceding night and day. They kindly sympathized with us and soon made us comfortable. It proved to be Bill Johnson's place. Kate Johnson and another young lady, Miss Kelso of Davenport, were there. They busied themselves about setting us up a fresh, warm, ten o'clock breakfast. I relished it more than any other breakfast I ever ate, the zest of which was no doubt heightened by being served by so charming a hostess, and me a susceptible bachelor, too. Johnson explained his being there in this wild region by saying that he had participated actively in the Canadian patriot war against the Dominion of Canada, that the attempted revolution had failed, that he had lost all his property by it, and had been driven and chased all through and among the Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence river in his boat with his daughter Kate, that a reward had been offered for him, that he had given up all hope of success and determined to seek safety and quietude by coming to this country. All this seemed plausible, as I heard the brave deeds of the patriots rehearsed in song and poetry. But in escaping that trouble he ran into the jaws of another at the outset. It seemed that in coming into a strange neighborhood, instead of making the people his friends by conciliation and prudent conduct, he got into trouble at the start by taking possession of the claim of one of the Bennett party. They remonstrated and he promised to pay for the claim, but never did, though Johnson claimed that the trouble was about the location of the county seat. Not long after I was at his place, after giving him notice, they determined to oust him. They took him out in the brush and gave him a very severe flogging, loaded him and all his belongings into sleds and sent him out of the country. He applied for aid at Marion and Dubuque, and Surveyor General Wilson, a New Hampshire man, took him and his daughter Kate to Iowa City, in his fine Boston made sleigh, to interest Governor Chambers in his behalf. When the hostilities came to an end, the result was disastrous to both parties. Bennett became a fugitive and his mill building was stopped. Johnson was shot. Kate found her a loving, trusting husband. Hosea Gray made considerable money out of it; Ormus Clark, the first permanent settler of Central City, spent a lot of money for defense, and Colonel Preston laid the foundation of his splendid fame and fortune as an attorney from it. The public land sales had been advertised for this winter and the people were illy prepared to go to Dubuque to enter their claims on account of the deep snow, some for scarcity of clothing, and all for scarcity of money. Many had saved their last 12-1/2 and 6-1/2 cent silver coins and their 5-franc pieces to make up the necessary sums. In view of the difficulties in the way, a mass meeting was held, and George Greene was appointed a special agent to go to Washington City for the purpose of having the land office removed to Marion. He went and saw the commissioner of public lands; he saw Stephen A. Douglas, chairman of the committee on public lands, and President Tyler, and came back with an order for the temporary removal in his pocket, which I doubt if any other man could have done. He stood luminous among all the bright men who first settled in Linn county, or the territory either. The people of Linn county, and of Cedar Rapids especially, should ever remember his labors and efforts in those early days which brought them prominence and prosperity. All now acknowledge Linn county to be without a peer and Cedar Rapids is the best interior city in the state, except Des Moines with its immense coal beds. The land office was located in the first, and then only brick house in Marion. Judge Berry afterwards dispensed boundless hospitality in it. It was built and owned by William H. Woodbridge, or "Democ Woodbridge," a very enterprising young man. He was one of five from this county who enlisted in the Mexican war. He was with Scott's army of invasion and the Mexicans "welcomed him with bloody hands to a hospitable grave." Another of the five, Major McKean, as he was then known, who was a member of the first constitutional convention in 1844, and later a brigadier general in the union army, lies buried in the Marion cemetery. Another of the five, Captain Sausman, who gallantly bore the flag at Chepultepec, died in California. Captain Gray is alone, and alive and likely to be, as you would think if you could see him running an intricate surveyor's line through a section. The fifth one, Samuel D. Thompson, is with us amply provided for in his declining years by a munificent government, in recognition of his military service in nearly all the wars since the time of Anthony Wayne, and as the old song says: "There is no more work for brave old Joe. He's gone to the place where all good soldiers go." The land sales drew large numbers from all the surrounding country, and made lively times here. Joseph F. Chapman and Oliver S. Hall, Sr., hotel keepers, flourished. Those who had the money got titles to their lands, and those who had not still held their claims until such time as they could enter them at private sale. In the spring the land office was moved back to Dubuque. In 1844 the first constitutional convention was held at Iowa City. The constitution failed of ratification. In 1846 another convention was held and the state fully admitted under that with our present boundaries. Iowa was then the most western state, and a line drawn south from Sioux City, its western limit, would have run further west than any other state or territory, except Texas, which was annexed the year before. It now occupies a conspicuous central position in the American union, and a leading one in agricultural productions. It is honored with two members of the president's cabinet and the most influential member of the American senate. After our acquisition of California the waves of emigration westward began, sweeping over the great American desert, as it had been called, planting agriculture and industry in its path, forcing its way through the mountain passes and over the sun-dried plains, to the Pacific ocean at the Golden Gate, where floats the commerce of oriental Asia. "No pent up Utica contracts our powers; The whole of this boundless domain is ours." When I look in the faces of this multitude I see before me but few who were men and women grown when I first came here. Some of you gray-haired ladies and gentlemen were then, as the Indians called them, petite squaws or skinneways. Your fathers were Niseshin Shomoko men. But I think scarcely more than a dozen are now living in this county who were then men and women. And "I feel like one who treads alone A banquet hall deserted, Whose music is hushed, whose guests are gone, And all but me departed." [Illustration: ISAAC BUTLER Pioneer Resident of Springville] CHAPTER XX _Early Linn County Lawyers and Courts_ BY JUDGE MILO P. SMITH Fifty years ago the judiciary of this county, as well as of the entire country, was quite different from what it now is. There were but two terms of court in a county, and Linn being a large county, terms here lasted about two or three weeks. In the smaller counties, one week or less was sufficient for the transaction of all the business. The grand jury was composed of fifteen men instead of five or seven, as at present, and twelve out of the fifteen had to concur in order to find a bill of indictment. At present the concurrence of a less number than the whole is sufficient. The members of the grand jury selected their own clerk from their own number. They had no authority to act on the minutes of the examining magistrate, but it was obligatory on them to have the witnesses before them, and to examine them personally. There was no official shorthand reporter to take down the evidence on the trial of cases in court. If the attorneys desired to perpetuate the testimony, or any part of it, they either wrote it down in long hand themselves, or selected some outside person to do it; generally some young lawyer. And sometimes the judge would make the only minutes of the trial that were kept. From these imperfect notes, however taken, the judge was required to determine what should go to the supreme court when he came to settle the bill of exceptions: no easy task. When court opened on the first day of the term--which was done with great outcry--the judge at once empaneled the grand jury, and then proceeded to make what was called a "preliminary" call of the calendar, at which cases that were not for trial were dismissed, continued, marked settled, or otherwise disposed of. When that call was completed, he then made the "peremptory" call, and all cases that were for trial were then disposed of as they were reached. There was no assignment of cases for trial as now practiced, but the lawyers had to be ready in each case when reached. Court week was generally regarded by the people as a sort of a picnic or holiday, and they came in from the country for several miles around to hear the lawyers spar with each other, and catch the "rulings of the court." The court room was generally packed with listeners. Then political meetings were generally held during that week when everybody was there and lawyers ready to do the speaking; and they furnished fine entertainments indeed. The bar of Linn county in the early fifties was an unusually strong one, said by some to be the strongest in the state. There were Judge N. W. Isbell, Judge Isaac Cook, Judge George Greene, Judge William Smyth, and Col. I. M. Preston. A little in the rear of the above worthies were N. M. Hubbard, R. D. Stephens, Wm. G. Thompson, J. H. Young, Thomas Corbett, and J. W. Dudley. Except Judge Greene and J. W. Dudley, all of these persons lived in Marion. N. W. Isbell, the first county judge in this county, was selected by the legislature in 1855 as a member of the supreme court, and filled the position with honor and credit to himself and the state for several years, and was afterwards appointed judge of the district court during the Civil war, but resigned both positions on account of ill health. He was a very learned man and a profound lawyer. He greatly enjoyed the investigation of legal questions, possessed an acute and analytical mind, and one richly stored with the results of historical and general reading. In the practice he was not partial to jury trials, much preferring the presentation of legal questions to the court. He had quite an aptitude for affairs, and became successful as an enterprising railroad builder, projecting the old "Air Line" Railroad, the pioneer of the present route of the C., M. & St. P. Railway across the state. He left a comfortable estate to his family, dying about the year 1865. He was of small stature and insignificant in appearance, but with a large head, though small features. Indeed he very much resembled the Hon. Wm. H. Seward in face, head, and stature. He was rather of an irascible temperament and consequently easily thrown off his balance--but no member of the bar was more highly respected than was Judge Isbell for uprightness, honesty of purpose, general intelligence, deep reading in general literature as well as in the law; and his blameless life made him a beloved citizen. I omit further mention of Judge Greene as there is elsewhere in this work a lengthy sketch of him. Isaac Cook was born and raised in eastern Pennsylvania and became the possessor of a sound education as a basis for the legal studies he afterward pursued. He served quite a while on the district bench, and was there noted for the care, time, and fairness he devoted to the cases he was called on to hear and decide. His mind was not so quick or rapid in its movements as some others, but it was very accurate in its conclusions. He was a fine chancery and corporation lawyer, and no better pleader ever drew a petition than Judge Cook. He was for many years toward the close of his life general counsel for the predecessors of the C. & N. W. Railway Company and the Iowa Railroad Land Company in the state of Iowa. Though he had an office first in Marion and then in Cedar Rapids, he always lived on his farm just south of the former place, in a plain, comfortable brick house. He was a broad shouldered, stock-built man of a dark complexion, and chewed an immense quantity of tobacco. He had, we believe, more practice in the supreme court of the United States than any other lawyer in Iowa in his day. William Smyth, first county attorney of Linn county, was appointed judge of the district court to succeed Judge J. P. Carleton about the year 1854, when he was but thirty years of age. He was regarded as an ideal judge. He was of Scotch-Irish descent, and had received a thorough education when young. His education was perhaps more thorough than broad, owing no doubt to his early surroundings. His legal lore was as near exact and profound as was possible, and covered completely the whole circle of legal learning. One who knew him well said, that in commercial law, the law of real estate, and in pleading, he had no superiors and but few equals in the state. He was a trial lawyer in the fullest sense of that term. Careful in the preparation of his cases, methodical in the introduction of his testimony; and in his presentation of his client's cause to a jury, his arguments were close and convincing, logical if not eloquent. He was, perhaps, after his retirement from the district bench, generally regarded as the head of the bar of the county. His knowledge of the affairs of the nation, and the principles of our government was most exact and comprehensive. For wealth of general information, profundity of legal learning, and urbanity of manner and dignity of deportment, he was not surpassed by any man in the state. Indeed he was early recognized as one of the leaders in affairs as well as of the bar of the state. He and the firm of which he was a member had the largest practice and the best clientage in the county. His practice extended to many of the neighboring counties, such as Benton, Tama, and Iowa, where he had local partners, and where he attended the terms of court. He was a valuable member of the committee that revised the laws of the state as embodied in the Revision of 1860. He was offered a place on the supreme court bench but declined it. He was a delegate to the Republican National Convention at Chicago in 1860--having been a democrat before the slavery question gave rise to the republican party, he naturally sided with Governor Chase, whose political path led in the same direction as his own, and gave that statesman his earnest and persistent support in the convention, voting for him to the last as his choice for president. He was a formidable competitor of Governor James W. Grimes when the latter was elected to the United States senate in 1858. In 1868 he was elected to congress from this district and died while such member in 1870, at the early age of forty-six. Of all that goes to make up a first rate man and citizen--intelligence, ability, industry, perseverance, honesty, and morality, he was in full possession, and enjoyed the confidence of the people to a greater degree than any other citizen in the county. He was patriotic and brave and served during the war of the rebellion as colonel of an Iowa regiment, and while so serving, he contracted the disease that caused his early death. He was the fortunate possessor of a splendid frame, being nearly six feet in height, and had a large, well formed head--his carriage erect and movements stately and deliberate. He was a model christian gentleman, courtly and polite, with a winning personality. He too was a man of affairs and left a comfortable estate to his family. Colonel I. M. Preston, born in 1813, was in many respects a remarkable man. Thrown on his own resources when quite young, he learned the trade of carpenter and joiner, but read law while working at his trade, was admitted when about thirty years of age, came to Marion, opened an office, and at once took a position in the front rank of trial lawyers. He was particularly successful as a criminal lawyer. He possessed a very quick, subtle, and keen mind, and was remarkably resourceful in expedients in the trial of cases. Some lawyers were better pleaders others more learned in the law, but none more apt in furnishing the facts to fit the case, and but few, if any, excelled him in marshalling those facts in his presentation to the jury. In time he acquired great fame throughout the state as a lawyer and public speaker. He was early appointed district attorney for the district in which he lived, and in 1846 was commissioned by Governor Clark colonel of an Iowa regiment of militia. He also served as county judge of Linn county, and at different times served in both branches of the legislature. He was the father of Judge J. H. Preston and E. C. Preston, both members of the bar, and residents of the city of Cedar Rapids. N. M. Hubbard, later known as Judge Hubbard, was certainly the most brilliant and noted lawyer that ever lived in or graced the bar of this county. He was appointed in 1865 judge of the district court, and served till January 1, 1867. With a mind keen, bright and luminous, a sound understanding, a rich store of observation, an unparalleled command of language, a readiness in repartee, and unlimited power of invective, he was unsurpassed by any man in the state, and by but few in the nation. He was for thirty years general attorney for the C. & N. W. Railway Company in Iowa, and upon his death left a generous estate. Hubbard's early partner, R. D. Stephens, while a good lawyer, was certainly a past master in finance, and was better known as a banker than lawyer. He established the First National Bank at Marion, and the Merchants National Bank in Cedar Rapids. He died several years ago, quite wealthy. Both Hubbard and Stephens came to Linn county from the state of New York in 1854. In the political campaign of 1856, Hubbard edited the _Linn County Register_, predecessor to the _Marion Register_. Major J. B. Young was probably the possessor of the best education of any of the lawyers of his time, and was a well read lawyer, a strong advocate, careful and painstaking, but unfortunately possessed an irritableness and quickness of temper that was not calculated to advance the cause of his client in a law suit. He died when comparatively young, when on his way home from California where he had gone on account of his failing health. W. G. Thompson, better known as Major Thompson or Judge Thompson, still resides here at the ripe old age of eighty-one. But few of the present generation know all there is about Judge Thompson. Born and reared in the state of Pennsylvania of Scotch parentage, with a fair academical education, admitted to the bar when a little past twenty-one, he came to Linn county in 1853, and at once leaped into prominence as a lawyer and politician. In quickness of mind, versatility in extremity, readiness of retort, flashings of wit, volubility of speech, touches of pathos, flights of eloquence, and geniality of disposition, and popularity with the masses, he had no superior in eastern Iowa, if he had an equal. It has been said of him that he could sit down to a trial table in a case of which he had never before heard, and try it just as well as though he had had months of preparation. He has been county attorney, state senator, presidential elector, major of the Twentieth Iowa Volunteer Infantry, district attorney, chief justice of Idaho, member of the legislature, member of congress, and judge of the district court. And in filling all of these positions, he has served the people faithfully and well. And in private life and as a practitioner he has surely been "a man without a model and without a shadow." J. W. Dudley lived in Cedar Rapids as Thomas Corbett did in Marion. They were both careful, pains-taking, and judicious lawyers, not particularly noted in any special respect, but safe, sound, and trustworthy. They have both been long since dead. J. J. Child and I. N. Whittam were also members of the bar in the early '50s. They both lived in Cedar Rapids. Judge Whittam was noted for his industry, care and patience in regard to any matter in which he became engaged. He did not claim to be a man of mark or a great lawyer, but certainly acquired and retained the confidence as an advisor of many of the best citizens in Cedar Rapids and vicinity. J. J. Child, long since dead, was said by those who knew him best to be one of the best lawyers in the state. Though not an advocate, his learning in law was wide and deep, and no client ever made a mistake in following his advice. Unfortunately his habits of life seriously impeded the good results that could have flowed from such a prolific source. After these, came others to fill their places, but the most of them are here now, and have received special reference and personal mention in these pages. The entire state in 1857 was divided into twelve judicial districts, with one judge in each district. Accompanying the act was the constitutional provision that new districts could not be created oftener than one new district in four years. Within about ten years the business in court became so congested that relief was necessary and was sought in all directions. Finally, in 1868, the legislature passed a circuit court bill, which by its terms divided every district into two circuits and provided a judge for each circuit. The circuit court had concurrent jurisdiction with the district court in all cases at law and in equity, and sole jurisdiction in probate matters and in appeals from justices of the peace, but it did not have jurisdiction in criminal cases. The same legislature abolished the county court that formerly had jurisdiction of probate matters. In further defining the duties and powers of this court, the law created what was called a general term, to which all appeals from, and application for the correction of errors by the district and circuit courts would lie. The personnel of that court consisted of the judge of the district and the two circuit judges, and it sat twice a year. In this district one of the sessions was held in Marion and the other in Iowa City. The district comprised the counties of Jones, Cedar, Linn, Johnson, Benton, Iowa, and Tama. The first three counties constituted one circuit, and the latter four the other one. The limitation of the right to appeal when the amount in controversy was less than one hundred dollars was then passed. An appeal finally lay from the decision to the general term of the supreme court. When a case was decided at the general term, the judge to whom it was referred for a decision wrote out the decision in an opinion as the supreme court judges do, but the opinions were not reported in the books. [Illustration: PUBLIC SCHOOL AT SPRINGVILLE] The next legislature materially changed the law. It abolished the general term and consolidated the two circuits, cutting out one of the judges--each court retaining the jurisdiction it had--and provided for appeals directly to the supreme court. Then in 1886, the constitution of the state was radically changed by a vote of the people so that the limitation on the number of judicial districts and number of judges was removed. The circuit court was abolished, the office of district attorney was abolished, and that of county attorney created. There was a prosecuting attorney for each district before. The legislature then created as many districts as was thought necessary, and as many judges to a district as were deemed sufficient to transact the business. This law is still in force. This became the new eighteenth judicial district, composed of the counties of Linn, Cedar, and Jones, with three judges. The first district judge for Linn county after the adoption of the new constitution in 1857, was Hon. William E. Miller, of Iowa City, and Isaac L. Allen, of Toledo, was elected district attorney--this in 1858. Allen was afterwards attorney general of the state. Judge Miller was well equipped for the position. With a thorough common school education, and having been a practical machinist when young, and with strong common sense, he had a naturally good judicial mind that had been improved by careful study and years of practice in the law. He came to the bench an intelligent, fair, and courteous judge. He resigned in 1862 and entered the Union army as colonel of the Twenty-eighth Iowa Volunteer Infantry. He afterwards served as circuit judge and finally as supreme judge of the state. From the resignation of Judge Miller till January 1, 1867, the district bench was graced in its occupancy by Judge N. W. Isbell, C. H. Conklin, and N. M. Hubbard. Judge Miller was a broad-shouldered, short, squatty fellow, and though a good lawyer and jurist, he was an indifferent advocate, and not particularly strong as a trial lawyer. Judge Conklin was probably the most scholarly, accomplished and profound lawyer that ever sat on the district bench in this part of the state. His home was in Vinton, and while he lived among the people there he did not seem to be of them. He was a strong, tall, raw-boned man, always carefully dressed, with a most marked intellectual face, and he was certainly one of the most eloquent advocates that ever stood before a jury in eastern Iowa. Judge James H. Rothrock, of Tipton, was elected judge in 1866, and served on the district bench till in February, 1876, when he was, by the governor, appointed to a seat on the supreme bench, which position he filled for over twenty years, when he voluntarily declined a further renomination. He, too, entered the Union army in 1862 as lieutenant colonel of the Thirty-fifth Iowa Volunteer Infantry, and served with credit till sickness compelled him to resign and come home. Judge Rothrock was not a learned man in the sense of having a college education or having possessed an extensive breadth of general reading in history or science, nor was he fluent of speech, or particularly adroit as a practitioner, but he possessed naturally good judgment, a most thorough common English education, a good knowledge of the law and its basic principles, a sound understanding, with an innate sense of justice. He was patient and even tempered, dignified, and kind. He made a splendid _nisi prius_ judge. His opinions were always plain, couched in good strong Anglo-Saxon, terse and sound, and will long bear the close and sharp criticism of posterity. Whenever he announced a principle of law, it was accepted without dispute as the law on the point involved. Judge Rothrock was a large man of fine physique, impressible presence, and very genial when off the bench. The Hon. John Shane, of Vinton, succeeded Judge Rothrock on the bench of this district in 1876 and served till 1882, when he resigned on account of ill health. He possessed a much better education than did Judge Rothrock, and the scope of his general reading was not only broad, but judiciously directed. He loved the law for the very sake of it and never tired of investigating its ofttimes hidden mysteries. He was well liked as a judge, was convivial and sociable to a degree. The judges who have filled the position on the district bench since Judge Shane's retirement are many and able, but can scarcely be said to belong to the olden time. Of the few circuit judges that held court in this county, we can say that they graced the position they filled with ease, but they belong rather to the present time than to the past age. But Judges Yates, McKean, and Hedges will long be remembered by the older inhabitants as capable, learned, and upright judges. In the palmy days of the lawyers and judges described, the law libraries were meagre and the books few. There are probably now a dozen law libraries in the county, any one of which contains more books than were in the county in 1860, and there are some that contain twice or three times as many. The practicing attorney was then thrown more upon his own resources, and compelled to depend more on his own power of analysis and discrimination than at the present time, which doubtless made them stronger, more self-reliant, and resourceful. And the judges were called upon to decide rather how the law should be than how it had been pronounced to be by some other tribunal, which was no doubt strengthening to them. CHAPTER XXI _Chatty Mention of Bench and Bar_ The history of any community is not complete without a sketch of the members of the bar, for in the Temple of Justice every phase of human life is seen. "Here one hears the cry for vengeance and also the kind pleadings for mercy." The members of the bar, especially in the early day, understood public opinion and discovered what men truly were and not what they were reputed to be. At this early day the lawyers were the tribunes of the people. They were men of brilliant intellect and of intense passions, and in trials which created universal interest in the sparsely settled community they swayed the minds and hearts of their hearers in a remarkable degree. It was an age of oratory, and Linn county in that day had its quota of brilliant intellects who remained here for a shorter or longer period of time and in no small degree assisted in the upbuilding of the county and the state. In order to make this sketch as brief as possible, and in an endeavor to picture the men as they were, we shall attempt to give a little of the humorous side of their characters and follow in the footsteps of Channing who said "anecdotes are worth pages of biographies." Many of the early members of the bar were men of education and refinement, possessing a snappy humor that set courts and juries roaring. Many a long day's trial was brightened by some sally of native wit fresh from the frontier. These men were active in politics, were promoters of steamboat lines, stage companies, and paper railroads, who, in course of time, became legislatures, judges, and financiers. They all labored for the upbuilding of the infant state, where they had invested all their surplus means, having faith in Iowa's future. In every way possible they tried to upbuild its infant industries. Linn county was set off by act of legislature in 1837, while Iowa was then a part of Wisconsin Territory. In August Governor Lucas set off Johnson, Cedar, Jones and Linn counties in one legislative district. The attorneys from Linn county who appeared at Iowa City at the July term, A. D. 1847, were Isaac M. Preston, John David and William Smythe, all of whom became noted lawyers before that body later. The judges on the bench at this time were three well known Iowa jurists: Williams, Wilson, and Kinney. The first court was held at Marion October 26, 1840, presided over by Joseph Williams, who had been appointed to the judgeship July 25, 1838. At this term of court, according to the records, there were present District Attorney W. G. Woodward for the federal government, R. P. Lowe, prosecuting attorney, H. W. Gray, sheriff, T. H. Tryon, clerk, and L. Mallory, marshal of the district. On the first grand jury sat Israel Mitchell, founder of Westport, who had been appointed probate judge on January 16 of the previous year. The first justices in the county were: H. B. Burnap, John G. Cole, John M. Afferty, John Crow, William Abbe, and Israel Mitchell. Some of the first county judges were: Norman Isbell, Dan Lothian, J. Elliott, A. H. Dumont, and J. M. Berry. During these early days there were two terms of court, one in January, and the other in June. The cases brought involved small amounts, but for the number of inhabitants of the county there was a great deal more litigation then than now. Some of the early lawyers in Marion and Cedar Rapids were: I. M. Preston, J. E. Sanford, N. W. Isbell, Isaac Cook, Henry Harman, William Smyth, J. J. Child, Joe B. Young, Dan Lothian, C. M. Hollis, J. David. N. M. Hubbard, R. D. Stephens, Tom Corbett, George Greene, Israel Mitchell, D. O. Finch, A. S. Belt, John Mitchell, G. A. Gray, and C. L. Murray. Among the attorneys in practice during the early '50s in Cedar Rapids were the following: Henry Lehman, E. M. Bates, C. V. Tousley, J. J. Child, R. G. Welcher, D. M. McIntosh, T. J. Dudley, Jr., A. Sidney Belt, and Dan O. Finch, the latter being also editor of the _Progressive Era_. In 1861 came J. Munger and N. R. Graham, and during the next year Edward Stark, who formed a partnership with A. S. Belt. In 1862 came W. A. Dodge. During the early '60s George Greene and I. M. Preston were in partnership, Greene having an office in Cedar Rapids and Preston in Marion. Hubbard and Stephens were in partnership in Marion in the early '60s, Stephens running the law business while Hubbard went to "the front." The attorneys locating here in the '50s and '60s were engaged in railway promotion, in politics, and in booming towns, although they did not neglect banking and fire insurance. There were towns which had two or three lawyers in the early day which have none now, which would indicate that litigation in the early days was more profitable than later. In conversation with a number of the old lawyers this has been told, that the land business was the best paying law business during the pioneer days. It is also stated that much of the litigation in the early days was to defend horse thieves and other criminals. How true this is the writer does not know. In the early days there was a class of people called "Terrorists" causing the settlers much annoyance and trouble. They were a band of looters who came along to scare people by reporting threatened Indian attacks, and when the settlers had fled to a place of safety others of the band came along and looted the abandoned houses. The "Copperhead" movement also extended into this county during the early period of the war, and more or less litigation grew out of this excitement. Among some of the well known lawyers of the pioneer days of this county who have played a more or less prominent part at the bar, in politics, and otherwise, may be mentioned John David and J. E. Sanford, who came to Iowa in 1840. They were both bright men and had an exceptionally large practice in land titles. Any examiner of abstracts in this county will find Sanford's name frequently as holding much of this land, also that of H. W. Sanford, a relative. Thomas Corbett came from the east in an early day, was one of the characters at Marion, and became a well known attorney, removing from Iowa in a short time on account of his health. He became a hero soon after he married a well known lady in Marion whose people were well to do. As Corbett had nothing but brains for assets, one of the brothers of the bride did not like this marriage and came to the house of a friend just after the wedding with a party of young fellows to horsewhip the groom, who was not a very large man, but an active one. The groom was not at all backward about meeting his antagonist and gave him a thrashing to such an extent that he had no cause to forget it very soon, much to the enjoyment of the crowd who all took Corbett's side. It was not long until Corbett displayed great ability as an attorney, and became financially successful as well. Norman W. Isbell located in Marion in 1842, being a native of Ohio. He served as county judge, in which position he rendered excellent service. In politics he was a whig, but when the slavery issue sent that neutral party out of existence, Judge Isbell became a republican. In 1854 he became a partner of N. M. Hubbard, which partnership continued up to about 1860, with the exception of the time when he held office. In 1855 he was elected supreme judge of the state, resigning in 1856 on account of failing health. In September, 1862, upon the resignation of Judge William E. Miller, Governor Kirkwood appointed Judge Isbell to fill the vacancy on the supreme bench. He was elected at the expiration of the term, but resigned in 1864, removing to California on account of illness, where he died of consumption the following year at the age of forty-six. All the members of the bar proclaim Judge Isbell one of the keenest lawyers who ever practiced in this county, at least in that day. His applications of legal principles were sound and his illustrations apt and catchy. He was not a great jury lawyer in the true sense of the word, and perhaps not as well known among the masses as many others, but among the legal fraternity Judge Isbell was looked up to as a safe lawyer and most excellent judge, who by hard study had attained to high rank among the jurists of this state. His son, N. G. Isbell, practiced a short time here, but removed to Michigan where he died many years ago, before reaching middle age. [Illustration: METHODIST CHURCH, SPRINGVILLE] [Illustration: HOME OF J. F. BUTLER, SPRINGVILLE] Another lawyer of much ability and universally respected was Isaac Cook, a native of Chester county, Pennsylvania, who located in Palmyra, Missouri, in 1844, and later practiced law in Dubuque, and also in Marion, removing to Cedar Rapids in 1848. He was elected to the bench in 1857. Judge Cook was of a quiet turn of mind, a man who never gave a sidewalk advice which he had to take back. He was elected the first city attorney in Cedar Rapids in 1850, and was tendered a banquet upon his resignation from the bench in 1858. He was also the first president of a republican club organized in Linn county. Judge Cook died in 1878, honored and respected by all who knew him. John Mitchell came from Maine in 1853, entered Judge Isbell's office, and was admitted to the bar in 1857. He was later a partner of Judge Smythe and Judge Lothian. Mitchell died a few years ago, one of the oldest practitioners in the county. R. D. Stephens was born in New York in 1829, and came to Marion in 1855 without means, but with a splendid training and with a lively interest for business. He entered the law office of Isbell & Hubbard, later becoming a partner of Judge Hubbard. Mr. Stephens at an early date became interested in politics, and later became famous as a commercial lawyer and financier. He died in Cedar Rapids as president of the Merchants National Bank, and was rated one of the wealthiest men in the county. His son, R. D. Stephens. Jr., is now a practicing attorney in Chicago. Joe B. Young was born in 1832 in Pennsylvania, and was admitted to the bar at Iowa City in 1853. He located in Marion and was prosecuting attorney in Linn county, a member of the legislature, and later a member of the state senate, and for a time pension agent for the state of Iowa. Joe Young was cross and crabbed in the court, frequently opposed the judge, as well as the opposing counsel, and displayed on many occasions bad temper, not to such an extent, however, that he ever lost sight of his client's interest or his case. He was a stubborn legal fighter and was recognized as a great lawyer who never gave up until he had exhausted all his resources. He died in 1876, one of the best known attorneys in eastern Iowa, universally acknowledged the greatest wit and the most sarcastic in retort of any man who practiced at the bar. He saw only one side of a case and that was his side and he always maintained that, backed up by proof, there was no other side. Even in church matters he differed with the majority, and organized a new church, paying for it himself, so as to have things his own way. He was a most signal man in his profession, always a student, and seemed to know everything which would likely reveal where motives start and where the secret springs of conscience were in a long drawn out law suit. D. M. McIntosh was a native of South Carolina, and located in Cedar Rapids in the '40s. He was small of stature, with a ruddy face and long hair, making an imposing figure in the court room. He possessed considerable legal ability, had many friends, and was one of the best known men in Cedar Rapids. He died in 1859, mourned by a large circle of friends, who for years remembered how this brilliant son of the south had on many occasions lighted up the dull path of the law with a glow of fancy and spiced his remarks by the charm of frontier oratory. Colonel J. M. May was another attorney who was well known in Cedar Rapids, and who located here at an early date, and after him May's Island is named. He was erratic and wasted a large fortune in litigation with his relatives and neighbors over rights of various kinds. He died in Cedar Rapids a short time ago. I. N. Whittam was another of the pioneer lawyers who died a few years ago, having located in Cedar Rapids in 1854. He assisted Judge Greene in getting out "Greene's Reports of Iowa." He was in continuous practice up to the time of his death. Ellsworth N. Bates, coming to Linn county in the early fifties, was quickly known as the silver tongued orator of the Cedar Valley. He was the first city attorney, appointed in 1856, at $20.00 a year. He served till 1860. Mr. Bates won fame and honor as a lawyer and editor, and being a person of tact and force of character, he won many friends. His glowing tribute to the men who built the railway, at the June celebration in 1859, gave him prestige as a great orator. Mr. Bates enlisted in the Civil war and died from exposure a short time afterwards. George Greene, who died in 1880 at the age of sixty-three, was one of the best known men in Iowa at the time of his death. Born in England, Mr. Greene educated himself in Buffalo, studying with George P. Baker. In 1838 he came to Davenport and began to make a geological survey of Iowa. After he had worked for six months at this kind of work, which was not at all congenial, he located in Ivanhoe, Linn county, and taught the first term of school in that vicinity. In 1840 he was admitted to the bar at Iowa City, locating later at Marion, where he began the practice of law. The next year he was sent to the legislature. Here he became acquainted with the prominent men of the state, and as the law business was not flourishing he removed in 1845 to Dubuque, and while nominally in the practice he became editor of the _Miner's Express_, which was then one of the nourishing papers of the territory. Three years later he formed a partnership for the practice of law with J. J. Dyer. In October, 1847, Judge Wilson resigned his office of associate justice and the governor filled the vacancy by appointing George Greene, who from that day to the day of his death became a figure of importance in politics as well as in financial affairs in Iowa. Judge Greene was a man of marked ability, having had excellent opportunities and being possessed of untiring industry. In 1848 he was elected one of the supreme court judges by the joint vote of the two houses of the General Assembly and served for six years from January 15, 1849. During his term of office he reported the decisions of the court. These decisions were published in four volumes and are known as "Greene's Reports of Iowa." In 1851 Judge Greene removed to Cedar Rapids, where he engaged in banking and where he was one of the most active citizens in persuading manufacturers to come to this city. He was instrumental in securing the Chicago & Northwestern, and the Burlington, Cedar Rapids & Northern Railways to pass through Cedar Rapids. In politics Judge Greene was a democrat until the Greely campaign, when he became a republican. Few, if any, have done so much among the early settlers in securing capital to be invested in Iowa. Judge Greene travelled much and personally knew many financiers in this country and in England, many of whom invested much funds in farm lands, town lots, in bonds, and stocks, in Linn and adjoining counties. After locating in Cedar Rapids Judge Greene had a number of partners. While he, himself, did not devote himself actively to the law business, the firm generally had a large practice. He was in partnership with Judge Hubbard, Cyrus Benley, A. S. Belt, and with Judge Dudley. A. Sidney Belt was a southerner by birth, a person of much ability, of engaging manners, and well known in his day throughout Linn and adjoining counties. Colonel Isaac M. Preston was born in Bennington, Vermont, in 1813, the son of a revolutionary soldier. He learned the trade of cabinet-making. At an early age he drifted west, remained for awhile in Ohio, and finally located in Marion in 1842, where he began the practice of law. Three years later he was appointed district attorney, serving two years. In February, 1846, he was commissioned colonel to organize troops for the Mexican war. He served as probate judge of Linn county for four years. He was appointed by President Polk, United States attorney for Iowa in 1847. In 1850 he was elected to the house of the Third General Assembly, and after serving one term was elected to the state senate where, during four years in the Fourth and Fifth General Assemblies, he was one of the most prominent legislators of that body and took an active part in the enactment of the Code of 1851. Colonel Preston had more litigation in his day and generation than any one person in this and adjoining counties. He was strong before a court, tactful and invincible before a jury, and especially in the defense of criminal cases he had no superior. The bar of Linn county during the early days was one of the strongest in the state, and Colonel Preston during his long and active practice before the supreme court, held a high place and was recognized as one of the leading attorneys of eastern Iowa, a position to which he early attained and which he continuously held up to the time of his death. William Smythe was born in Tyrone county, Ireland, in 1824. He emigrated with his parents at the age of fifteen to America and located in Linn county in 1840. He studied law at Iowa City, and in 1848 opened an office in Marion. In 1853 he was appointed judge of the fourth judicial district, serving four years. In 1858 he was chosen by the Seventh General Assembly one of the three commissioners to revise and codify the laws of the state. This work was accepted by the legislature and became what is known as the "Code of 1860." Judge Smythe was also appointed upon a commission of legal inquiry, and was one of the commissioners to negotiate bonds by the state to provide a war defense fund. He served two years in the army as colonel of the Thirty-first Iowa Infantry. In politics Judge Smythe was a republican, and from the beginning of his legal career he took more or less interest in politics. In 1868 he and Judge Hubbard were the republican candidates for congress, a campaign which was waged with much bitterness, so much so that friend turned against friend and neighbor against neighbor. It is said that a few days after Hubbard's defeat he met a shoe-maker on the street who had been a former friend but who had been persuaded to vote for Smythe, and Hubbard said to him, "Jack, you will not need to buy any bristles any more, just reach your hand over your shoulder and you can pull them out of your back, for there is nothing about you but a hog anyway." After Judge Smythe's nomination William Leffingwell was put up by the democrats to beat him, Leffingwell being one of the noted orators of the state, but Judge Smythe was victorious. He attained to a high place as lawyer and as a constructive statesman. He possessed a profound intellect, was popular among the masses, and a just and honorable man. He passed away when he had just reached middle life, one of the ablest and most versatile men in Linn county at the time of his untimely death. Judge N. M. Hubbard, who was a unique character and one of the best known men in Iowa for many years, was born in Oswego, New York, in 1829, the son of a Methodist minister. He was reared on a farm and began life as a blacksmith, although later he obtained a university education. Judge Hubbard located in Marion for the practice of his profession in 1854, later removing to Cedar Rapids. In February, 1856, he was a delegate to the state convention which met at Iowa City, where he helped to organize the republican party. During the war he assisted in organizing the Twentieth Iowa Volunteer Infantry, in which he was chosen a captain, serving under General F. J. Herron. In March, 1863, he was promoted to judge advocate and served in the army until he was breveted major in 1865. This year he was appointed district judge, resigning after having served a year, to accept the position of general attorney for the Northwestern railroad in the state of Iowa. The sayings of Judge Hubbard would fill a book of many pages, but many of them would need to be sterilized before put into type. Many of these witty remarks are still repeated during a lull in the court room when stories take the place of dry facts. He was truly an original character, not only as a political manager of a great political party, but as railway counsel, and as a person who filled a large place in the political arena of Iowa for many years. A few of these sayings may give the reader an idea of the man as he really appeared during these years of his political and legal career in Iowa. At one time being asked how a new assistant behaved who had been appointed local attorney for the railroad of which Hubbard had charge, he replied, "Tim is a real bull in a china shop; what he don't smash he dirties." Speaking at one time of a technical lawyer, he added, "here is my friend J, he is so technical that he will fall all over a crowbar to hunt for a pin and not even see the crowbar, mind you." While judge on the bench, some pompous doctor who was a witness asked leave to go home to look after his patients, and the judge quietly replied. "You had better stay here so as to give your patients a chance to get well." At another time an attorney who had formerly been governor got the worst of it in Hubbard's court, and he appealed to him as a man and friend, saying that the judge evidently must have forgotten that he held his position due to his appointment while governor. Judge Hubbard coolly replied, "Yes, I remember that very well as being the only decent act of your term of office," and went on ruling against him as he had before. On a hot June day Hubbard was trying a case against John Weare, one of the old pioneer bankers of this county. There was a lull in the proceedings, and as the jury was walking out of the court room Weare pulled out a large red handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow, when Hubbard in his peculiar articulation, for which he was noted, piped out, "John, it makes you sweat to tell the truth, don't it?" The crowd laughed, and the cutting sarcasm was never forgotten or forgiven by the aged banker, who was at the mercy of his old antagonist. During one of the many political campaigns a Des Moines paper accused Hubbard of giving away five hundred tickets to delegates. He was asked by a friend about this and Hubbard replied. "That is a lie, I gave away eleven hundred tickets this year, that is all." During the Parrott fight for the governorship of Iowa, Hubbard at first supported his old friend, but when he saw the turn affairs were taking he suggested that Parrott withdraw, but the candidate refused, adding that he had so many delegates pledged, and furthermore felt that he had Providence on his side. Hubbard simply replied, "Well, you can take to Providence and I will take to Shaw." While arguing a case before the supreme court, the opposing counsel had pounded the table a great deal during his lengthy argument. When he concluded, Judge Hubbard arose to reply in the following little speech: "I am strong. I can pound this oak table to pieces for I have been a blacksmith in my time, and I will pound this table into splinters if you say and if it will help me to win this suit." He went on in this manner until the members of the court laughed, and even the opposing counsel saw the ridiculousness of his performance. [Illustration: METHODIST CHURCH, PALO] [Illustration: SCENE AT SPRINGVILLE] During one of his last appearances in court he was called by the opposing counsel an "old mossback who might have been a great lawyer, but that was many years ago." When the lawyer concluded all eyes were turned on the old judge. As he arose to reply he said: "True. I am old and not what I used to be, and I suppose I am fast getting to be an old mossback." Then he went on telling of the old lawyers he had known at the bar in Iowa in the early day. He spoke of the methods of the old advocates, and of their bitter political fights, then added, "They never tried to bolster up a witness, defraud an antagonist, or blackmail a client as they do now, and if the real up-to-date lawyer must do such a thing in order to become great and prominent, then I thank God I am an old fogy of a lawyer and belong to the former generation." Judge Hubbard at one time abused Bill Harper most unmercifully in a suit, and Bill Harper threatened that he would maul Hubbard into a dish of jelly at sight. The judge one day appeared in court shortly after the trouble, when Major Thompson said, "Judge, Bill Harper is looking for you." The judge looked around, for he feared Harper, and not seeing him, replied in somewhat of a gusto, "I saw him in the park and if he had done anything to me, he would never have been Bill Harper at all, he would have been dead." At another time while the judge was defending a railroad company in a damage suit involving a large amount of money a colored man had sworn positively to facts in a case which everyone thought he knew nothing about. In the trial of the case the judge turned to an old friend, and a "Copperhead," saying, "I am glad there are some Copperheads here; I fought to free the nigger. I stood up to be shot at, now, by gosh, I am a Copperhead. A man who will swear in court like that nigger did today ought to be a slave and should never be free." Judge James H. Rothrock was a native of Pennsylvania, and as a mere lad removed to Ohio where he acquired his education at Parker's Academy and at the Franklin University. He was admitted to the bar at Greenfield, Ohio, removing to Tipton, Iowa, in 1860. He was elected to the house of representatives in 1861 and was elected speaker pro tem. He entered the army as lieutenant, and upon his return from the army formed a partnership with Judge W. P. Wolf, which lasted until he was nominated for judge of the eighth judicial district in 1866. He performed services as judge in that district with ability and impartiality. He was serving his third term when he was appointed to the bench of the supreme court. A few stories may be related of Judge Rothrock which in a way illustrate his wit and exemplary character: Judge Rothrock had been trained in the general principles of law and did not go much on statute law. At one time he was one of a committee to examine a number of persons for admission to the bar, and a young, bright fellow seemed to have committed to memory much of the statute law of the state, but knew nothing of general principles. The judge quietly said to the young man. "You surely are in a bad way, my friend, because the legislature might in a night repeal all the law that you know." At another time he was on the bench in Linn county when George W. Wilson, as receiver, brought in a wagon load of books to prove up a certain assignment. Judge Rothrock asked why all these books were brought in, and Wilson replied, "To show up the receivership in the case, your honor." The judge smiled and said. "Don't you think this failure was due to too much bookkeeping?" At one time as he was assigning cases, and not being familiar with some of the members of the bar, Tom Corbett appeared in a case assigned for trial. The judge quietly asked Mr. Corbett's name and as Mr. Corbett arose to speak Judge Hubbard blurted out. "Jot him down plain Tom, that is enough." Mr. Corbett blushed crimson, whispering to another attorney that he would get even some day. Judge Hubbard many times afterwards became the prey to Corbett's heartless raillery, his sharp retorts, and pungent wit. At one time there were a number of lawyers engaged in a hotly contested will matter where Judge Rothrock presided, and as the attorneys talked back and forth across the table and there was more or less disturbance in the court room, the judge leaned quietly over, saying in a very pleasant manner to one of the lawyers who had done most of the quarreling, that he did not see why he was sitting there. The attorney quick as a flash replied, "You've got me now, Judge, I don't know." After his retirement from the bench Judge Rothrock was frequently called in to assist other attorneys in the trials of equity cases. It became a standing joke among the members of the bar that when they found cases in which Judge Rothrock had written the opinion which held just the opposite of what he was contending for, they were certain to rub it in, much to the judge's embarrassment. While Judge Rothrock resided at Tipton he came up to Marion to preside over a term of court and as there were but few persons around he asked the bystanders if there was anything doing this term of court, to which they replied that they did not know. He said, "Is Doty here," and they replied that he was. Then he asked, "Is Harper here?" and they said he had been present for the past day or so. Then he said, "Bailiff, take my grip and coat, there will be something doing this term of court; I guess I will stay awhile." It was Judge Rothrock who made the famous entry of record in several cases after Doty and Harper had fought for thirty years, "settled by agreement, each party to pay his own costs, peace declared, the same being duly ratified by the court." During these years Harper had lost everything he had, and Doty was content to have his lawyer share the income out of an eighty acre tract of land and thus felt that he came out about even. He figured that the lawyer got the better half of the income of this farm during all the years the litigation continued. In 1876 Rothrock was appointed member of the supreme court. He removed to Cedar Rapids, where he resided until his death in 1899. For thirty years he was a member of that body and materially assisted in laying down many sound legal principles which courts in the west have since followed. Judge Rothrock was not known as a brilliant judge, but was profound, and a man endowed by nature with the judicial temperament which so well fitted him for the bench. His opinions have always been known for clearness of apprehension, tempered by integrity and impartiality. J. J. Child, a native of the state of New Jersey, drifted into Cedar Rapids in 1854 for the practice of his profession. He was a large man, somewhat stooped, of scholarly attainments, and besides had more than ordinary native ability. Few, if any, excelled Mr. Child in knowledge of legal principles and their application to existing facts, although many excelled him in the court room and before juries. J. J. Child, J. J. Snouffer, and I. N. Whittam were instrumental in obtaining the special charter for Cedar Rapids in 1856. In the municipal affairs of Cedar Rapids Mr. Child held many offices up to the time of his death in 1889. He possessed talents of a very high order, but his mode of life lessened his influence in the community. Capable of most any position, he achieved little or no success, and died poor and unknown, because the baneful influences of drink sapped his vitality and ruined a brilliant intellect. One of the most original characters in the '70s was Jerry Lynch, who had practiced law in Benton county before coming to Cedar Rapids. Mr. Lynch was resourceful as a lawyer, had a keen sense of humor, and possessed a great deal of ability. It is said that when Jerry had two glasses to the wind he was in his element, especially in defending a criminal, for it is said of him that "he always denied everything and asked for proof." At one time he was prosecuting certain persons and realized that he had no proof. The rain was pouring down, and as he looked out of the window he said with all the dignity of a judge, "Your Honor, on account of the inclemency of the weather I dismiss the case." At another time he was opposed by several lawyers who made fun of his partner's military record. There is nothing that so touches the Irishman's heart as an exhibit of disloyalty, and Jerry arose to reply, saying, "My friend on the other side laughs at my co-counsel's military record. Let me tell you what he did during the war. He sat on top of the northern mountain peak of Vermont with his breeches padded ready to slide into Canada at the first intimation of the draft." There were a number of soldiers on that jury and it is needless to say that Jerry won his ease, regardless of the legal questions involved. Mr. Lynch at one time defended a saloonkeeper, and was waiting his turn as Judge Shane passed sentence of "guilty" upon one after another. Jerry arose to speak for his client saying, "It is an unpleasant duty I am called upon to perform. I defend the worst saloonkeeper in Cedar Rapids. He runs the worst hole-in-the-wall in Cedar Rapids, and I have been in there myself and I am ashamed to tell your honor that it is so. I am not defending my client, for he is a law-breaker and everybody knows it." And he went on telling about the depraved individual who ran the saloon, and then he began: "I am not defending the saloon, I would not be here for that, but that man has a wife and children, and as nice children you ever did see." Then he went on telling about the kindness of that wife who was mistreated by a drunken brute of a husband till tears came into many eyes in that room. The sympathies of the judge were aroused and Jerry's client was duly acquitted. Frank Hormel came to Cedar Rapids as a young man, from Ohio, possessing education and courteous manners. It might be well said of him, that from nothing he attained to an income of $10,000.00 a year. Mr. Hormel was lank and lean in appearance; was a student who devoted his nights to old "Father Antics," the law. He argued to the court with much success and was discreet and dexterous before a jury. He was kind hearted and generous to a fault, and attracted friends by the brilliancy of his conversation. Mr. Hormel has been declared by the older members of the bar as a remarkable man for adroitness in a law suit and for knowledge at every stage of the case. He was a person of many parts and varied culture, who just before he had turned fifty was literally worn out on account of the strenuous life he had been living. He set his stakes high and paid the penalty. Just after the Civil war a number of young men drifted into Linn county, a number of whom had seen service and who later became lawyers, doctors, and bankers in this and adjoining counties. Among a number of attorneys who located here during the '60s these may be mentioned: Mason P. Mills, John J. Powell, Charles B. Keeler, Frank Hormel, Judge Leach, Judge Spangler, T. J. Dudley, Jr., A. R. West, H. G. Bowman, D. L. Palmer, J. C. Davis, J. W. Bull, A. V. Eastman, Henry Rickel, C. M. Hollis, C. S. Lake, Judge J. D. Giffin, Colonel Charles A. Clark, B. F. Heins, and many others. These were all young men and all became more or less noted in the legal profession, as well as socially and politically. Mase Mills was a business getter, but not a sound lawyer. He neither had the ability nor inclination for discrimination. He said of himself that in his native place when a boy, when a medicine faker threw out peanuts for the boys to fight over, he always got his share. In the rough and tumble of law suits he was fairly successful for the reason that he always associated himself with lawyers of ability. He was a jolly good fellow, a great mixer, and knew men. Mr. Powell had been in the army, was a college graduate, and soon took a leading place among the attorneys at the bar in this county. He passed away in January, 1908, one of the best known and most highly respected citizens of the city of Cedar Rapids. Benjamin Franklin Heins was in his day and generation a much talked of man. Of Ben Heins many stories may be told. He was noted for getting his English mixed and his penmanship conformed to no rule, while Murray's grammar had never come under his notice. A wag once demurred to Ben's petition as follows: To count one, for the reason that it could not be read; to count two, because it was unintelligible, and the demur was sustained. Ben ran for alderman and gave up a day or two before election, as he had one hundred votes to the good. The day after election his friends met at his office to ascertain the cause of his defeat, when Ben broke out, "Well, gentlemen, I did not know till today that there were two hundred liars in my ward." [Illustration: THE BLACK HAWK PURCHASE (map)] [Illustration: VIEW OF SPRINGVILLE SOON AFTER TOWN WAS FOUNDED] [Illustration: FIRST STORE IN SPRINGVILLE] [Illustration: SHOWING DES MOINES COUNTY SUBDIVIDED (map)] Ben was not a great lawyer, but he had much business. During the Texas oil speculation one of the oil boomers came to Ben and offered him fabulous wages to take him around among his German clients to sell oil stock. Ben soon saw the trick and replied to the boomer as follows: "My enemies won't bite on this proposition, and I do not wish to soak my friends in this way. You better look for some other sucker." Mills & Keeler were in partnership a number of years, mostly engaged in railway litigation. Mr. Keeler became known outside the confines of the state, and died scarcely past middle life at the head of the legal department of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway, with offices in Chicago. Mr. Keeler was short of stature, with black hair and beard, and in a law suit very nervous. It is said that during the Bever will trial Colonel Clark, in the midst of the trial, said to Keeler, "If you will only put a feather in your hair, Charley, you would make an ideal Mephistopheles without any further makeup." Mr. Keeler was a shrewd, wide-awake lawyer, whose mental constitution peculiarly fitted him for the practice of law, who possessed the faculty of crowding the salient features of a case in a few words, and who knew better than most lawyers what the law ought to be if he could not cite a case in point. He was cold-blooded and had few warm friends, but everyone acknowledged his abilities. His restless brain simply burnt up his tissues long before his time. Mr. Bowman excelled as a brilliant jury lawyer, who by his magnetic personality knew how to handle a jury and to obtain a favorable verdict, especially on the defense in a criminal suit where he could appeal to the sympathies of the jury. Mr. Bowman possessed the magnetic quality to attract persons to him, and was one of the most resourceful lawyers at the bar. Of the early practitioners at the bar all have passed away or have retired except Judge J. H. Preston, a son of Colonel Preston, still in practice in Cedar Rapids, and Major William G. Thompson. Major Thompson must be given space in this sketch. He was an associate of Hubbard, Isbell, Cook, Stephens, Corbett, Young, McIntosh, Mitchell, Sanford, David, and Greene. Judge Thompson is a native of Butler county, Pennsylvania, where he was born in 1830. He was reared on a farm, received his early education in a log school house and became a teacher. He attended an academy where he remained two years, when he began the study of law, supporting himself by working for his employers. At twenty-five he was admitted to the bar, and in 1853 located in Marion for the practice of his profession. He was a member of the state convention at Iowa City in 1856 when the republican party was organized. In this year he was also chosen a member of the state senate, serving in the Sixth and Seventh General Assemblies. In 1864 he was one of the presidential electors, and was elected district attorney, serving six years. The office of general justice of the territory of Idaho was offered him in 1879 which he accepted, but was elected to congress from the fifth district the same year to fill a vacancy and was re-elected for the next regular term. In 1885 he was elected to the Twenty-first General Assembly and was an important factor in the impeachment proceedings against Auditor Brown. In 1894 Judge Thompson was appointed judge of the eighteenth judicial district and served in that capacity until he retired a few years ago on account of advanced age. A few stories may be told about Major Thompson to give the reader an idea of the man and of the times. Tall, spare, and of commanding stature, with a wonderful command of language, he would convulse a witness or magnetize a jury with his quaint sayings, and in a minute would melt them into tears with his pathos or arouse them to indignation by his denunciations of what he believed was wrong. In the Bever will case, in which Thompson appeared for the contestants, he was to open the case to the jury, when Hubbard who had full charge of the case, said that he wanted Thompson to speak at least two days. The major replied, "Great God man, what shall I say to that jury except that here is the will and there are the girls, they should have part of this estate?" He made the longest jury argument he ever made in his life, which did not exceed forty minutes, but he won the case. Another incident in the Bever will case might be mentioned. After the case had gone to the highest court the parties agreed to compromise. They objected to fees which were very large. Sheriff Dan Kinley had a fee bill of $1,000.00, which the parties contested. The motion was set down for hearing, when Kinley stepped up and wanted his matter disposed of. Judge Wolf was on the bench and asked if the sheriff had any lawyer. He replied, "No, I asked several lawyers and they all claimed they were retained on one side or the other." The judge looked down upon an array of lawyers, counting about fifteen, and said, "All right, go ahead gentlemen." As the long string of lawyers came out after the hearing Major Smith came along and said to the judge, who came out with Kinley, "How about that motion for fees, Judge, which you have been hearing?" "Well," replied Wolf, "there were twenty lawyers on the other side, and after lengthy arguments Dan and I managed to beat them." When Judge Thompson was on the bench he used to sentence criminals like this: "You deserve just ten years in the pen, or as long as the law allows. You should stay there. I never heard any good you ever did. But I see your wife here. She looks like a good woman: I'll give you thirty days in jail." At one time a woman came to Thompson to get a divorce from her husband. The judge heard her story. She stated that when the husband came home and the meals were not ready he would simply rave. "How does he act when you do have the meals ready?" "Oh, he acts all right then," replied the woman. "Well," said the judge, "I advise you to go home and feed the brute, and you will have no trouble." On the stump the judge was often accused of waving the "bloody shirt," and he used to reply to his opponents that "he knew what he was waving, because he had been there." When in congress the major was a member of the committee to try the contested election cases. Colonel R. G. Ingersoll was one of the attorneys frequently employed by the contestants and he became very friendly with the members of this committee. One morning as the colonel entered and found the major looking over some of the records, the great orator, looking at the Iowa congressman, said, "Major, I like you." Thompson looked up and inquired, "Why so, Colonel?" "Well," replied the magnetic orator, "because if I can establish the fact that my client is running on the republican ticket I have won my case with you, but it takes a great deal more to convince the other members of your committee." George W. Wilson was an old character at the bar of Linn county, and many are the cases on our county records with the words, G. W. Wilson _per se_. He brought more worthless cases than any other firm or individual and was the owner of more tax titles than any other individual in this or any other county in Iowa. His tax titles were so clouded that the court intimated in a certain execution "that they would never fasten on anything in particular." Linn county has had its share of "constant litigants." The dam across the river has been a constant eyesore, with rights vested and otherwise. There has not been a time since the franchise was granted by the state for dams up to the present time that some suit has not been pending in the district or supreme court involving some phase of the property rights of the respective owners in common. The so-called legal ownership of the dam is now supposed to be vested in the city of Cedar Rapids, and fees are no longer forthcoming, so during the past few years there has been a lull in this branch of litigation. William Harper, J. W. Traer, J. P. Glass, John Weare, W. S. Cooper, N. B. Brown, Colonel J. M. May, J. J. Snouffer, G. W. Wilson, Theresa O'Connell, Doc Paul, and Lewis & Mason kept the legal mill grinding for many years. However, by common consent, Elias Doty, son of one of the first settlers, seems to have held the trump card for litigation in the number of suits that he has brought and defended. He is something like Micawber in this particular that "he has become acquainted with the law by being made a party so often." It is said that Doty started his litigation by taking a law book in a horse trade, from which he got a smattering of law, which volume was cited in many trials until some up-to-date lawyer ruled the book out before a justice because it had been printed in England. The Bever will case was one of the most hotly contested cases in the county on account of the large interests at stake and the prominence of the interested parties as well as the prominence and standing of the attorneys employed. Many have questioned whether the lawyer of the future will occupy the same position in the community as the pioneer lawyers. The legal business is rapidly changing, and before many years the successful lawyer will be one who renders legal opinions as to what the law is before suit is brought, and there will be less and less of great speeches delivered "amid full houses and loud cheers." The pioneer lawyer arose to distinction and political preferment by force of his native ability. It is doubtful if we shall in the future have a class of attorneys who will play such an important part in the upbuilding of the county and of the state. It is doubtful if we ever shall look upon their kind again. The practicing attorneys of Linn county at this time are as follows: F. B. Armstrong, E. C. Barber, A. R. Berry, U. C. Blake. Charles W. Bingham, Don Barnes, Fred A. Bowman, George F. Buresh, Frank C. Byers, C. M. Brown, Charles A. Clark, Frank G. Clark, C. F. Clark, William G. Clark, A. T. Cooper, W. L. Crissman, J. C. Cook, J. H. Crosby, W. L. Cron, William Chamberlain, H. R. Churchill, F. F. Dawley, F. J. Dawley, C. J. Deacon, Vincel Drahos, L. D. Dennis, M. J. Donnelly, O. J. Felton, E. A. Fordyce, Elmer Green, J. W. Good, J. M. Grimm, W. J. Grunewald, T. M. Giberson, E. W. Griffiths, S. M. Hall, Warren Harman, G. J. Hedges, J. N. Hughes, C. D. Harrison, Louis Heins, F. W. Hann, Frank A. Heald, J. W. Jamison, E. C. Johnson, L. M. Kratz, J. C. Leonard, J. J. Lenehan, G. P. Linville, Fred Luberger, Joseph Mekota, R. A. Moses, Matt J. Miles, Stephen Novotny, E. C. Preston, J. H. Preston, Thomas B. Powell, M. I. Parter, Frank H. Randall, Mac J. Randall, John M. Redmond, John A. Reed, C. B. Robbins, Henry Rickel, H. C. Ring, C. S. Smith, M. P. Smith, William Smythe, W. E. Steele, John D. Stewart, A. H. Sargent, Roland Shaver, H. E. Spangler, C. R. Sutherland, L. J. Storey, G. R. Taylor, P. W. Tourtellot, J. H. Trewin, J. M. Tallman, C. G. Watkins, Charles E. Wheeler, B. L. Wick, J. U. Yessler, Cedar Rapids; H. C. Printy, Center Point, Iowa; Thomas Davis, Central City, Iowa; E. A. Johnson, B. J. Laucamp, Lisbon; F. L. Anderson, James E. Bromwell, M. W. Courtney, W. S. Griffiths, James M. Gray, Charles J. Haas, B. P. Harding, C. S. Lake, William G. Thompson, J. M. Thompson, D. E. Voris, Marion; C. W. Kepler, Louis H. Kepler, G. M. Wilson, F. T. Davis, William Glenn, Mt. Vernon; D. D. Stevens, Paralta, Iowa; Thomas Ware, Troy Mills; A. W. Fisher, Walker; Homer James, Springville. [Illustration: LUTHERAN CHURCH, LISBON] [Illustration: MAIN STREET, LISBON] LINN COUNTY JUSTICES In pioneer days the township justice played an important part in the growth and progress of the community. He acted as the safe counsellor and the family adviser. He drew up all sorts of legal papers, settled strifes, legalized marriages. It was in the justice court that the new lawyer would show off his ability. It was an age when "wit and whiskey were the principal things at the bar," and the early lawyers by nature possessed the one and frequently partook of the other. Before these country tribunals these young fellows at the bar were not miserly of their eccentricities by any means. The justice courts in olden times were held under the oaks in summer and in blacksmith shops and grist mills in colder weather, and here when law was not made, the politics and gossip of the day were often discussed. The justice was always a leader in his community, and he led in many ways. The story frequently went "as goes the justice so goes the township." The voter placed faith in the judgment of the justice and he ruled the community sometimes with an iron hand. However, the dictatorial justice soon lost caste and some one else would be chosen at the next election. Much good work was done by the frontier justice as peace maker, for often where quarrels arose involving a whole neighborhood he would fix it up in some way, asserting with all the powers at his command that "it was a dirty suit" which must be settled. They were as a rule men of character and of influence, and fearless when it came to dealing out justice to offenders and those who openly violated the law. Of course they were backed by the sturdy farming population who could be depended upon to stand up for the rules as laid down by the justice. Many stories may be told at the expense of the country justice. It is related of an old New Englander in Monroe township that when a case came before him as to certain offenses and the attorney for the defendant saw that the feelings of the justice were against him he made a motion that the guilt or innocence of the victim be put to a vote of the house. While he thought this was a little strange, still his sense of justice and his New England training asserted itself and the crowd voted that the party should go free, against the protest of the attorney for the state. Dr. J. H. Camburn was an able justice. The way he would take things in hand and decide matters were worth going a distance to see and hear. Dr. Camburn was decidedly practical and had good sense. It is said that John Weare made a better justice than Dave King, for King had friends at times whom he wanted to help while Weare had no friends. Justice Snyder, of Putnam township, sentenced a poor fellow at one time to the penitentiary for stealing a bee tree when a tree of that kind and a whole acre of land on which it grew would not be worth more than $5.00. The constable marched the poor fellow across the country to the sheriff's office, awaiting further instructions. The sheriff sent the constable home and told the prisoner to go home, as the justice had exceeded his authority. The scare at least made the poor fellow forever afterwards an ideal citizen and the justice always thought that he had done a good job after all even though he had exceeded his authority. Many of the fathers and grandfathers of the present generation look back with pride upon the work accomplished by their ancestors who held down the justice's office in some of the townships of the county. Who does not remember such names as J. G. Cole, Isaac Butler, Bob Hodgin, Ed Crow, William Abbe, Burnett, Coquillette, Knickerbocker, L. L. Davis, Israel Mitchell, Wm. Ure, R. M. Gunnison, Wm. Cooper, J. S. Anderson, John Stewart, C. W. Phelps, Aaron Mohr, Thos. Goudy, J. M. Afftery, J. W. Babbitt, W. H. Hunter, H. B. Burnapp, J. Shearer, Geo. Greene, and scores of others. [Illustration: AFTER THE SAC AND FOX CESSION OF 1837 (map)] [Illustration: LATE DIVISION OF THE BLACK HAWK PURCHASE (map)] These frontier justices were many of them men of culture and education, such as Mitchell and Judge Greene. Many of them were shrewd, as Wm. Ure, Gunnison, Butler, Nugent and many others. These men saw into schemes which were frequently played upon men of the community and woe unto the man who got caught in such a game in the new community where all stood by the justice and the justice's rule was the supreme law in those days. But the country justice, whatever his ability, always decided on the side of justice and mercy. The country justice was a self made man of sound judgment and by fair dealings was the arbiter of the fortunes of the county in an early day. He is worthy of mention as a type of the pioneer who took an active interest in the upbuilding of the county and in preserving order and enforcing law. The following items show the importance of the justices in "ye olden time." These were found by a member of the S. H. Tryon family and presented to the Linn County Historical Society. Linn County, Iowa Territory, To any Justice of the Peace for Linn County, or minister of the Gospel, These in the name of the United States are to authorize you to join in matrimony Mr. James Hunter and Miss Mary Rogers and fail not to make due return. March 10, 1840. S. H. Tryon. C. D. C. Executed by the undersigned on the 14th day of March, 1840. Israel Mitchell, J. P. Iowa Territory, Linn County, To any Justice of the Peace or Minister of the Gospel in the name of the United States of America, These are to authorize you to join in matrimony Mr. Joseph Barnett and Miss Mary Libo. Given under my hand and seal of office this 20th day of June, 1840. S. H. Tryon, (seal) District Clerk. Territory of Iowa, Linn County, To any Justice of the Peace or Minister of the Gospel in the name of the United States of America; these are to authorize you to join in matrimony Mr. Henry Donahoo and Miss Sarah Ann Burgess. Given under the temporary seal of said County. S. H. Tryon, Clerk C. C., L. C., I. T. C. W. Phelps, Justice of the Peace, married David Mann and Sally Lewis April 16, 1842, William Adair and Sabrina Williams on the 17th day of December, 1840, George Adair and Elizabeth Ellen Smith on the 6th day of January, 1841, and Mr. John Leverich and Miss Lucy Ann Smith on the 25th day of February, 1841. John Stewart, Justice of the Peace, married James R. Briney and Mary Stamberg on the 10th day of March, 1841; and married Mr. Andrew Arnett and Miss Jane Johnson on the 8th day of June, 1841. Aaron Moher, Justice of the Peace, on the 4th day of July, 1841, married John Dwyer and Miss Minerva Plant. John G. Cole, Justice of the Peace, married David Hunter and Sarah Jane Rogers on the 23rd day of July, 1840. [Illustration: PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH AT SPRINGVILLE] [Illustration: THE BUTLER FARM AT SPRINGVILLE] William Abbe, Justice of the Peace, on the 10th day of June, 1840, married Mr. Asher Edgerton and Miss Julia Deale. John Cron, Justice of the Peace, married Mr. Aaron Haynes and Miss Sally Mann, on the 21st day of July, 1840. Thomas Goudy, Justice of the Peace, on the 3rd day of November, 1840, married Hosea W. Gray and Miss Nancy Smith. Jno. Hoddes, a Minister of the Gospel, married Mr. John Riley and Miss Mary Ellen Bigger on the 22nd day of July, 1841. J. P. Stuart, a Minister of the Gospel, married Mr. Robert Cunningham Shinn and Miss Martha Marcissa Willis on the 8th day of September, 1840. John M. Afferty, Justice of the Peace, married Elisha Freeman Williams and Julian Clark on the 4th day of July, 1840. James W. Bapitt, Justice of the Peace, married Mr. Mark Morris and Julia Ann Carpenter on the 4th day of July, 1840; he also married Frederick Grambow and Miss Martha Harris on the 1st day of September, 1840. Israel Mitchell, Justice of the Peace, married Mr. James Hunter and Miss Mary Rogers on the 14th day of March, 1840; he also married Mr. Joseph Barnett and Miss Mary Libo on the 21st day of June, 1840; also Mr. Henry Donahoo and Miss Sarah Ann Rogers were married by the same party on the 2nd day of August, 1840. The above named clerk who issued the licenses was Dr. Socrates H. Tryon, who was appointed clerk of the Third Judicial District of which Joseph Williams was judge. He was also the first physician to locate within the boundaries of Linn county. George Greene acted as deputy clerk during the year 1841, and he issued also several licenses to marry well known Linn county people, some of whom were: Sarah Rogers to Wiley Fitz during January, 1841, and Mary Stambaugh to James R. Briney in March, of the same year. On March 2, 1841, Sally Hanes makes a sale of one red cow, two sows and eight shoats for $20.00 to Jacob Mann, which fact is attested to by Isaac Butler and that the goods were delivered in person and money paid. In Otter Creek township before W. H. Hunts, J. P., on August 30, 1852, the following case was docketed: "State of Iowa vs. Orin Draper, Felony," charged by William Garretson, attempted to poison his family and himself; that he is in fear of the defendant and dare not leave his home and follow his occupation. That William Cress duly brought the defendant into Court; that defendant denied that he was guilty and asked for trial. J. Hunt appeared for the State; defendant pleaded his own case; that after examination of witnesses separately and arguments made, the testimony all being understood by the court, thereupon it is considered that defendant go free without day or date. CHAPTER XXII _The Schools of the County_ Schools in Linn county came into existence almost as early as the first settlers arrived here. Most of the pioneers came from homes of culture and refinement and hence appreciated the value of an education. There were no public schools at first. Teachers were employed by private subscription. Lessons were taught in the settler's cabin, fitted up with rough boards or puncheons, and of course the attendance was small. The organic law which provided for the division of Wisconsin and Iowa makes no provision for education, and no reference to it. On January 15, 1839, an act was passed by the Council and House of Representatives of the Territory of Iowa, providing for "grants of property made for the encouragement of education." This act has no bearing whatever on our present school system. It deals expressly with donations and gifts for educational purposes. The real beginning of our present school system is embodied in "An Act to Establish a System of Common Schools," approved by the Council and House of Representatives of the Territory of Iowa, January 16, 1840. There are many surprises in this bill when one compares it to our present school laws; in fact, many of our school laws have not been materially changed since the enactments of 1840. It is interesting to note that according to the provisions of this bill, the school library is not a new idea, but it was provided for. In Section thirteen, paragraph five, the qualified voters in each district were given power to "impose a tax sufficient for the purchase of a suitable library case, also a sum not exceeding ten dollars annually, for the purchase of books to be selected by a vote of the district, by the district board, when so directed." Paragraph six of the same section designates "the place where the library shall be kept, and the person by whom it shall be kept;" and states that "the superintendent of public instruction shall establish the necessary rules for the regulation of the library." Section fifteen provides that "every person elected to any one of the above offices who, without sufficient cause, shall neglect or refuse to serve shall forfeit to the district for the use of the library the sum of ten dollars, to be recovered in an action of debt by the assessor before any court of competent jurisdiction." Another interesting item is the fact that school inspectors instead of school directors at that time had charge of the schools. In Section twenty-three, these inspectors are provided for in the following words: "There shall be chosen at each annual township meeting, three school inspectors in the same manner as other township officers are chosen, who shall hold their office until others are chosen." It was the duty of these inspectors, according to Section twenty-nine of this Act, to examine closely all persons presenting themselves as candidates for teaching in their township, and although a certificate may have been issued to a teacher, if the inspectors became dissatisfied, under Section thirty, they might again require the teacher to be re-examined, and if in their opinion the teacher was found wanting the requisite qualifications, their certificates might be annulled by giving the teacher ten days' notice, and filing the same with the clerk of the township. Judge Milo P. Smith when entering upon the duties of his school at Wire's Corners, just east of Springville, was examined by this method, and it is quite interesting to hear him tell his early experiences in the schools of Linn county. Quite vividly does he bring to one's mind the sparsely settled condition of the neighborhood around Springville and Viola, when relating an incident regarding his trip from this school house to a party where he had been invited to spend the evening. After arranging his records and outlining the lessons for the next day, the Judge states that he started for his destination, and about ten o'clock at night realized that he was completely lost. Evidently he must have traveled in a circle, for he states that about two or three o'clock the next morning he saw a gleam of light flash out of a door. Starting immediately in that direction, he arrived at the place where the party was held, just in time to ride home with the young folks. At the same session, a law was passed regarding the sale of the school lands, and this law was approved January 17, 1840. On February 17, 1842, a bill was passed creating the office of Superintendent of Public Instruction. The duties of this officer at this time was very limited; they being of a clerical nature instead of those of a supervisor. Of course there could be no school districts or anything of that nature organized in the county until after some county organization. The bill calling for the organization of Linn county was not passed until 1840. It is quite interesting to know that it was at this time that the Commissioner or rather what is known to-day as the Supervisor Districts were laid out. The bill reads as follows: "Section 1. Be it enacted by the Council and House of Representatives of the Territory of Iowa, That the board of county commissioners in and for the county of Linn, be and they are hereby authorized and required to lay off the county aforesaid into three county commissioners' districts, prior to the first day of August, A. D. eighteen hundred and forty-one, making the division as nearly as possible in proportion to the population of said county; and the districts shall be classified by said commissioners as districts number one, number two, and number three. "SEC. 2. That at the next general election there shall be elected from district number one one county commissioner; and alternately thereafter there shall be elected from each district one county commissioner annually, in accordance with the provisions of an act organizing a board of county commissioners in each county in this Territory, approved December 14th, A. D. eighteen hundred and thirty-eight, in like manner as though the county had been divided under the provisions of said act. "Approved, December 31, 1840." This is especially interesting, inasmuch as there has been a great deal of discussion of late regarding the number of supervisors in Linn county. The districts as laid out at that time remain today. By an act of the same Assembly, approved June 13, 1841, Marion was established as a seat of justice of Linn county, and the commissioners of Linn county were authorized to employ agents to sell lots. The office of the superintendent of public instruction seemed to have been short-lived, for on February 17, 1842, an act was passed by the territorial legislature which repealed the act of creating the office of superintendent of public instruction. In 1846 an act was passed January 15th, which in some respects amended an act "To Establish a System of Common Schools," which was passed in 1840. This bill (the one of 1845) really made what is now known as the county auditor, the educational head of the schools, and provided a tax for their support. In chapter 99, page 127, of the Territorial Statutes of 1847, there is an act relating to the common schools. In section 36, page 134, it provides that at the next annual township election (which evidently must have been held in the spring) there was to be elected a school fund commissioner. This commissioner is what is now known as the county superintendent of schools, and his duties were many and varied. In the election book it is shown that in April, 1852, out of the six hundred and ninety-one votes cast, Alpheus Brown received five hundred and seventy-three, and was declared elected. In the formation and alteration of school districts, the records of the county go back as far as 1849, in which records Mr. Brown signed as school fund commissioner. However, this may be attributed to the fact that previous to 1852, Mr. Brown was clerk of the county board of commissioners, and the duties of the school fund commissioner devolved upon that office at that time; consequently the presumption is that when he entered upon his duties as school fund commissioner, and began to make up his records, he naturally took from the records of the clerk of the board of county commissioners the things which belonged to the office. Mr. Brown held this office for three full terms, also about six or eight months additional time, although Albert A. Mason was elected and qualified as county superintendent of schools in the election of April, 1858. Mr. Brown served until January, 1859, as school fund commissioner. This came from the fact that the county superintendent was provided for by the Statute of '58, the election taking place on the first Monday in April, but at this time some of the duties devolved upon the county superintendent. By chapter 36 of the Statutes of 1858, section 1, the office of the school fund commissioner was continued until the county treasurer was elected. The presumption is, therefore, that for about six months we had both a school fund commissioner and a county superintendent of schools in this county. It is possible, also, that Mr. Brown served as a sort of triumvirate, as he was school fund commissioner by election, for the simple reason that Mr. Mason may not have qualified until three or four days after the time set; he was also school fund commissioner by the extension Statute, and county superintendent of schools from the fact that his successor had not qualified; in fact in some of the school reports, he signed as both school fund commissioner and county superintendent. However, Mr. Mason entered upon his duties and served as superintendent of schools for one term, when Ira G. Fairbanks (who by the way, still lives in Mount Vernon) was elected as his successor. It is a difficult matter to state who was the first school teacher in the county. In 1839 several schools were in operation. In July of that year Elizabeth Bennett taught in Linn Grove, and later that same year Judge Greene taught at Ivanhoe. One of the noted schools of the early day was the one known as the "Buckskin School," in Linn Grove, so named because teacher and scholars alike attended clad in buckskin suits. The first school district was formed in 1840 with Marion as its center. After that school houses sprang up in every direction. The buildings were constructed out of logs; the seats were benches hewn from slabs or logs, and so were the desks. Colleges early sprung up in the county. Of the three that flourished here more or less at one time, the history of two--Cornell and Coe--are given at length. These institutions are now in splendid condition. The third institution that in its day was a power for excellence in educational lines was Western, founded in 1856 on the borders of Johnson county at the little town of Western, in College township. Of this institution the late Jesse A. Runkle, some years ago, wrote as follows: "In January, 1856, Iowa City became the western terminus of the only railroad in the state, and no other was built within a couple of years. The fine country surrounding Western, would easily lead one to believe that the early plan was feasible, to make the school an industrial one, where deserving young men could make their way through school by devoting some of their time to agricultural work. But Western was unfortunate in two things: First, none of the railroads that were built in Iowa, ever came near the town. It seems as if a Nemesis had brooded over the place, for even the interurban now being built between Cedar Rapids and Iowa City swerves from a direct line, and misses both Western and Shueyville by about a mile. Second, the surrounding country began to be possessed by a population that in the main had little or no sympathy with religious education, and the older generations were alien in thought and temper to our American institutions. These things made the task of maintaining the college at that point a most heroic and arduous work." [Illustration: SHOWING THE TWO CESSIONS AS AT PRESENT DIVIDED (map)] After some years of struggle, the college was removed to Toledo, where it now wields an influence second to none in the state. One of the early educational centers in Linn county was the private school established in 1850 in the Greene Bros. block, which stood on the corner of First street and First avenue, Cedar Rapids, where now stands the building owned by Sunshine Mission. It was founded by Miss Elizabeth Calder, a native of New York, and who in 1855 married R. C. Rock, the first hardware dealer in the city, who came here from Burlington and whose place of business was located on First street a few doors south of the corner of First avenue. This school prospered and was conducted by Miss Calder for four years when it was discontinued. One of the first, if not the very first, teacher in Cedar Rapids was Miss Susan Abbe, daughter of the old pioneer. She taught in this city in 1846, the superintendent being Alexander Ely. Miss Emma J. Fordyce, at present a teacher in the Cedar Rapids high school, contributes to this work the following sketch of early schools in the county, and more particularly in the city of Cedar Rapids: "It is not often in this changing country that a person lives a lifetime in one community and sees the schools grow from their beginning. This has happened to me. Of the early country schools but two memories remain: a visit in the summer, and one in the winter. There remains an impression of very homely school houses, equally homely surroundings, and very little comfort without or within. It is a standing wonder that even now an Iowa farmer is much more likely to provide an up-to-date fine building for his cattle than a beautiful, well-ordered school-house for the education of his children. A little has been done, but by far too little. "Early Cedar Rapids was a little village surrounded by groves of oaks, crab-apple, plum, and everywhere the climbing wild grape. Between these groves were the sand hills on which grew vast quantities of sand-burs. Where the Methodist church now stands was a hill which sloped toward the railroad. Where the old Presbyterian church was, the children coasted down 'Pepper Grass Hill;' and where Mr. Crozer's florist establishment is, was a deep and wide pond which, on occasions of heavy rain, furnished water for rafts made from bits of sidewalk. "The earliest school was on the site of the present Granby building, but of that school I have no personal knowledge. The first school building in my memory was the three-story one which was erected in 1856. It had a white cupola, white trimmings to the windows, with a high, solid board fence, painted red, surrounding it. An iron pump at the side furnished refreshment to the spirit and ammunition for the wetting of people. On the lower floor on the side next the railroad, Miss Elizabeth Shearer taught the children. She was a woman of fine family, fine attainments, and of great patience of spirit. Superintendent Ingalls was in charge of the school at that time. C. W. Burton followed him the next year. His school board was A. C. Churchill, president; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; J. W. Henderson, vice-president; D. A. Bradley, secretary. These were assisted by three directors, J. F. Charles, W. W. Smith, E. E. Leach. Mr. Harrison had a unique way of collecting taxes from the delinquent foreign citizens to whom our system of collecting them was a dark puzzle; when they refused to pay, he notified them that on a certain day if the taxes were not forthcoming, he would sell everything they had and apply the proceeds to tax payment. The auction was often begun, but never finished, as the taxes were always forthcoming. "Mrs. E. J. Lund was one of the earliest of Cedar Rapids teachers. For many years her inspiring example and her patient work developed good children out of bad, and she finished her life's work by taking care of all the poor and unfortunate of the county. The Cedar Rapids superintendents were Professor Humphrey, 1861-4, Professor Ingalls, 1864-5, C. W. Burton, 1865-70, J. E. Harlan, now president of Cornell, 1870-5, F. H. Smith, the latter part of 1875, J. W. Akers, 1875-81, W. M. Friesner, 1881-5, L. T. Weld, 1885-6, J. P. Hendricks, 1886-90, J. T. Merrill, 1890-1901, J. J. McConnell, 1901--, twelve men in thirty-four years. The list shows plainly the growing tendency to keep a superintendent for long periods at a time. "The high school principals show the same tendency; A. Wetherby, from 1870-1, E. C. Ebersole, 1872-73, W. A. Olmsted, 1871-2, Miss Mary A. Robinson, 1873-86, Miss A. S. Abbott, 1886--. "The original high school building contained four rooms. In 1876 it had a corps of three teachers: Miss M. A. Robinson, Miss E. J. Meade, Miss Estella Verden, and had an attendance of 106 pupils; it now has twenty teachers with an attendance of 838 pupils. In 1876 there were five buildings in the city; there are now sixteen. Of the teachers thirty-one in number in 1876, there are two left: Miss Emma Forsythe and Miss Emma J. Fordyce. In 1876 the total number of pupils handled by thirty-one teachers was 1,752. In 1911, with 181 teachers, there are 6,122 pupils, not quite six times as many teachers, but showing a smaller average number to each teacher. Evidently the school-houses have always been crowded, since the superintendent's report of 1876 says: 'We have in the school district five school buildings, and these are taxed to their utmost to accommodate the pupils already enrolled.' He also remarks pensively: 'In your wisdom for the coming year, you have reduced the salaries of your teachers, and in some cases the reduction has been such that some of your best teachers have been compelled to seek employment elsewhere.' Since no following superintendent makes the same complaint, it is evident that school boards do improve. As to salaries, the salary of the superintendent in 1883 is given as $1,000; in 1911 as $3,000, which means the magnificent increase of $42 a year; not a great temptation. The salaries of the teachers increase in the same period about $25 a year. Comment is unnecessary. "As to the high school, the graduates of 1873 to 1885 were but eleven pupils, with nine times as many in 1908. Amongst the older and pioneer high school teachers were Mr. Wetherbee, Miss Ella Meade, and Miss Ada Sherman, who afterward decided to doctor bodies instead of minds, as it paid much better. Mr. Olmsted, the principal of 1872, who left Cedar Rapids in 1873 to found a business in Chicago, died a hero. He lost his life in his burning building trying to save his bookkeeper. "The tendencies in school work are shown by the fact that the reports of the early superintendents are largely lists of members of the school board, while the later reports give large tabulations of expense. It is to be regretted that Iowa has not adopted a series of uniform reports, giving items almost impossible to discover as these reports are at present made out. The older schools report seventy-two pupils to a primary teacher. The newer reports are silent on the subject. Since efficiency comes in handling the right number of pupils, it would certainly be wise to keep a careful account of this item. "The courses of the schools show the growth in public service. The courses of the high school in 1876 are twenty; those of the high school in 1910, eighty-three. All of the older and more prominent citizens served as school directors at one time or another. In 1858 J. L. Enos was president of the board, Freeman Smith, secretary, W. W. Smith, vice-president, J. T. Walker, treasurer, W. W. Walker, director. In 1859 the names of R. C. Rock, E. H. Stedman, J. P. Coulter, and J. M. Chambers appear. In 1860, S. C. Koontz, Henry Church, William Stewart, J. H. Camburn, and William Richmond served. In 1861, W. W. Smith, George M. Howlett, Henry Church, William H. Merritt, A. C. Churchill, and S. L. Pollock directed affairs. In 1862 E. G. Brown, A. C. Churchill, J. F. Ely, George M. Howlett elected Mr. Humphrey superintendent of schools. His reputation seems to have been that of a man of great strength and the bad big boys stood in awe of him accordingly. C. W. Burton, the superintendent of 1865, was noted for his cleverness in mathematics, and his deep interest in horticulture. "All of these early directors, superintendents, and teachers were hard workers and great optimists. History has confirmed that optimism, and from the services of these men developed a race of ambitious, energetic, moral citizens to whom the present Cedar Rapids owes a great debt of gratitude." Through the courtesy of County Superintendent Alderman we are enabled to give below some interesting data regarding our schools: In 1873 the number of school corporations in the county was 42, increased to 87 in 1909. The number of ungraded schools in the former year was 178, and 166 in the latter year. The average number of months the schools were in session has increased from 6.6 in 1873 to 8.9 in 1909, and the average compensation from $39.78 to $73.50 for males, and from $26.33 to $50.85 for females. The number of female teachers employed in 1873 was 244, and in 1909, 503. The number of male teachers was 90 and 40 respectively. In the matter of attendance there has been a vast betterment. In 1873 there were 460 boys and 544 girls between the ages of seven and fourteen not in school. In 1909 these numbers were 29 and 17. The value of school property in 1873 was $240,105; in 1909, $814,300. The value of school apparatus was $2,309.50 in 1873, and in 1909, $20,035.25. There were in 1873 in the school libraries 482 volumes, which was increased to 17,079 in 1909. There are now between twenty-five and thirty fine school buildings in the country districts. They are modern in all respects, being supplied with slate blackboards, hardwood floors, ventilators, cloak rooms, bookcases and cupboards. Several have furnaces and cloak rooms in the basements. Some of the buildings are supplied with telephones, making it possible for the county superintendent and patrons to communicate direct with the school. The plans and specifications for these buildings are owned by the county, and are furnished gratis to the school districts wishing to build. All of these school-houses except two or three are not only provided with libraries, cloak rooms, etc., but are also provided with a good organ. This year there is being installed a hot air ventilating system which keeps the warm air pure, the cold air being taken directly from the outside and passed through the hot air radiators before being allowed to enter the school room. [Illustration: CORNELL COLLEGE IN 1865] CHAPTER XXIII _Historical Sketch of Cornell College_ BY WILLIAM HARMON NORTON, ALUMNI PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY, CORNELL COLLEGE Linn county may well take pride in the history of her oldest school of higher education, founded in 1853, when the county held but 6,000 people. But the beginnings of Cornell College are of more than local interest; they are thoroughly typical of America and of the West. Cornell was founded in much the same way as were hundreds of American colleges along the ever advancing frontier of civilization from Massachusetts to California--a way which the world had never seen before and will never see again. THE FOUNDATION AND THE FOUNDER Cornell owes its inception to a Methodist circuit rider, the Rev. George B. Bowman, a North Carolinian by birth, who came to Iowa from Missouri in 1841, three years after the territorial organization of the commonwealth. This heroic pioneer, resourceful, far seeing, and sanguine of the future, eminent in initiative and in the power of compelling others to his plans, was one of those rare men to whom the task of building states is intrusted. He was not himself a college man, but with him education was a passion. To found institutions of higher education he considered his special mission. Hardly had he been appointed as pastor of the church at Iowa City in 1841 when he undertook the building of a church school, called Iowa City College. In 1845 Rev. James Harlan, a local preacher of Indiana, was chosen president, and with one assistant opened the school in 1846. The next year Mr. Harlan was elected state superintendent of public instruction, and the college was closed never to be re-opened. It had at least served to bring to the state one of its most distinguished citizens, afterward to be honored with the United States senatorship and the secretaryship of the interior. Meanwhile Mr. Bowman had been appointed presiding elder of the Dubuque district, which then included much of east-central Iowa. The failure of the premature attempt at Iowa City had not discouraged him; he awaited the favorable opportunity he still looked for--suitable local conditions for a Christian college in the state. It is a long-told legend, even if it be nothing more than legend, that when Elder Bowman came riding on horseback to the Linn Grove circuit, he stopped on the crest of the lonely hill on which Mount Vernon now stands. From its commanding summit vistas of virgin prairie and primeval forest stretched for ten and twenty miles away. Here there fell upon him, the circuit preacher, the trance and vision of the prophet. He saw the far-off future; he heard the tramp of the multitudes to come. Dismounting, he kneeled down in the rank prairie grass and in prayer to Almighty God consecrated this hill for all time to the cause of Christian education. And it is a matter of authentic history that in the spring of 1851 Elder Bowman and Rev. Dr. A. J. Kynett, in the parsonage at Mount Vernon, planned together for the early founding and upbuilding of a Christian college on this site. With the characteristic initiative of the Iowa pioneer, Bowman did not wait for authority to be given him by anybody, for articles of incorporation to be drawn up, or even for a title deed to the land on which the college was to stand. Early in 1852 he laid his plans for the launching of the school. On the Fourth of July of this year an educational celebration was held at Mount Vernon, which drew the farmers for miles about the town, and other friends of the new enterprise from Marion and Cedar Rapids, Anamosa, Dubuque, and Burlington. The oration of the day was delivered by State Superintendent Harlan on the theme of Education, and at its close ground was broken formally for the first building of the college. A month later a deed was obtained for the land and the following September the guardianship of the infant school was accepted under the name of the Iowa Conference Seminary, by the Methodist Episcopal church. In this highly democratic manner Cornell College was founded by the people as an institution of higher learning, which should ever be of the people and for the people. It was born on the anniversary of the nation's natal day, and was to remain one of the highest expressions of patriotism and civic life. Christened by the head of the educational interests of the young commonwealth, supported by its citizens, protected by a charter from the state, and exempt as a beneficent institution of the state from contributing by taxation to the support of other institutions, the college was thus begun as a state school in a very real sense. One can not read the early archives of the college without the profoundest admiration for the pioneers, its founders. Avid of education to a degree pathetic, they depended on no beaurocracy of church or state; they waited for no foreign philanthropy to supply their educational needs. They laid the foundations of their colleges with the same free, independent, self-sufficing spirit with which they laid their hearthstones, and they laid both at the same time. THE IOWA CONFERENCE SEMINARY In January, 1853, the first meeting of the board of trustees was held, and in the fall of the same year the school was opened in the old Methodist church at Mount Vernon. Before the end of the term a new edifice on the campus was so far completed that it was available for school purposes and "on the morning of November 14, 1853, the school met for the last time in the old church and after singing and prayer the students were formed in line and walked in procession with banners flying, led by the teachers, through the village, and took formal possession of what was then declared to be a large and commodious building."[J] The first catalog--a little time-stained pamphlet of fifteen pages--lists the following faculty: Rev. Samuel M. Fellows, A. M., professor of mental and moral science and belle lettres. Rev. David H. Wheeler, professor of languages. Miss Catherine A. Fortner, preceptress. Miss Sarah L. Matson, assistant. Mrs. Olive P. Fellows, teacher of painting and embroidery. Mrs. Sophia E. Wheeler, teacher of instrumental music. The first board of trustees is also noteworthy: Rev. George B. Bowman, president, Mount Vernon; E. D. Waln, Esq., secretary, Mount Vernon; Rev. H. W. Reed, Centerville; Rev. E. W. Twining, Iowa City; Rev. J. B. Taylor, Mount Vernon; Jesse Holman, North Sugar Grove; Henry Kepler, North Sugar Grove; William Hayzlett, Mount Vernon; A. I. Willits, Mount Vernon. The roster of students enrolls 104 gentlemen, and 57 ladies. Among them are familiar and honored names, some of which are to reappear in all later catalogs of the school, either as students of the second and third generation, or as trustees and members of faculty. Four Rigbys, for example, were students in 1853. In 1910 the catalog lists three Rigbys, one a student and two members of the faculty. The first catalog contains the names of no less than nine Keplers as students, six stalwart young men from North Sugar Grove and their three sisters. Four Walns are enrolled from Mount Vernon, two Farleys from Dubuque and two Reeders from Red Oak. In 1853 the population of the entire state was only about 300,000. Not a railway had been projected west of the Mississippi river. And yet the scattered settlements sent across the unbroken prairie and the unbridged rivers no less than 161 students to the young school on this the first year of its existence. The most important route to Mount Vernon was the military road extending from Dubuque to Iowa City. Both towns contributed their quota of students, Dubuque sending no less than twelve, although the entire population of Dubuque county was then, less than 16,000. Considering the difficulty of communications, the poverty of the pioneers, the wide extent of the sphere of influence of the school is remarkable. Students were drawn this first year from as far to the northeast as Elkader and Garnavillo. They came from Dyersville and Independence, from Quasqueton and Vinton, from Marengo, Columbus City, West Liberty, and Burlington. Muscatine alone sent seven students. This town was at the time the point of supply for Mount Vernon, and the materials for the first building of the college except such as local saw mills and brick kilns could supply were hauled from that river port.[K] Students came also from Davenport, Le Claire, Princeton, and Blue Grass in Scott county, from Comanche, and from the pioneer settlements of La Motte and Canton in Jackson county. The eight hundred students of Cornell today reach the school from all parts of the state and the adjacent portions of our neighboring states by a few hours swift and comfortable ride by rail. But who shall picture in detail the long and adventurous journeys in ox cart and pioneer wagon and perchance often on foot of the boys and girls of 1853--the climbing of steep hills, the fording of rivers, the miring in abysmal sloughs, the succession of mile after mile of undulating treeless prairie carpeted with gorgeous flowers stretching unbroken to the horizon, the camp at night illuminated by distant prairie fires, until at last a boat shaped hill surmounted by a lonely red brick building lifts itself above the horizon, and the goal of the long journey is in view! No doubt there were other hardships awaiting these students after their arrival. Rule No. 1 of the new school compelled their rising at five o'clock in the morning. They were expected to furnish their own beds, lights, mirrors, etc., when boarding in Seminary Hall. It is interesting to note that they paid for tuition $4.00 and $5.00 per quarter, and for board from $1.50 to $1.75 per week. The next year the steward's petition to the board of trustees that he be allowed to put three students in each of the little rooms was granted with the proviso "that he furnish suitable bunks for the same." The catalog's statement regarding apparatus is a guarded one: "The Institution is furnished with apparatus for illustrating some of the most important principles of Natural Science. As the wants of school demand, additions will be made to this apparatus." And that regarding the library is wholly prophetic: "It is intended to procure a good selection of _readable_ and _instructive_ books, by the commencement of the next academic year, to which the students will have access at a trifling expense. With these books as a nucleus, a good library will be accumulated as rapidly as possible. Donations of _good_ books are solicited from friends of the institution." In the next catalog it is stated that "a small but good selection of _readable_ and _instructive_ books has been procured," the remainder of the statement being the same as that of the first year. This statement appeared without change in all succeeding catalogs during the remainder of the first decade. THE FIRST DECADE As early as 1855 the articles of incorporation were amended changing the name of the institution to Cornell College, in honor of W. W. Cornell and his brother J. B. Cornell, of New York City, men prominent in business and widely known for their benevolences to various enterprises of the church. It will be noted that Cornell College was thus named several years before the founding by Ezra Cornell, of Cornell University at Ithaca, N. Y. The first year of the school under the new collegiate régime was that of 1857-1858. Rev. R. W. Keeler of the Upper Iowa Conference was made president, Principal Fellows of the Seminary taking the professorship of Latin. Two years later President Keeler reentered the more congenial work of the ministry, and Principal Fellows was elected president of the college, a position which he held most acceptably until his death on the day after commencement June 26, 1863, thus completing a full decade of years of service in the school. President Fellows had come to Cornell from the Rock River Seminary at Mount Morris. His character and the quality of his work left lasting impressions on his pupils at both institutions. Thus Hon. Robert R. Hitt, of Illinois, writes of him as follows: "He was a diligent, acute, and active student, and his personal character was admirable. It is the fortune of few men to exercise so wide and prominent an influence from a position which, to the ambitious, is not considered eminent." And Senator Shelby M. Cullom has written: "I regard Professor Fellows as one of the best men I ever knew. I said it when I was under him at school, and now that I am over seventy years of age, I say it now. He was strong, honest-hearted, full of kindness, and a splendid teacher." His colleague at Cornell, Dr. David H. Wheeler, described him as "a man sweet-spirited, pure-minded, of fine executive ability, a rarely qualified teacher, a patient sufferer, a tireless worker, a model friend." A word may be said as to the members of President Fellows's faculty: Miss Catharine A. Fortner, a graduate of Cazenovia Seminary, N. Y., was sent out in 1851 by Governor Slade, of Vermont, as a missionary teacher to Iowa. Her success near Tipton was so marked that she was chosen as the first preceptress of the institution. In 1857 she resigned to marry Rev. Rufus Ricker, of the Upper Iowa Conference. Wm. H. Barnes, professor of languages in 1854-1855, resigned to accept a professorship in Baldwin University, Ohio, and is known as author of several works in history and politics. His successor, Rev. B. W. Smith, after leaving the school in 1857 became pastor of several of the largest churches in northern Indiana, and president of Valparaiso College. Dr. David H. Wheeler, professor of languages in 1853-1854, and professor of Greek from 1857 to 1861, when he was appointed U. S. consul to Genoa, was a brilliant and versatile man, author of a number of books, professor for eight years at Northwestern University, editor for eight years of the New York Methodist, and for nine years president of Allegheny College. The brother of President Fellows, Dr. Stephen N. Fellows, has a large place in the educational history of Iowa. He assisted his brother in laying the foundation of Cornell College, being professor of mathematics from 1854 to 1860, and later occupied the chair of mental and moral science and didactics at the State University of Iowa for twenty years. On account of her long connection with the college, from 1857 to 1890, Miss Harriette J. Cooke exerted a more potent influence on the institution than any of her colleagues of the first decade. Miss Cooke came to Cornell from Hopkinton, Massachusetts, and brought the best culture for women which New England then afforded, as well as an exceptionally forceful personality, and rare natural aptitudes for her profession. From 1860 to the time of her resignation she was dean of women, and her influence for good on the thousands of young women under her care is incalculable. After long service as an instructor she was made a full professor in 1871, the first woman in America, it has been said, to be thus honored. Her chair for fifteen years was history and German, and after 1886 history and the science of government. On leaving the college she studied the methods of deaconess work in England, wrote a book upon the subject, and returning to her native land became one of the leaders in this new department of social service. For many years she has been closely connected with the University Settlement of Boston. On the recent celebration of her eightieth birthday she received hundreds of letters of loving congratulation from her former students of Cornell, and each of these letters was answered by her painstakingly and at length. [Illustration: A STREET SCENE IN MARION] [Illustration: THE DANIELS HOTEL, MARION] The first ten years of the institution were marked by a singularly rapid growth, considering the fact that they included the darkest days of the Civil war, when nearly every male student was drawn from the college halls to the service of his country. At the end of the decade the faculty numbered eight professors and instructors, and 375 students were enrolled, fifty-one of whom were in college classes, the largest enrollment of collegiate students in the state, unless at the State University. The assets of the institution amounted to $50,000 in notes and pledges, a campus of fifteen acres, and two brick buildings which compared not unfavorably with other college buildings in the west and with the earlier halls of Harvard. In a large measure this exceptional growth was due to Elder Bowman, to his initiative and wide and powerful influence. The chief problem then as now was one of sustenance, and as a college beggar Bowman was incomparable. He travelled over the settled portions of the state, winning men to his cause by a singular personal charm, and enticing even out of poverty money, promissory notes at altitudinous rates of interest, farm produce, live stock and poultry, household furniture and jewelry. His barnyard at Mount Vernon was continually stocked with horses, cattle, and chickens--votive offerings to the cause of higher education. A citizen of the town once told me how under some mesmeric influence he bought at high price from Elder Bowman an old book case and coal scuttle, begged somewhere for the school. This prince of college beggars once returned from Dubuque with a silver watch which he had plundered off the person of an eminent minister of that city. FROM 1863 TO 1910--GROWTH IN RESOURCES Nothing is so tame as the history of a college once the interesting period of its childhood is over, and the history of Cornell is exceptionally uneventful among colleges. No building has been destroyed by fire or tornado. No famous lawsuit against the school has been defended by some Webster among the alumni. None of the faculty has won notoriety by sensational speech or erratic morals. The salient feature of the forty-seven years since 1863 is a marvelous growth unparalleled in some respects in the history of education. The campus has been enlarged by addition after addition until now it measures sixty acres, including the larger part of the long hill and wide athletic fields along its northern base. To the two first buildings, still used, one for the chemical, biological and physical laboratories and the other for class rooms and society halls, there have been added South Hall, built in 1873 and now used for the engineering and geological laboratories; the Chapel, completed in 1882, a stately Gothic structure of stone, containing the auditorium, seating about 1,500, a smaller audience room, the museum, and several music rooms; Bowman Hall, built in 1885, as the well appointed home of ninety-two young women; the library dedicated in 1905, the gift of Andrew Carnegie; the alumni gymnasium in Ash Park, built in 1909, a noble structure, one of the largest of the kind in the state, besides several minor buildings used for allied schools and professors's residences. The material equipment has made a phenomenal growth, until several of the scientific laboratories are reckoned among the best in the Central West, and the library, numbering 35,000 volumes, ranks as third in size among the university and college libraries in the state, and second to but one of the city libraries of Iowa. The museum includes several collections which rank among the largest in the west: the Kendig collection of minerals, the Norton collection of fossils, and the Powers collection in American anthropology. GROWTH IN ATTENDANCE From the beginning Cornell has been a relatively large school measured by the number of its students, and its growth the last decades forbids it longer to be called a small college. Indeed, for many years it has maintained its place as the largest denominational college, or among the two or three largest, in the United States west of the Great Lakes, reckoned by the number of students of collegiate rank. The attendance has steadily risen until, in 1909-1910, 741 students were enrolled, 450 of them being in the college of liberal arts. The steady growth in numbers of collegiate students evidences the satisfaction which the school has given to its patrons, and an ever widening influence and power. Moreover, it has increased the efficiency of the school by the inspiration of numbers and the intensity of competition in all departments of college life. By bringing together students from all parts of the state and scores from other states, some with the polish of the city and others with the sturdy strength of the country, it has escaped the narrowness of the provincial and has attained something akin to cosmopolitanism. To make Cornell an institution state-wide in its patronage and influence was the evident purpose of its founders. Nothing was further from their minds than a local college for the students of a town or county, or one drawing its patronage from a few contiguous counties. The trustees have been chosen widely over the state and the attendance from all parts of Iowa has been surprisingly large, considering the many excellent colleges the state supports. In an investigation made a few years since of the geographic distribution of the students it was found that 41 per cent of the collegiate students came from beyond the borders of the patronizing conference, and the counties west and south of the Des Moines river furnished 20 per cent of the students in attendance from the state. The college has thus grown to have a state-wide field. THE STRATEGIC POSITION In explaining the growth of Cornell college we must recognize, of course, that it has grown up with the country. We must relate the growth of the school directly to the material prosperity of this land of corn and swine, to the marvelously fertile soil and to the era of expansion in which our history falls. The fact remains, however, that the college has obtained somehow a good deal more than its due share in the general advance. While the population of the state increased 330 per cent from 1860 to 1900, the collegiate attendance at Cornell increased 720 per cent. The college has grown more than twice as fast as has the state, and that notwithstanding the numerous good schools which have sprung up to share its patronage. We can not doubt that much of the success of the school has been due to its strategic position. It is located in a suburban town of the chief railway center of eastern Iowa. From Cedar Rapids long iron ways, like the spokes of a wheel, reach in all directions to the limits of the state and beyond, and bring every portion of the commonwealth and the adjacent parts of our neighboring states within a few hours ride of Cornell college. It is located also in east Central Iowa, an area of the state the first to be settled and developed, an area surpassed by none in the fertility of its soils, and the wealth which has been produced from them. To these geographic factors, advantages shared in like degree by none of the early competitors of the school, we may assign a place similar to that given such factors in explaining the growth of New York city and of Pittsburg. While the college had thus had the city's advantages of communication and markets because of its nearness to Cedar Rapids, it has retained all the peculiar advantages which inhere in a location in a village. Like Bowdoin, Dartmouth, and Oberlin, Cornell has found in the small town, rather than in the city, an ideal college environment. It has never permitted the presence of saloon or other haunt of vice. The citizens with whom the students have made their homes have been people of culture drawn to the town by its educational advantages. In all that makes for the intellectual life, in libraries and collections, in lectures and good music, and church privileges, Mount Vernon has had more to offer than perhaps any city of the state; while the temptations and distractions, the round of low amusements offered by the city, have been fortunately absent. THE BOARD OF TRUSTEES More than geographic location, it is great men and great plans that make great schools. Let us give much credit therefore to the men who have administered the college as members of its board of trustees. Our debt to them is like that of Michigan University to its board of regents whose wise plans pushed it early to the fore among the state universities of the west and far in advance of the place to which geographic causes alone would have assigned it. Some of these were pioneers of only local fame, such as Elijah D. Waln, Henry D. Albright, William Hayzlett, Jesse Holman, Noah McKean, and Dr. G. L. Carhart, men whose memory will ever be cherished in Mount Vernon. Others were men of note in the early history of the state, such as Hon. Hiram Price, of Davenport, Jesse Farley, of Dubuque, and A. P. Hosford and W. H. Lunt, of Clinton. Especially to be noted is the long service which the trustees have given to the school. Of the members of the executive committee Col. Robert Smyth, sturdy Scotch Presbyterian, was a member for twenty-eight years until his death in 1896. On the same committee Hon. W. F. Johnston, of Toledo, long president of the board, has already served for thirty-three years. Col. H. H. Rood, another of the members of the executive committee, has served continuously as trustee since 1867, and Capt. E. B. Soper, of Emmetsburg, since 1878. Captain Soper has long been one of the most influential members of the governing board, and it is to his initiative and faith that the alumni gymnasium is due. Dr. J. B. Allbrook has served since 1874. H. A. Collin was treasurer of the college from 1860 to his death in 1892. Hon. D. N. Cooley, of Dubuque, served as trustee for twenty-four years, and Hon. W. J. Young, of Clinton, for twenty-six years, their terms of office being terminated only by death. Of the present board of trustees there may be named as among those longest in service, F. H. Armstrong, of Chicago; Hon. W. C. Stuckslager, of Lisbon; E. J. Esgate, of Marion; Maj. E. B. Hayward, of Davenport; Hon. Eugene Secor, of Forest City; Dr. Edward T. Devine, of New York; T. J. B. Robinson, of Hampton; John H. Blair, of Des Moines; Rev. W. W. Carlton, of Mason City; Rev. E. J. Lockwood and John H. Taft, of Cedar Rapids; Hon. Leslie M. Shaw, of Philadelphia; R. J. Alexander, of Waukon; E. B. Willix, of Mount Vernon; Senator Edgar T. Brackett, of Saratoga, N. Y.; O. P. Miller, of Rock Rapids; Rev. Homer C. Stuntz, of Madison, N. J. and N. G. Van Sant, of Sterling, Ill. Among the eminent men who have served the college we must give special mention to Rev. Alpha J. Kynett, one of the pioneers of Methodism west of the Mississippi, who served on the board from 1865 to his death in 1899. Dr. Kynett was the founder of the great Church Extension society and for many years was its chief executive. In this capacity he probably built more churches than any man who has ever lived. For a third of a century he was a close friend and adviser of the college, and all his wide experience and his ability as an organizer and financier were always at its service. THE ADMINISTRATION In 1863 occurred the sad death of President Fellows, under whose superintendence the school had been organized. He was succeeded in office by William Fletcher King, a graduate of the Ohio Wesleyan University and a member of its faculty, who thus brought to Cornell an acquaintance with the scope and methods of one of the best colleges of the middle west. At the time of his election to the presidency Dr. King was professor of Latin and Greek at Cornell, and thus for the second time a president was chosen from the ranks of those actively engaged in the work of higher education rather than, as was then almost universally the custom, from those of another profession. In 1908 Dr. King resigned his office after a term of service of forty-five years. For a number of years he had thus been the oldest college president in the United States in the duration of his office. His administration was essentially a business administration, with little talk but much of doing. There was in it nothing spectacular, and no pretense, or sham. No discourteous act ever strained friendly relations with other schools. Dr. King made no enemies and no mistakes. He was ever tactful, poised, discreet, far-seeing, winning men to the support of his wise and well-laid plans but never forcing their acceptance. The college itself is a monument to this successful business administration. For Cornell does not owe its success to any munificent gifts. Like John Harvard, W. W. Cornell and his brother left the college which perpetuates their memories little more than a good name and a few good books. No donation of more than $25,000 was received until more than forty years of the history of the college had elapsed. Whatever excellence the college has attained is due to the skill and patience of its builders and not to any unlimited or even large funds at their disposal. On the resignation of Dr. King, the presidency passed to his logical successor, Dr. James Elliott Harlan, who had served as vice president of the college since 1881. He had long had the management and investment of the large funds of the college and the administration of the school in its immediate relations with the students. Just, sympathetic, patient, he had won the esteem of all connected with the college, and to him was largely due the exceptional tranquillity which the college had enjoyed in all its intimate relations. Dr. Harlan was graduated from Cornell College in 1869. For three years he was superintendent of the schools of Cedar Rapids, and for one year he held a similar place at Sterling, Ill. From here he was called to the alumni professorship of mathematics in Cornell College. The larger part of his life has thus been bound up inextricably with the school. He knows and is known and loved by all the alumni and old students. The first year of his administration was signalized by the erection of the new alumni gymnasium, and the second by the conditional gift by the general educational board of $100,000.00 to its endowment funds. [Illustration: REV. SAMUEL M. FELLOWS, A. M. First President Cornell College] The dean of the college since 1902 has been Professor H. H. Freer, a graduate of the school of the class of 1869, and a member of the faculty since 1870. Dean Freer was one of the first men in Iowa to see the need of schools of education in connection with colleges and universities and was placed at the head of such a school--the normal department of Cornell--early in the '70s. As has recently been said of him by Pres. H. H. Seerley, of Iowa Teachers College, "his connection with teacher education is probably unexcelled in Iowa educational history and no tribute that can be paid could do justice to his faithful endeavors." Dean Freer has been most intimately connected with the administration for many years. In 1873 he organized the alumni, with the help of Rev. Dr. J. B. Albrook, for the endowment of a professorship. At that time there were but 108 living graduates, forty-seven of whom were women. Of the men, only thirty-eight had been out of college more than three years. Yet this audacious enterprise was carried through to complete success and was followed by the endowment of a second alumni chair. In all of the great financial campaigns Dean Freer has been indispensible, and the moneys he has secured to the college amount to hundreds of thousands of dollars. More than this, by his wide acquaintance throughout the state and by his cordial friendship with all old students, he has been one of the chief representatives of the college around whom its friends have ever rallied. Since 1887 he has been professor of political economy in the college, and now occupies the David Joyce chair of economics and sociology. THE FACULTY Of the nearly 300 teachers who have been enrolled in the faculties of the college there is space for the mention of but few names: Dr. Alonzo Collin, who began by teaching all the sciences and mathematics in the young school in 1860, and resigned in 1906 as professor of physics; Dr. Hugh Boyd, professor of Latin from 1871 to 1906; Prof. S. N. Williams, head of the school of civil engineering since 1873; Prof. George O. Curme, professor of German from 1884 to 1897, now a member of the faculty of Northwestern University; Dr. W. S. Ebersole, professor of Greek since 1892; Dr. James A. James, professor of history from 1893 to 1897, now teaching in Northwestern University; Prof. H. M. Kelley, professor of biology since 1894; Dr. Thomas Nicholson, professor of the English Bible from 1894 to 1904, now general educational secretary of the M. E. church; Dr. F. A. Wood, professor of German from 1897 to 1903, now member of the faculty of University of Chicago; Prof. Mary Burr Norton, alumni professor of mathematics, whose connection with the faculty dates from 1877; Dr. H. C. Stanclift, professor of history since 1899; Dr. Nicholas Knight, professor of chemistry since 1899; Dr. George H. Betts, psychology, who entered the faculty in 1902; Prof. C. D. Stevens, English literature, since 1903; Prof. C. R. Keyes, German, since 1903; Miss Mary L. McLeod, dean of women, since 1900; Prof. John E. Stout, education, since 1903. The continuity, the long terms of service of the administrative officers and the professors, can hardly be too strongly emphasized as a potent factor in the growth of the college. If the history of the school had seen a rapid succession of different presidents and frequent changes of faculty, if there had been changes in plans and purposes, factions and struggles, and the loss of friends which such struggles entail, if the power of the machinery had been wasted in internal friction we may be sure that the story of the college would have been far other than it is. THE ALUMNI The graduates of Cornell now number 1,446. This small army of educated men and women have scattered widely over all the states of the union and to many foreign countries. They have entered many vocations. The profession receiving the largest number is teaching. Of the 1,139 graduates including the class of 1905, reported in the catalog of 1908, ninety-seven have been engaged in teaching in colleges and universities, and 165 in secondary and normal schools. One hundred and forty-nine have entered the law, and 139 have entered the ministry. Business and banking were the employments of 113. Medicine has been the choice of forty-nine, and engineering and architecture of fifty-two. The foreign missionary field has claimed thirty-four, and social service in charity organization societies, deaconess work, social settlements, and the Y. M. C. A. and the Y. W. C. A. have engaged twenty-six. Thirty-two have engaged in farming, and twenty-six in newspaper work. The women graduates of the school very largely have been induced to enter the profession of matrimony. Up to 1876, for example, ninety per cent of the alumnae had married. Of later years the larger opportunities for professional service, opening for women, and no doubt other general causes, have decreased the percentage, but of all women graduates up to the year 1900, seventy per cent have married. Of these forty-two per cent have married graduates of the college. The common error that college education lessens the opportunities of woman for her natural vocation is disproved, at least so far as Cornell college is concerned. The marriages of the graduates of Cornell have been singularly fortunate. Among the more than 1,400 alumni, there has been so far as known but two divorces. Considering the high percentages of divorce in the states of the Union, rising as high in some states as one divorce to every six marriages, the divorceless history of the Cornell alumni witnesses the sociologic value of the Christian co-educational college. In numbers the graduating classes have steadily increased. The first class, that of 1858, consisted of two members, Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Cavanaugh, of Iowa City. Classes remained small, never exceeding five, until the close of the Civil war when the young men who had entered the service of their country, and who survived the war, returned to school. In 1867 eleven were graduated, and in 1869 the class numbered twenty-two. The last decade the graduating class from the college of liberal arts has averaged sixty. CORNELL AND THE WAR FOR THE UNION President Charles W. Elliot, in one of his educational addresses, after enumerating what the community must do for the college, asks, "And what will the college do for the community? It will make rich returns of learning, of poetry, and of piety, and of that fine sense of civic duty without which republics are impossible." That Cornell has made all these returns in ample measure is shown by the roster of the alumni with its many eminent names in the service of state and church. More than fifteen thousand young men and women have left the college halls carrying with them for the enrichment of the community stores of learning, poetic ideals of life, and vital piety. The fine sense of civic duty which the college breeds finds special illustration in the crisis of the Civil war, and here we may quote the eloquent words of Colonel Harry H. Rood in an address delivered at the Semi-Centennial of the college in 1904: "The first seven and a half years in the history of this college was a period of struggle and embarrassment. The spring of 1861 seemed to be the beginning of brighter days. A railway had brought it in touch with the outer world, and the effects of the great financial panic of 1857 were passing, enabling the sons and daughters of the pioneers to enter its halls to secure the education they so greatly desired. The sky of hope was quickly overcast, and the storm cloud of the Civil war, which had been gathering for half a century, burst over the land. The students of Cornell were not surprised or alarmed. The winter preceding they had organized a mock congress with every state represented, in which all the issues of the coming conflict were fully discussed and understood.... The first regiment the young state sent out to preserve the Union had in its ranks a company from this county--_one-third of the names upon its muster rolls were students from this school. The first full company to go from this township into the three years service had one-third of its membership from this college, and the second full company from the township, in 1862, also had an equal number of Cornell's patriotic sons._ In the great crisis of 1864, when President Lincoln asked for men to relieve the veteran regiments and permit them to go to the front, _almost a full company were college men_. In the class of 1861 only two men were graduated and both entered the service.... The record shows that from 1853 to 1871 fifty-four men were graduated from the college, and of these thirty had worn the blue." During the war the college had much the aspect of a female seminary to which a few young boys and cripples had been admitted by courtesy. In 1863 but twelve male students were registered in college classes, and at the commencement of this year all upon the program were women except a delicate youth unfit for war and a boy of sixteen years. This commencement was unique in the history of the college. On commencement day the audience of peaceful folk seated in the grove quietly listening to the student orations was suddenly transformed to an infuriated mob, when one girl visitor attempted to snatch from another a copperhead pin she was wearing. So strong was the excitement, that the college buildings were guarded by night for some time afterward for fear that they might be burned in revenge by sympathisers with the south.[L] Near the close of the war it was seen that many of the soldier students of the college would be unable to complete their education because of the sacrifices they had made in the service of their country. A fund of fourteen thousand dollars was therefore contributed by patriot friends at home and in part by Iowa regiments in the field for the education of disabled soldiers and soldiers' orphans. No gift to the school has ever been more useful than this foundation, which aided in the support of hundreds of the most worthy students of the college. Two of the students of Cornell were enrolled in the armies of the Confederacy. Of these one became a lieutenant in a Texas regiment. At one time learning that one of his prisoners was a Cornell boy and a member of his own literary society, the Texas lieutenant found Cornell loyalty a stronger motive than official duty. He took his prisoner several miles from camp, gave him a horse and started him for the Union lines. THE SOCIAL ORGANIZATION From the beginning Cornell college has been coëducational. In the earliest years of her history some concessions were made in the courses of study to the supposed weakness of woman's intellect, and "ornamental branches," such as "Grecian painting," which seems to have been a sort of transfer work, "ornamental hair work and wax flowers" were grafted on the curriculum for her special benefit--branches which soon were pruned away. Woman's presence seems to have been regarded in these early years as a menace to the social order, safely permitted only under the most rigorous restrictions. So late as 1869 Rule Number Twelve appeared in the catalog--"_The escorting of young ladies by young gentlemen is not allowed_." This was a weak and degenerate offspring of the stern edict of President Keeler's administration: "_Young ladies and gentlemen will not associate together in walking or riding nor stand conversing together in the halls or public rooms of the buildings, but when necessary they can see the persons they desire by permission._" For many years these blue laws have been abrogated, and the only restrictions found needful are those ordinarily imposed by good society. The association and competition of young men and women in all college activities--an association necessarily devoid of all romance and glamour--has been found sane and helpful to both sexes, and no policy of segregation in any form has ever been as much as suggested. The social life of the college has always been under the leadership of the literary societies. They are now eight in number: The Amphictyon, Adelphian, Miltonian and Star for men and the Philomathean, Aesthesian, Alethean and Aonian for women. The students of the Academy also sustain four flourishing societies, the Irving and Gladstone, Clionian and King. These societies meet in large and rather luxuriously furnished halls in which they entertain their friends each week with literary and musical programs, followed by short socials. Business meetings offer thorough drill in parliamentary practice and often give place to impromptu debates which give facility in extemporaneous speaking. The societies also give banquets and less formal receptions from time to time and in general have charge of the social life of the school. Members are chosen by election and the rushing of the incoming freshman class is a fast and furious campaign, occupying a week or so of the first half-year. However it may affect studies, it certainly develops friendships and promotes the rapid assimilation of the large number of new students in the body social of the school. The societies have always been in effect fraternities and sororities so far as social advantages are concerned, and they have performed the function of the best fraternities in the intellectual and moral supervision which they have given their members. But the literary societies have been more than fraternities, and under their supervision the social life of the college has been lived on a distinctly higher plane than had its organization been purely social and for recreation only. They have also been markedly distinguished from fraternities in their democratic character. Instead of excluding fifty or even seventy or eighty per cent of the students from their privileges, they have given their inestimable social advantages to practically all who cared to join them. They have thus prevented the growth of a leisured class of students whose sole interest in college is found in its recreations and who have been allowed the control of the college social life. Indeed, so valuable in the history of the college has this social organization proved that students have suggested that it be extended to other colleges by means of affiliated chapters. ENDOWMENTS During the earlier years of its history the college received few notable gifts. It was largely sustained by innumerable small contributions to its current expenses and endowment funds made by devoted friends whose generosity and self sacrifice deserve the praise bestowed upon the widow who cast her mite into the treasury of the temple. The larger gifts which have been made in endowing chairs, with the amounts and dates of the foundation and names of the donors, are as follows: 1859 Hamline Professorship of Greek Language and Literature, $25,000, by Bishop L. L. Hamline. 1873 D. N. Cooley Professorship of Civil and Sanitary Engineering, $10,000, by Hon. D. N. Cooley, Dubuque, and Oliver Hoyt. 1873 Alumni Professorship of Mathematics, $50,000, by The Alumni. 1885 W. F. Johnston Professorship of Physics, $50,000, by Hon. W. F. Johnston, Toledo. 1902 Edgar Truman Brackett, Jr., Professorship of History and Politics, $30,000, by Hon. Edgar T. Brackett, Saratoga, N. Y. 1904 David Joyce Professorship of Political Economy and Sociology, $50,000, by David Joyce, Clinton. [Illustration: COMMERCIAL HOTEL, CENTER POINT] [Illustration: BRIDGE OVER CEDAR RIVER AT CENTER POINT] 1904 Lucy Hayes King Foundation, now in support of the presidency, by ex-president Wm. F. King, $50,000. 1910 Alumni Professorship of Geology, $50,000, by The Alumni. Among the other notable gifts to the college must be mentioned that by the Hon. Andrew Carnegie, of $50,000 for the erection of the Carnegie library, dedicated in 1905. The largest donations to the college have been those of its president emeritus, William Fletcher King. Most valuable of all have been the long years of service, but besides these he has given from time to time many financial gifts to meet current needs and near the end of his term of office, he crowned his benefactions not only with the endowment of the professorship just mentioned, but with the munificent gift of $100,000 to found 100 scholarships in memory of Margaret Fletcher King. At the unveiling of the bronze tablet in her memory, in 1904, Hon. L. M. Shaw spoke these fitting words: "It is my privilege to witness the unveiling of a tablet erected in memory of a saintly woman who came in bridal clothes and left in cerements, and who spent the entire thirty-eight years of her married life wedded as completely to Cornell college as to William F. King, and who served both with equal faithfulness and with unfaltering devotion. Words are inadequate to measure the influence of a Christian woman's life spent amid surroundings such as have existed here for a generation. Neither does bronze suffice to prophesy the lift toward righteousness and higher citizenship of what is here done by the bereaved husband in the name of Margaret McKell King.... The tablet so thoughtfully erected to her memory and the endowment of scholarships so generously made by Dr. King guarantee the perpetuation of the sweet influence of a noble life and extend the benison of Christian education to one hundred students per annum, on and on, far beyond the ken of those who knew her and knowing loved her." In 1910 the general education board made a conditional gift to the college of $100,000 for endowment, and of the $300,000 to be secured to meet the conditions nearly half has already been promised in sums among the largest ever given to the school. THE CURRICULUM In the fifties Cornell college was a very simple organization. In the first year of the college as distinct from the seminary, six teachers taught the entire round of the college course, which then included but forty subjects, each pursued for but three months. Besides Latin, Greek and mathematics, there were offered six terms in science and seven in the following subjects: Natural Theology, Evidences of Christianity, Moral Science, Butler's Analogy, Mental Philosophy, Rhetoric, and Elements of Criticism. This simple curriculum was stated by the catalog to embrace "the course of study in Mathematics, Languages, Sciences, and Belle Lettres which is prescribed in the best colleges and universities. It is thorough, extensive and systematic." All the same, both Cornell and "the best colleges and universities" have found that college courses could be made more "thorough and extensive" if not "more systematic." Latin, for example, at Cornell now offers eleven half-year courses instead of nine third-year courses as in 1857-1858. Sciences, which then offered six terms, now offer thirty-seven half-years and form five strong departments with their own professors and assistants. In 1875 the department of English Literature was organized, and the same year special teachers were employed for the first time in public speaking, although the School of Oratory was not organized until 1891. History and Politics became a distinct department in 1886. Courses in the English Bible were offered in 1894, and in Sociology in 1900. In all, the last catalog lists more than two hundred half-year collegiate courses of study. The college has been among the foremost in the west in adapting and enlarging its courses to meet changing ideals. As early as 1873 the department of Civil and Sanitary Engineering was organized, in which hundreds of young men have received a valuable equipment for the work of life. One of the earliest recognitions of education as a collegiate subject was when courses in this science were offered at Cornell in 1872--the beginning of the present strong school of education. In 1900 and 1901 special directors of Physical Training for both men and women were first employed. SPIRIT AND INFLUENCE During all these changing years since 1853 the spirit of Cornell has remained essentially the same. It has made for scholarship--a scholarship honest, tireless, and fearless in the search for truth; it has cherished culture; it has fitted for service and has sent forth its students to perform, in the words of Milton, "justly, skilfully, and magnanimously all the duties both public and private of peace and war." It has ever been a religious spirit, too, this spirit of Cornell, and kindling in thousands of young hearts has inspired them to purer, stronger, and more helpful living. The influence of Cornell may be summarized by a quotation from an editorial in the Cedar Rapids _Republican_ in 1904, reviewing the history of the college: "Fifty years of college work and college building; what does it mean? What is it these men, about whom we have been writing, have done? The half can not be told. No research, however painstaking, could discover it all, for only a portion of such work is ever seen of men. For fifty years a constant stream of beneficent influences has been flowing out from this institution. The pure water which gushes from a spring on the hillsides, who can trace? A certain portion will refresh those who dwell near its source. The remainder flows away to form a brooklet that 'joins brimming river' which carries ships, waters cities, and finally augments an ocean current that washes illimitable shores. But for these springs the everlasting ocean would dry up. The stream of beneficent influences which has been flowing from this institution on the hillside down yonder, has been carried around the world--into countless fields of human activity and high endeavor--into homes where mothers teach their children to avoid those things that are of the earth earthy--into business establishments where the golden rule is not always turned toward the wall--into legislative halls where statesmen and patriots are needed--into the judiciary of state and nation--into the cabinet of the president of the United States--into all callings and all professions--into all countries and all climes. May it flow on forever and forever!" CHAPTER XXIV _History of Coe College_ BY REV. E. R. BURKHALTER, D. D. There is an interest, and a charm peculiarly its own in tracing a stream that has grown to be a river back to its head waters in some lake or mountain spring. And when instead of a river we trace backward a college to its source and fountain head, this interest and charm come to possess a sacred value and are full of hallowed associations. And the charm and interest become complete when this matter is pursued by one who is not only a historian but also a participant in the transactions which cover years of time and call up many holy and tender memories of scenes and places, and yet more, of persons who were fellow-workers in the good cause and the most of whom have passed from earth. The fountain head of Coe College, whose history it is now proposed to record, is to be sought and found in the mind and heart of the Rev. Williston Jones, the pioneer pastor of Cedar Rapids, who for the years between 1849 and 1856 was the minister of the First Presbyterian church of this city. Mr. Jones was a most zealous servant of his Divine Master, and labored zealously for His cause, not only in the local field, which was then so newly opened for settlement, but in the whole outlying region. His heart felt the needs of this entire middle west, which, as a fertile wilderness, was offering such inducements for the pioneer settler, and he longed to do his part to the utmost in assisting to provide this region with a gospel ministry. To this end, he opened a School of the Prophets in his own home. We now avail ourselves at this early point of our history of the valuable contributions furnished by the words of the Rev. George R. Carroll, in his most interesting little volume entitled _Pioneer Life in and Around Cedar Rapids, 1839-1849_. "Mr. Jones had persuaded one young man, the writer of this sketch, to devote his life to the gospel ministry. But there was no school here in which he could begin his studies. At last the zealous pastor decided to undertake himself the task of preparing that young man for college. Meantime, other young men heard of the arrangement, and persuaded Mr. Jones to admit them also to the same privileges. The result was the formation of a class of sixteen or eighteen young men who occupied the unfurnished parlor in the pastor's house, which was temporarily fitted up for the purpose. One of the number was chosen to act as monitor each week, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones came in at different hours of the day to hear the recitations in the various branches of study pursued. The branches studied were reading, writing, geography, arithmetic, Latin and Greek. This school continued its regular sessions for about six months, and was successfully wound up with a public exhibition under the shade trees in front of the pastor's residence on the hill near the Milwaukee depot. The following young men were among the students of that first school: George Weare, John Stony, Cyrus E. Ferguson, Murry S. D. Davis, Amos Ferguson, Isaac W. Carroll, Mortimer A. Higley, William E. Earl, William J. Wood, Edwin Kennedy, George R. Carroll, James L. Bever, and George W. Bever." We also avail ourselves of an extract from the _Fortieth Anniversary First Presbyterian Church, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, 1887_, on which occasion Mr. Carroll in his biographical sketch of the Rev. Williston Jones, our first pastor, used the following language: "Mr. Jones was deeply interested in the subject of raising up a native ministry. That is to say, he believed that it was important that we should seek out young men from among the people of the west to labor in the west. It was, therefore, his constant aim wherever he met a Christian young man of any promise, to lay before him the claims of the gospel ministry, and urge him prayerfully to consider the question as to whether or not God had called him to the sacred office. This fact, of course, led him to take a great interest in the subject of education. There were no schools at that time where a young man could even begin a course of study for the ministry. He felt the embarrassment of the situation. He had at last found one young man who had decided to study for the ministry, but there was no school in Cedar Rapids where he could make a beginning of the study of Latin or Greek or any of the higher branches of study. At last he decided to undertake himself the task of preparing that young man for college. In a short time, a dozen or fifteen more, hearing of this arrangement, begged the privilege of joining that lone student in studying under Mr. Jones, and before he was aware of it, he found himself at the head of a school for young men. This was in the autumn of 1851. He had erected for himself, meantime, a house of the same material of the old church, cement. It still stands on the hill north of the Milwaukee depot. The parlor of that house was at that time unfinished. It was lathed but not plastered. Mr. Jones said to the young men, if they would get one coat of plastering put onto that room, and put in some temporary seats made of slabs, they could have the use of it for a school room. The offer was promptly accepted, and, in due time, the school began in good earnest. One of the number would act as monitor in the school-room for a week, and then another, until the honor had been enjoyed by all. Mr. and Mrs. Jones were the first professors of the institution, coming in at regular hours to hear recitations. The branches of study pursued in the new academy were reading, writing, geography, arithmetic, algebra, grammar, Latin and Greek. Due attention was also given to composition, declamation, and vocal music. For six months that school continued in perfect harmony and marked success. The term closed sometime in June, I think 1852, with public exercises appropriate to the occasion. The place of meeting was in a grove immediately in front of the school-room. The order of exercises, as nearly as I can remember, consisted in singing and prayer of course, recitations, reading of essays, and declamations. Everything passed off pleasantly and satisfactorily, and I believe the school was pronounced a success. This effort convinced Mr. Jones more than ever of the need of a permanent school of a higher order. He therefore wrote on to Knox college, I think to Professor Blanchard, to see if one of the graduates could not come and take charge of the school. The result was that Mr. David Blakely, then a recent graduate of Knox college, came in the fall of 1852 and opened the school in the church. The school then assumed the name of the Cedar Rapids Collegiate Institute. Mr. Blakely held the position of principal of that school for two years, and then resigned his position to enter the active work of the gospel ministry, in which he is still engaged. During all this time the school was kept up with unabated interest, many students coming in from the country round about, and several from remote parts of the state. At least three of the members of that school entered the ministry, and are still engaged in the active duties of the sacred calling: one. Rev. Hiram Hill, in California; another, Rev. William Campbell, in Kansas; and the third in this state. It was during the spring of 1853, I think, that Mr. Jones was sent as a commissioner to the General Assembly (N. S.) which met in Buffalo, N. Y. During his absence the school at home occupied his thoughts and called out all the energies of his ardent nature. He determined if possible to secure aid in the east by which to place the school upon a permanent basis, having for its chief end the education of indigent young men for the gospel ministry. He was not disappointed in his purpose. Guided no doubt by an all-wise Providence, he met Mr. Daniel Coe, who listened to his earnest appeal, and gave him the money with which the eighty acres of ground, where the college now stands, and these two lots now occupied by this church and chapel, and a lot now occupied by the M. E. church, were secured, Dr. J. F. Ely making the purchase. You will see then, that out of the little school, started in the first pastor's house, has grown Coe college, and Rev. Williston Jones was its founder." [Illustration: W. F. KING, LL. D. Long President Cornell College] It can thus be easily seen that the yearning of Mr. Jones to see a school provided in Cedar Rapids was a fire in his bones. And so, when in the providence of God, he was in attendance at a meeting of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian church (New School) which was held in May, 1853, in the city of Buffalo, N. Y., he sought to interest everyone whom he met in the cause of Christian education in the west. At that same session of the General Assembly was a minister of the Presbyterian church from the Catskill mountain region of New York state. He said to Mr. Jones, in substance. "I cannot help you myself, but I believe I know a man in my section of the country who can and will, and if you come home with me to Durham, Greene county, New York, I will introduce you to him." The man alluded to was Mr. Daniel Coe, an elder of the church, already deeply interested in the cause of Christian education and preparing to help according to his ability when the suitable opportunity was afforded. Mr. Jones went to Durham and met Mr. Coe, and presenting to him the matter nearest to his heart, the founding of a school of christian learning in the new world beyond the Mississippi. Mr. Coe gladly consented to assist in the enterprise. The sum promised, $1,500, would be considered in these days a very meagre one, but in 1853, and in Iowa, it must have seemed like $15,000 or more would seem now to us, and Mr. Jones must have welcomed the proffered aid with delight. When he returned to his home in Cedar Rapids and to his brethren of the Presbytery of Iowa City, of which he was a member, he made such encouraging statements concerning the treatment he had received at the General Assembly, and especially concerning the offer of Mr. Coe, that there was formed in Cedar Rapids a corporation by the name of the Cedar Rapids Collegiate Institute, which prepared articles and filed them for record August 9, 1853. All persons owning one share of stock each in the Institute became thereby members of the corporation, each share of stock being of the value of $25.00. Article twelve of the fourteen articles of corporation reads as follows: "The Iowa City Presbytery in consideration of five scholarships for the first five years, and of ten scholarships thereafter, shall have the right to nominate all teachers of the Institute, subject, however, to confirmation by the Board of Directors, but this right shall be forfeited if said consideration should at any time fail." There is no reason to suppose from the records that this consideration was ever fulfilled. Article thirteen gives the names of the directors: Williston Jones, John F. Ely, W. W. Smith, Seymour D. Carpenter, Addison Daniels, Isaac Cook, William Greene, John L. Shearer, and Aaron Van Dorn; and the following persons as officers of the board: George Greene, president; Samson C. Bever, treasurer; David Blakely, secretary. It is very interesting to note that of these persons there is one who survives to this day, Mr. W. W. Smith, who at a very advanced age still lives at Minneapolis. The first meeting of this board of directors was held July 18, 1853, and it was at that meeting that Mr. Jones presented the instrument of writing signed by Daniel Coe, of the county of Greene, in the state of New York, making a conditional donation to the Institute of the sum of $1,500, of which the following is a copy: "CONDITIONAL DONATION TO CEDAR RAPIDS COLLEGIATE INSTITUTE "Know all men by these presents that I, Daniel Coe, of the town of Durham, County of Greene, and State of New York, in view of the educational wants of the great and growing West, and in expectation of its resulting in the establishment of a permanent institution of learning, do hereby engage to give in behalf of Iowa City Presbytery, connected with the constitutional General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church which met at Buffalo, May 19th, 1853, to Cedar Rapids Collegiate Institute the following sums for the object hereinafter specified, to-wit: Four Hundred and twenty-five Dollars ($425.00) for the purchase of as large and suitable tract of land as practicable as a site for the location of the institute. And Seventy-five Dollars ($75.00) for fencing of the same. Also One Thousand Dollars ($1000.00) to be appropriated in the best manner for a farm contiguous to the site, the avails of which are to be appropriated to the best advantage for the benefit of such students as may need to assist themselves by manual labor. Of these two sums the first mentioned, consisting of Five Hundred Dollars ($500.00), can be secured to the Institute as a part of its property by the erection upon its site thus purchased of a building costing at least Two Thousand Dollars ($2000.00), and the last mentioned One Thousand Dollars ($1000.00) can be thus secured by bringing the Institute into successful operation. _Provided_ that if these conditions fail, or if the Institute be removed or diverted from its original design, either or both of these donations shall be forfeited, and the land purchased shall revert back to the said Daniel Coe, his heirs, executors, or administrators. "Dr. John F. Ely, Hon. George Greene, Dr. S. D. Carpenter, Isaac Cook, Esq., James Ferguson, and Williston Jones are hereby authorized to act for me in the selection and purchasing for said Institute the above mentioned site and farm, and are to draw on me for the money; of which sum Seven Hundred Dollars ($700.00) can be drawn at any time, and the remaining Eight Hundred Dollars ($800.00) one year from the date of this engagement. "It is my strong desire that this Institute should be made available for the education of females as well as males." It is evidently to be seen that it was the purpose of Mr. Coe to enable the directors of the Cedar Rapids Collegiate Institute to maintain a school of learning to be conducted in a building within easy access to the town, and at the same time aid such students as needed assistance through the products of the farm purchased on the edge of the town. Steps were taken at once to procure two sites, one for the school building, the other for the farm. And after considerable inquiry and debate, two sites were chosen and purchased: the one for the school building consisting of the two lots on which the First Presbyterian church of this city now stands and has stood since 1869; the other for the farm, consisting of a plot of eighty acres, of which the present campus of Coe College of ten acres, is the southwestern extremity. The town lots were purchased for $275.00. The eighty acres were bought for $1000.00. These eighty acres were obtained from Mr. Otho S. Bowling by Dr. John F. Ely, who bought them with Mr. Coe's money for the Cedar Rapids Collegiate Institute. The date of the purchase is December 5, 1853. Mr. Bowling had obtained the land at the price of $820.00 from the executors of the estate of Mr. Joshua Phillips, of Franklin county, Pennsylvania. Mr. Phillips had died at his residence in Pennsylvania at some time between the 15th of December, 1852, and the 4th of January, 1853, and he had himself obtained the property in Cedar Rapids by patent from the United States government May 1, 1848. So that the plot of ground which figures in such a vital manner in the history of Coe College had passed through but two hands before being transferred to the Collegiate Institute from the government which had obtained it from the Indians. It has also appeared that it was the wish of Mr. Coe and the design of the directors of the school that the building to cost $2000.00 should be erected as soon as practicable upon the town lots. But the erection of this building was delayed for various causes and especially in consequence of the lack of funds. Meanwhile, a school of very elementary character was maintained in the building used as their house of worship by the First Presbyterian church, and Mr. David Blakely was obtained as principal at a salary of $400.00 per annum, payable quarterly. As time went on it was found to be more difficult than seemed probable in the beginning, to obtain subscriptions for the erection of the building of a school of just the character that seemed within the feeble means of the directors. And it became even more difficult, if not impossible, to maintain the school in the building occupied by the Presbyterian church. For it would appear that this community of Cedar Rapids was in process of organizing a general public school system, and no place seemed to exist for a parochial school of the elementary character that was then being conducted by the Cedar Rapids Collegiate Institute, at least in so small a community and one so feebly provided with material funds. Therefore, through the want of proper sustenance, everyone connected with the Institute and notably the principal upon whom the chief burden fell became wholly discouraged and the Presbytery of Iowa City, that had a certain relationship to the school and interest in its success, proposed to put the school on wheels and offer it to the highest bidder, naming several localities among which were: Vinton, Waterloo, Lyons, Cedar Falls, Newton, and Iowa City.[M] It will surely be of interest to learn [See _Minutes Iowa City Presbytery_, Mt. Vernon, February 4, 1857] that the citizens and proprietors of Comanche offered a site and subscriptions to the amount of $10,000, or $200.00 more than any other town, for the location of the Collegiate Institute of the Presbytery. Vinton also made a strong bid for the school and hoped to capture it, and might have done so had it not been that the eighty acre plot of ground, which was the only financial asset of the institution, was securely fastened down in Cedar Rapids, and Mr. Coe hesitated as to the propositions for the removal of the school. But these internal and external discussions acted in a very unfavorable manner upon the Institute, and led to the winding up of its affairs, for there is no record of any meeting of its board of directors subsequent to July 26, 1859. Meanwhile, a new star of hope arose in the heavens, and for several years at least it was a star of considerable brilliancy. It was made known, namely, that the will of Mr. Lewis Baldwin Parsons, a benefactor and philanthropist, and who died in Detroit, Michigan, December 21, 1855, after a successful life as a manufacturer in Buffalo, N. Y., contained a bequest setting aside a very considerable amount of money to found a Presbyterian college in Iowa. It could not be a matter of surprise, therefore, that the brethren in Cedar Rapids, who had struggled so hard to found a college with Mr. Coe's donation, and who had been so sorely disappointed, should now with enthusiasm welcome the thought that the Parsons legacy might be located here and be added to the Coe donation, and thus become the foundation of a strong college in Iowa in connection with the Presbyterian church. Accordingly, steps were taken to incorporate a new body of stockholders into an organization to be known as Parsons Seminary. The date of the first meeting with this end in view is November 10, 1866, and the following persons were chosen to serve as officers until the annual meeting in December: Rev. James Knox, president; Hon. George Greene, vice-president; Dr. John F. Ely, secretary; and Mr. S. C. Bever, treasurer. At the annual meeting, December 3, 1866, the following officers were chosen: George Greene, president; James Knox, vice-president; John F. Ely, secretary; W. W. Walker, treasurer. It was resolved immediately that Mr. Coe should be requested to deed to the new organization the eighty acres of land already donated by him to the Cedar Rapids Collegiate Institute, and at a meeting of the board of trustees of Parsons Seminary, held January 4, 1867, Judge Greene, president of the board, reported that he had visited Mr. Daniel Coe at his home in Durham, N. Y., and had procured from him the deed to Parsons Seminary of the land in question. This most generous act of Mr. Coe reveals the large and unselfish character of the man and declares the nobility of his motive to promote the cause of high christian education in the west. This act of Mr. Coe also gave great encouragement to the board of trustees of the seminary to proceed in their work, and they proceeded vigorously to raise what must in those days have been a considerable sum of money, for the purpose of erecting a suitable building for college purposes upon the edge of the eighty acre plot nearest to the town. The two town lots which had originally been purchased for the location of the school building were sold to the trustees of the First Presbyterian church, to become the site of a house of worship, which building was erected by them in 1869, and still stands a substantial edifice of stone, facing the public square long known as Washington Park, now George Greene Square. The ways and means and plans for this new building occupied the attention of the board for many meetings during the years 1867 and 1868, and the work was pushed with all vigor to enable the trustees to open their seminary in the new building in the fall of 1868. Meanwhile, the school work was inaugurated, pending the erection of the building on the college grounds, in the Wadsworth block, a row of unpretentious buildings resembling a barracks, on Second street and Fifth avenue, in the school year 1867-8. The principal of this school was the Rev. A. B. Goodale, a Presbyterian clergyman who survived in southern California until a few years ago. Mr. Charles J. Deacon, our highly esteemed and greatly respected fellow citizen, who has spent a long and useful life among us, as an attorney, and who has been for several years a most valuable trustee of Coe College, was one of the first students of Parsons Seminary, and he has furnished us the following reminiscences which we gladly incorporate in this historical sketch: "I came to Cedar Rapids and enrolled as a student in Parsons Seminary early in September, 1868. The school had been in progress under that name for a year previous, but then for the first time entered into the new building, now the west half of the main building of Coe college. This school was then prosperous and the body of students very enthusiastic. Dr. A. B. Goodale was the principal and Prof. Augustus Maasburg was the professor of Latin, Greek, French, and German. Miss A. D. Kelsey, a graduate of Mt. Holyoke, and a most estimable lady, had charge of the primary department, and also taught many of the classes in mathematics, and had charge of the botany class. Miss Lindsay, a sister of Mrs. Goodale, taught painting and drawing. A few weeks after the school opened, Professor and Madame Masurier came, and Professor Masurier took charge of the music, and Mme. Masurier was given the care of the French class. I remember also that Miss Addie Goodell, now Mrs. Birdsall, of Lake City, Iowa, was a student in the seminary, and it became necessary to have an assistant in the primary department, and she was employed in that capacity. [Illustration: MAIN STREET FROM THE NORTH, FAIRFAX] [Illustration: MAIN STREET LOOKING WEST, CENTRAL CITY] "At the beginning of the year 1868-1869 the school numbered over one hundred students. They were, of course, largely from the city of Cedar Rapids, but they came also from the surrounding towns of Fairfax, Springville, Center Point, Central City, and some from the farms within a few miles of the city. They came also from Vinton and Marengo, and some from more distant portions of the state, and I remember two from the state of Illinois, and one from Nebraska. "The school year was divided into four terms of ten weeks each, the tuition being $7.50 per term. I remember there was some falling off in the attendance at the close of the second term in mid-winter. In the spring we were told that Dr. Goodale would have an assistant in the person of Mr. J. W. Stephens. When he came he was introduced to us by Dr. Goodale as his assistant, but it soon developed that he was the principal of the seminary, Doctor Goodale having about that time accepted the pastorate of the Presbyterian church at Marshalltown. The attendance at the spring term under the conduct of Dr. Stephens was much smaller than in the fall, but the school continued until the 20th of June, when it closed for the summer vacation. It issued a catalogue as it had the previous year and announced the opening for the following September. "I returned to the school in the fall when it opened for the third year, being the second year in the new building, and found many of the old students. The school, however, was much smaller than at the opening of the previous year. It also dwindled very much during the year, and when we closed in June, 1870, my recollection is that it numbered about forty students. Mr. Stephens announced that it would be continued, however, and the school opened again in the September following. I did not return to the school, but went to the State University of Iowa. Mr. Stephens continued the school until the following spring, and then closed it. [We understand that Mr. Stephens is still living in connection with Park College, Mo.] "One thing that is quite clearly impressed upon my memory is the meeting of the Synod of Iowa, North, in this city in the late winter or early spring of 1869. The application of the Parsons legacy and the endowment of the college was then a very prominent question in Presbyterian circles. Cedar Rapids was a most prominent applicant for the location of the college to be thus endowed, and the seminary had been named Parsons Seminary with a view to attracting that legacy here. A large representation of the synod visited the college at the time I speak of and addressed the students. Amongst others, I remember Doctor Spees, then of Dubuque; the Rev. Samuel Howe, and Mr. Alexander Danskin, of Marengo. They said to us that we were now a college, that whereas yesterday we were a seminary, today we were a college. There was much enthusiasm manifested among us by this statement, and we all felt satisfied that the matter had been practically settled. Subsequent facts proved that their statement was a little premature. "Another thing that comes to my recollection is the visit of the committee to locate the Parsons legacy in the spring of 1870. This committee was headed by Doctor Craig, then pastor of the church at Keokuk, now of McCormick Seminary, Chicago. The committee made a very thorough examination of the buildings and of the grounds and of the location generally. I distinctly recall their walking over the grounds. The trustees of the seminary, being informed in advance of the coming of this committee, were preparing to create a good impression. A few days before their expected arrival, the ground, which had been leveled off in front of the college, and which consisted of coarse sand, was ornamented by some fifty or sixty evergreen trees, and a large amount of black dirt was hauled in upon the sand with the expectation of spreading it over the sand to present a surface of good soil with a large number of evergreen trees set out in an ornamental order. Unfortunately, however, the committee arrived earlier than was anticipated and the black dirt had not been spread over the sand. To render the situation still worse, a high wind was blowing the day the committee were here and the sand was drifting over the dirt piles and filling up against the lower board of the fence. What the effect of this was upon the committee I have no means of judging. It is, however, interesting to notice that the Parsons legacy never came to Cedar Rapids. "I could mention many names of Cedar Rapids citizens who as boys attended school at Parsons Seminary during those early years. Mr. C. C. Greene, Mr. John S. Ely, Mr. George B. Douglas, were all there with me. Mr. George W. Winn, also a trustee, used to go there for private lessons in German from Professor Maasburg. Mr. C. L. Miller, of the _Gazette_, Emery and Harry Brown, and Elmer Higley are names that also occur to me readily. I could mention, likewise, many ladies who studied there in those early years. The Rev. Alexander Danskin, editor of one of our church papers at Detroit, Michigan, was a student there at that time, afterwards graduating from Wabash College; also the Rev. R. M. L. Braden, who likewise went to Wabash College. "These are a few of the things that come to my mind as I review my two years in Parsons Seminary." It can easily be read between the lines of Mr. Deacon's reminiscences that Parsons Seminary, however enthusiastic its support was at the beginning, did not continue by any means to be an entire success. We must look for the explanation of this very largely to its lack of financial resources. It was living largely on hopes, and hopes that were not destined to be realized. Mr. Coe's donation, lying in the eighty acres of land, was utterly unproductive of a revenue, and the Parsons legacy, which consisted of four thousand acres of wild lands in various counties in Iowa, had not yet been located in Cedar Rapids, but was hovering in the air as a glittering object which several localities in the state were reaching out to obtain. It would be an interesting and instructive pursuit to trace the history of this legacy both within the Presbyterian synod of Iowa and within the various cities of the state which made bids for its attainment. The story, as far as Cedar Rapids is concerned, is one of bright hopes, earnest aspiration, valiant endeavor and achievement, to be followed by severe disappointment and bitter regret. The citizens of this city went heroically to work to raise the sum of $75,000 to be subscribed and added to the Parsons legacy [then estimated to be of the value of $50,000], and this again to be added to the Coe donation of eighty acres of land, which were continually increasing in value through the growth of the city of Cedar Rapids. These three sums, when added together, would furnish, it was intelligently felt, a very substantial endowment as the beginning of a college. We have often been told that when this campaign for the raising of the $75,000 had been successfully completed, there was such a general jubilee in our city that instinctively in demonstration thereof the whistles of the locomotives and manufacturing establishments were merrily blown. But all these plans went agley. Although committees from the synods of Iowa had presented unanimous reports recommending that the Parsons legacy be located at Cedar Rapids, it was eventually taken to Fairfield to found Parsons College. The fund of $75,000 which was raised in Cedar Rapids fell to the ground because of the failure to meet its vital condition of the bringing of the Parsons legacy here, and so, once more, all that was left for us was Mr. Coe's donation of the eighty acre plot and the indomitable spirit of a few of the citizens of Cedar Rapids to plant in our city an institution of higher learning in connection with the Presbyterian church. It is idle at this late date to discuss the wisdom or the folly of those men in the synod who were responsible for this result. It were wholly unproductive to speculate what might have been accomplished by the union of all our educational forces here in Cedar Rapids. What is written is written, what is done is an accomplished fact. Presbyterians are not in the habit of quarreling with Divine Providence, but are the rather given to rejoicing in the sovereignty of God. It is quite conceivable that results already visible can give occasion for gratitude that we have now the two colleges, Coe and Parsons, instead of but one, as was once so ardently hoped for here at Cedar Rapids. If anyone in the years between 1870 and 1873 made an error in judgment in objecting to the merger, the only way to rectify it now is by pressing all the more for the promoting of the endowment and the buildings of both the colleges, the one at Fairfield, and the one at Cedar Rapids. But the facts are that through the force of circumstances, the school at Cedar Rapids was obliged to suspend its work, and little or nothing was done in the building erected in 1868 from 1871 to 1875. Then for the third time, and under new auspices, was the work begun afresh, and it took place on this wise: On the 26th of April, 1875, the trustees of Parsons Seminary held a meeting, at which meeting a committee of the Presbytery of Cedar Rapids was present for the purpose of consulting with the board to the end that the seminary building and the Coe legacy located at Cedar Rapids might be made available for the establishment of a school of a high order under the care of the said Presbytery. This committee had been appointed by the Presbytery at its session at Anamosa April 24, 1875, and they presented to the board of trustees of Parsons Seminary a formal report in writing, which expressed the readiness of the Presbytery to undertake the care of the school at Cedar Rapids on condition that all its debts be cancelled, and its charter be so amended as to give to the Presbytery the power to appoint its board of trustees. The Presbytery also pledged itself to do all in its power to maintain the school and open it in the school building by the 1st of October, 1875. The board of trustees consented to the proposition of the Presbytery and resolved to change the name of the institution from Parsons Seminary to Coe Collegiate Institute. The articles of incorporation of Parsons Seminary, which had been adopted October 30, 1866, were amended May 11, 1875, to meet the new conditions. The board of trustees was fixed at the number of eighteen, and the power to elect them was vested in the Presbytery of Cedar Rapids, or in the synod of Iowa North, if the said synod shall assume such power with the consent of said Presbytery. The first election was appointed to take place in the fall of the year 1876. Mr. Daniel Coe had passed from earth in the interval between December 23, 1866, when he deeded the eighty acres of land in Cedar Rapids to Parsons Seminary, and this date in 1875, when these new relations with the seminary were entered into. He left a daughter, an only child, who had become the wife of Mr. J. E. Jewell. This daughter, Mr. Coe's sole heir at law, with her husband, entered in a very friendly manner and measure into the new plans of the institution, and nobly agreed to permit the school to avail itself under certain conditions well understood and agreed to, of the advantages accruing from the revenues of the property. On the 21st of September, 1875, it was announced at a meeting of the trustees of Coe Collegiate Institute that correspondence had been conducted with the Rev. R. A. Condit with a view to his being made principal of the school. Mr. Condit was then elected to that office. This event marks the entrance into the work of Coe College of a personality of rare value in himself and of rare value to the institution of learning which he served most faithfully for a period of thirty years after his appointment in 1875. Robert Aaron Condit was a man of sweet spirit and gentle demeanor; he was a Christian and a scholar. No one ever doubted his piety or his moral integrity. The students who for a whole generation passed under his care all loved him because he loved them, and was himself so lovable. His influence upon them was mild, but effective, and we venture to say without fear of contradiction, that all the alumni of Coe College who knew him as their preceptor recognize the fact with gratitude that they are better persons for having known him. In the weak and struggling days of Coe Collegiate Institute before it emerged into its present larger, stronger growth, as Coe College, Robert Condit was a factor peculiarly fitted for the task providentially laid upon him, and his full value to the college can scarcely be over-estimated or even stated sufficiently. On the 8th of March, 1876, Prof. J. W. McLaury was employed to assist Mr. Condit in the school, his salary being raised by voluntary subscriptions. Mr. McLaury's services, though valuable, were not long retained by the institution. At the meeting of the board held December 28, 1876, the report of the election of the trustees by the Presbytery October 4, 1876, was made, as directed by the charter. And at the same meeting the following officers of the board were chosen: Hon. George Greene, president; Thomas M. Sinclair, vice president; D. W. C. Rowley, secretary; George W. Winn, treasurer. It was at this meeting that the present writer took his seat with his brethren for the first time as an officially accredited member of the board. And it is a matter of grateful, tender recollection to him, that he has remained to this day in unbroken relation with the institution in all possible varieties of official position and duties upon its manifold committees. And it is a solemn recollection with him that he alone remains on the board of all those who have served with him for thirty-four years. He can well remember the tone and atmosphere of the meetings of the board, which he was then called upon to attend. It was truly a day of small things. The meetings were frequent and they were often lengthy, and we must truly say they were usually dreary, and we went from them with depressed hearts. For the questions for discussion were mostly, not how to promote high christian learning, but how to pay the debts of Parsons Seminary. And the problem was, how to pay something with nothing. There were notes at two of the leading banks of the city, notes which were increasing fearfully by the compounding of interest at ten per cent, and there were notes held by individuals who had loaned money to the seminary, there were mechanic's liens of sums unpaid in the erection of the building put up in 1867-8, and to meet these obligations there was nothing in sight. For all moneys that found their way into the treasury were needed, and more than needed, to pay current bills to teachers, heating and lighting bills and such minor fees. We remember that our treasurer was once garnisheed by the brother of one of our teachers for the payment of his sister's salary, and some sort of compromise settlement was effected. We have not a thought or word of disparagement concerning any member of the board at that time. But it would have required men of heroic mold and prophetic vision to face those problems. The president of the board, the Hon. George Greene, a name never to be mentioned in this city without a tribute of respect, was deeply immersed in his own private interests and was compelled to be absent from home a great part of the time. Soon after the date of which we speak, he insisted upon pressing his resignation as president of the board. Other prominent business and professional men on the board were also engrossed in large personal interests. The ministers on the board, however valuable though they may have been for counsel concerning educational questions, were quite helpless in grappling with the financial problems which from necessity were uppermost. The Rev. James Knox had passed from earth October 10, 1875, after having contributed valuable services to the college during the eleven years of his pastorate in this city. We here insert the following tribute to Mr. Knox, which was presented at a meeting of the board of trustees March 8, 1876, and was adopted, all the members present standing: "In the providence of God the Rev. James Knox, former vice president of this board, having been removed by death we take this opportunity to record our testimony to his exceeding worth as a man and his wisdom and faithfulness as a minister of the gospel, and to his great devotion and usefulness to this institution, having been connected with it from its earliest days, and having given to it his best strength and ability for many years, and his very latest prayers. We feel that his place cannot easily be filled and that in him the college has lost one of its truest and best friends." [Illustration: AN OLD GRAVE AT SPRINGVILLE] [Illustration: REV. J. B. ALBROOK, D. D.] [Illustration: PROF. HARRIETTE J. COOK] [Illustration: MRS. MARGARET McKELL KING] There was one notable exception to all these. One personality stands out from the midst of his brethren and to him more than to any other element at this critical period of the history of Coe College do we attribute the fact that we have a college today, and one with such promise and potency. We refer to Mr. Thomas M. Sinclair. Mr. Sinclair had come to Cedar Rapids in 1871 a young man not quite thirty years of age. He was pursuing a large manufacturing business, that of pork packing, with rare energy and intelligence, and with great success. He was making money, and his great desire and single aim was to use this money with a keen sense of responsibility to God and usefulness to his fellow men. He was a man of rare christian character, one among ten thousand. It may truly be said of him that he walked with God. Coming into this young country from the older world, he took a most keenly active interest in all things that pertained to its welfare, and it was a fortunate thing for Coe College that he came to Cedar Rapids at such a time as he did. The cause of christian education was one of his most treasured conceptions of opportunity, and he identified himself with the representative of that cause which he providentially found to his hand in this struggling institution. Seeing the imperative need of relief from debt which Coe Collegiate Institute manifested, he determined in the nobility of his heart that he would pay out of his own pocket such obligations, principal and interest, as lay against the institution, although they amounted to several thousand dollars. And this he gladly did in all such cases as he could not induce those who owned these obligations to cancel them themselves. And thus it came about one happy day that he could declare the college was actually free from all such incumbrances. Then he and several of his colleagues, inspired with new hope and courage, and determined to launch the institution upon broader and deeper waters, went before the synod of Iowa North, which met at Waterloo, Iowa, in October, 1880, and asked the synod to assume the care and control of the Institute, free from debt, and possessed of a building, and of eighty acres of land in the city of Cedar Rapids. The synod accepted the proposition, and steps were taken at once to frame articles of incorporation of a new organization to be called Coe College. The articles were filed for record on the 16th day of April, 1881. Proper deeds were drawn and filed for record which conveyed to Coe College all the properties owned by Cedar Rapids Collegiate Institute, Parsons Seminary, and Coe Collegiate Institute, and thus the line of inheritance and descent was duly established. In these negotiations relating to the transference of the property through the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Jewell, negotiations which required great care in the handling, the valuable services of Mr. A. V. Eastman should be mentioned. Mr. Eastman served the college most valuably for several years at this period as its secretary. He subsequently removed from Cedar Rapids to St. Paul, Minn., and still later to St. Charles, La., where he died most suddenly several years ago. We have now emerged with our history from the intricacies of a somewhat tortuous channel, and we have passed out from shoals and shallows to enter upon clearer, deeper, broader waters. Henceforth we are to pursue the story of the institution known as Coe College, which, with devious fortunes, but with perceptibly increasing volume, has been filling its place and doing its work under the charter prepared in 1881. Certain changes have been made to this charter, more or less important, but Coe College is the same institution, conducted by the same incorporation from 1881 to the present time. The first item which we are called upon to record at this period of the history of our college, is the lamentable death of Mr. Thomas M. Sinclair, which occurred on the 24th day of March, 1881. The circumstances were peculiarly startling. By an accident he fell through an open hatchway in his own packing house and never recovered consciousness, although he continued to breathe for several hours. We can never forget our emotions over this event. It was truly an inscrutable Providence. Mr. Sinclair was at that time a young man, full of vigor and energy. He was a pillar of strength upon whom many leaned. He had done so much to bring the college up to this point of its new beginning that both he and we were looking forward with desire and delight to what might be accomplished through his co-operation. But it was willed otherwise. We cannot interpret the event, but may we not even now at this comparatively far removed time from its occurrence use it in memory of him for the greater glory of God and increase of the college. "He being dead, yet speaketh." Dr. Stephen Phelps, then the pastor of the Presbyterian church at Vinton, had been very prominently connected with the college ever since its reconstruction as Coe Collegiate Institute in 1875. And now, when it became Coe College, under the care of the synod, he was invited to become its president. He was by nature and grace a pastor greatly beloved by his people, and very useful in the community at Vinton. It was a great request to make of him to ask him to lay down his pastoral office and undertake the new and untried work of a college president. And this was made especially significant because he was asked to preside not over an institution already well endowed, richly equipped with buildings, and possessed of the prestige of a generation, but over an institution still in the process of formation, without any endowment or equipment or faculty or history. He paused to consider his duty, and decided to come to the college and with the help of God to undertake the task. He was a man of many gifts; an eloquent preacher and lovable pastor who attracted young people to him, and a man of consecration and singleness of aim. His pure spirit and untiring energy were rewarded with much success in spite of the many difficulties which resulted from the limitations of the new situation. He remained in the presidency of the college six years, when he resigned his office to go back to his loved work in the pastorate, to which he felt called of God. He became the pastor of the Presbyterian church at Council Bluffs, and has subsequently served other churches, until at the present time he is in charge of the church at Bellevue, Nebraska, where he lives enjoying the respect and affection of all who know him. He will ever be cherished as the first president of Coe College. Another figure that rises very prominently and pleasantly before us, as we go back to this period of our history, is that of the first treasurer of Coe College, Mr. John C. Broeksmit. Mr. Broeksmit became the treasurer of Coe Collegiate Institute in 1878, and passed on into the new administration in 1881, and continued in the exercise of his duties as treasurer until he was made treasurer emeritus in 1903, when Mr. John M. Dinwiddie, our present very efficient treasurer, assumed the duties of the office which Mr. Broeksmit laid down. In the formative period of our college history it was very important that the charge of our slender funds should be placed in hands which were trustworthy, not only because of honesty, but also because of business ability and experience. Mr. Broeksmit possessed ideal qualities for a treasurer. As auditor of the B., C. R. & N. R. R. he was accustomed to the handling and careful accounting of the funds of that corporation, and he brought his knowledge, judgment, and integrity to bear upon the financial affairs of the college. We always felt secure in placing these affairs in his hands, and we were not disappointed. Besides his services as treasurer, he also rendered valuable services as a trustee, always faithful in attendance, and giving his full and entire interest to the matters in hand; wise in counsel, kind and genial in manner, and friendly in attitude, he was a peculiarly attractive co-laborer. He should be written down as one who loved his fellow men. His decease in March, 1907, at the age of 82, was universally lamented. We note the fact that Williston Hall was completed as a boarding hall and dormitory for young ladies in 1881-1882, and the college building, which had been occupied more or less since September, 1868, for school room purposes, was enlarged in 1884 by an addition which simply duplicated the original building. In 1882 the Rev. E. H. Avery, D. D., who had succeeded Dr. Phelps in the pastoral charge at Vinton when Dr. Phelps came to Cedar Rapids to be president of Coe College, came into the board of trustees, and was elected president of the board. He remained in this office until 1899, when he removed to California where he subsequently died. Dr. Avery's long administration of seventeen years was marked by his qualities of cool, calm judgment, enlightened understanding, and zealous attention to educational interests. He was punctual in attendance at the many meetings of the board, and of the executive committee, coming down from Vinton many times at much sacrifice of personal comfort and the laying aside of his pastoral work, and during that long and eventful period, marked by so many changes from 1882-1899, it was fortunate that we had so wise and safe a president of our board as Eugene H. Avery. On the 13th of May, 1887, the Rev. James Marshall, D. D., was elected president of the College to fill the vacancy caused by the resignation of Dr. Phelps. Dr. Marshall was an alumnus of Yale University and had spent several years in New York City in city missionary work. He entered upon the duties of his office in September, 1887. He brought with him to these duties a mind matured and well rounded, a culture produced by wide reading and considerable foreign travel and residence, and an intelligent appreciation of college work. He had a strong sense of the value of discipline in college life. He was much assisted by his cultured wife, whose attractive personality won for her a valued place in the hearts of the students. Mrs. Marshall died in Cedar Rapids after a brief illness in November, 1892, leaving her husband sadly alone, for there were no children in the household. Dr. Marshall labored on bravely in his work until September, 1896, when, just at the opening of the college year, he was stricken down with pneumonia, and his death occurred after a few days amidst circumstances of peculiar solitude. His funeral services were conducted at the First Presbyterian church of this city, September 13, 1896, and the address on that occasion was given by Dr. J. Milton Greene, then of Ft. Dodge, Iowa, now of Havana, Cuba, and a life long friend of the deceased. Dr. Marshall is the only one of the presidents of our college who has departed this life, and he died literally in the harness. In summing up his life and work we avail ourselves of the words which it was our privilege to report to the board at their meeting October 13, 1896: "He was a man of power, the power that is born of the possession of a high ideal and consecrated purpose and unusual faculty to organize, and an unflagging zeal to execute and perform. He never spared himself. He forgot himself, but he never forgot the college. His works do follow him. These works which remain with us are the strong and united faculty which he organized, and which he inspired with his own high ideals, the noble standard of scholarship to which he elevated the curriculum, the beautiful campus, which is a wonder of improvement when we contrast it with what it was when his hands first touched it, and the example of industry and energy which his life has furnished. It seems pathetic that he should have passed away without seeing the fulfillment of the hopes he so dearly cherished, and the plans be so wisely formulated. But it is a common thing in this world that one should sow and another reap. One conceives the building of the house, but leaves it to another to build it. Yet no one ever thinks that the former lives in vain." The college pursued its work in the year 1896-7 without a president, and it is a happiness to note the fact that owing to the harmonious cooperation of a devoted faculty and a sympathetic body of students, the year passed with much smoothness and prosperity. On the 5th of August, 1897, the Rev. Samuel B. McCormick, D. D., was called to the presidency of the college from the pastoral charge of the Presbyterian church of Omaha, Neb. He entered upon the duties of his office with the opening of the college year 1897. He soon made it manifest that a man of great vigor was directing its affairs. He went at his work with a spirit almost fierce, and he kept at it with a persistency that compelled things to come his way. His energy was contagious, and his colleagues in the faculty and on the board of trustees felt it from the day he came among us until the day he left. The pace he kept was not always pleasurable, but it was always fruitful. It was during the seven years of his administration that great growth of the college was experienced in the size of the faculty, the number of the student body and increase of college buildings. The financial campaign that was undertaken to secure the $25,000 promised by Mr. Ralph Vorhees, of New Jersey, on condition of our raising $125,000 additional, was successfully conducted when Dr. McCormick was president. It was he who brought to Coe College the Rev. H. H. Maynard as field secretary, and the two men worked together with congenial vehemence and brought things to pass. Among the things which were brought to pass was the present college gymnasium a very useful and attractive asset. In the summer of 1904 Doctor McCormick was invited back to his old home in western Pennsylvania to become the chancellor of the Western University of Pennsylvania, located at Pittsburg, and which is now called the University of Pittsburg. This invitation was attractive to him chiefly because it seemed evidently to offer him unusual opportunity of enlarged usefulness in the educational field to which he had devoted his life. Yet it plainly caused him a struggle to sever his connection with Coe College, and with Cedar Rapids as a city. For in the seven years of his life here, he had become strongly attached to his friends and to the community which were strongly attached to him. He also left this portion of our country, the Mississippi Valley which was to his mind so full of hope and promise, with great reluctance. Yet it was clear to him that he ought to go, and we parted from him with much regret September 15, 1904. Marshall Hall and the Athletic Field House were erected in the summer of 1900, the latter the gift of Mr. C. B. Soutter. The College Gymnasium was completed in 1904. During the year following the departure of Doctor McCormick the duties of the presidency were discharged by Dr. Stephen W. Stookey. Dr. Stookey was an alumnus of Coe of the class of 1884, the first class to be graduated after Coe became a college. He was always from the beginning greatly attached to the college, and after teaching a while in the schools of Manchester, Iowa, he returned to his alma mater in 1892 to become professor of the natural sciences. From that time onward he filled a place of very distinguished usefulness in the institution, commanding the high respect of his fellow workers in the faculty, the student body, and the board of trustees, until 1908 when he left Coe to assume the office of the presidency of Bellevue College, Nebraska, a position which he still occupies very much to the benefit of that school of learning. [Illustration: BAPTIST CHURCH, CENTRAL CITY] [Illustration: OLD BARN BUILT IN THE '50s AT CENTRAL CITY Now Used as a Store and Post Office] At this point of our story we note the fact that at the October meeting of the board of trustees in 1899, Mr. C. B. Soutter was made the president of the board. Mr. Soutter had been a resident of Cedar Rapids since 1881 when he came from New York city to fill the very responsible place in the business house of T. M. Sinclair & Company made vacant by the death of Mr. Sinclair. The duties of the management of the large packing house were very onerous and responsible, yet Mr. Soutter was able, besides fulfilling them, to give much of his valuable time to his duties as a trustee of the college, to which he was called in 1883. He had already, therefore, for many years, shown marked interest in college work and adaptation for it by taste and culture when in 1899 he was felt to be the logical successor to Dr. Avery in the presidency. He entered at once with zeal and intelligence upon his new and enlarged duties. He was unintermitting in his attention to them until he resigned his office in October, 1907, and, greatly to the regret of his brethren, withdrew from the board of trustees. On the 23rd of December, 1904, Dr. William Wilberforce Smith was chosen president of the college to succeed Doctor McCormick. Doctor Smith was not a clergyman as his predecessors had been and as hitherto has been usual with American colleges in their selection of a president. He had studied at Princeton Theological Seminary, and had been graduated therefrom, but he had never been ordained to the ministry. He had followed the vocation of a teacher, and was called to the presidency of Coe from the Berkely School in New York city, a school of high grade for boys. He entered upon his duties as president of Coe College at the opening of the college year 1905, and remained with the college for three years. He is now occupying the very honorable position of head of the School of Commerce and Finance in the James Millikin University, Decatur, Illinois. His administration was marked by three notable events, all of which indicate stages of great progress in the history of the college: First, the successful launching of the plans to put the college on the list of the accepted colleges of the Carnegie foundation for the advancement of teaching. This took place near the close of the year 1908. Second, the attainment of the Science Hall, given by Mr. Carnegie at the cost to him of $63,500 upon the condition that the college raise $45,000 for its maintenance. Third, the successful completion of a financial campaign whereby a conditional grant of $50,000 was obtained from the General Board of Education [John D. Rockefeller Foundation] on the condition that the college pay all its debts and raise in various funds the sum of $200,000 additional for endowment and buildings. This campaign increased the assets of the college by $293,000. It was during this campaign that the services of the Rev. Dr. H. H. Maynard, field secretary of the college, were so peculiarly strenuous and so uniquely valuable. Dr. Maynard merits most honorable mention for his bold conceptions and his heroic execution of them, wherein the word "fail" was expunged from his dictionary. Dr. Maynard left Coe College in the summer of 1908 and has become the vice president and field secretary of the University of Omaha, Nebraska. In the year 1908-9 which followed the resignation of Dr. Smith, the college was governed by a commission of four members of the faculty, who distributed among themselves the duties of administration. The result was a smooth and prosperous year, although at the end of it all parties concerned were looking very wishfully towards a filling of the vacant office of the presidency. At length, on the 7th of September, 1909, Rev. Dr. John Abner Marquis, pastor of the Presbyterian church at Beaver, Pa., was chosen to be the head of the college. After due deliberation he decided to accept the call, and on the 12th of October, 1909, he was presented to the students and friends of the college as the president-elect. He returned to Beaver to sever his relations with the church there, with the Presbytery and synod, and he came in December and entered upon his duties. On the 13th of June, 1910, in connection with the exercises of commencement week, Doctor Marquis was formally inaugurated president of Coe College. This was the first time in which formal exercises of this character were observed in connection with setting a president over the institution, and the occasion was greeted accordingly with peculiar pleasure, and large use was made of it to perfect a relationship which it is believed augurs great things to the advantage of the college. Doctor Marquis has been so short a time in his office that it would be too soon to speak of what he has done, but it is not too soon to say that in the brief period in which he has been president of the college, he has already awakened the fondest hopes and most steadfast convictions that under his administration the institution over which he presides is destined to move forward to a future which will far surpass any measure of size and value that it ever attained in the past. On the same week in last June in the midst of the commencement season which witnessed the inauguration of Doctor Marquis, ground was broken on the college campus by Mr. Robert S. Sinclair for a chapel in memory of his father, Mr. Thomas M. Sinclair. This memorial chapel was prepared for almost thirty years ago very soon after Mr. Sinclair's death, but the execution of the purpose has been long delayed. But now at last we see our thoughts and wishes about to be realized in the erection of a building which shall from its beauty and the purposes which it is destined to fulfill be a worthy monument to keep in perpetual remembrance a man, who, in his life-time, did so much to make it possible for us to have a college at all. * * * * * We have now accomplished the purpose for which we set out. We have, to the best of our ability, traced the history of Coe College from its beginnings to the present time. We have followed the Institution from its fountain head in the heart and home of the Rev. Williston Jones, when a handful of young men gathered in his parlor for such elementary instruction as could be given by the zealous pastor and his wife, down to the present day, when more than three-hundred students, young men and maidens, gather in the halls of buildings erected and equipped for college purposes, and one of these buildings at least prepared and provided along the most progressive modern lines, the equal of any in the land. Today the faculty of thirty-two persons conducts the teaching of a curriculum which embraces every department of learning that is recognized as belonging to a liberal education. And these teachers have been prepared for their work by special training and selection. The endowment also has grown from the paltry sum of $1,500, furnished in 1853 by Daniel Coe, to the sum of $450,000, and the total amount of money invested in the plant known as Coe College must exceed $750,000, which is surely no mean aggregate. In the course of our history, we have seen a feeble rivulet sink at least twice in the sands only to reappear with new volume and freshness further down the bed of the stream. And we see it now a river of such dimension that it cannot disappear again. We have seen the work of the heroic men who have nobly spent upon the college in the days when it sorely needed their help. Such men were not wanting in the days of emergency but were sent from God. They could not have known as we now can plainly see what they were doing. They wrought in faith what it is now given us to possess in sight. They sowed in weakness what we now reap in power. Surely the lesson is plain and impressive; surely the teaching of this historical sketch is to the purport that we with our larger resources should enrich the institution which they sustained and promoted in their poverty. They could not see how much worth their while it was to give and labor for Cedar Rapids Collegiate Institute, for Parsons Seminary, for Coe Collegiate Institute, for the institution was then but a tender, feeble shoot, whose future development was an uncertainty. We now can plainly see that it is well worth our while to give and labor for Coe College, for it is now one of the most potent and promising of all the colleges in this Mississippi valley. And every intelligent mind who has any powers of observation and has any experience of college work, knows full well that as colleges grow and prosper they need more financial help. It would be the extreme of selfishness and folly to take the view that Coe College is now strong enough and rich enough to advance on its present assets to meet its future. Its needs are greater than ever. But it presents itself not as a beggar or a suppliant, but as a splendid opportunity for investment. It presents itself as the finest possible place to locate something to be spent in buildings, equipment, and endowment whereby in the course of the years, and we may even say the centuries to come, this money can go on yielding the richest conceivable dividends in the preparation for life and leadership of those of our choicest young men and women who shall come hither from near and far to enjoy the privileges of a college education. And thus as we close, our history becomes really an appeal. CHAPTER XXV _The Old Blair Building_ The Kimball building in Cedar Rapids stands on the site of an old landmark--the Blair building. This building, with the land and railroad companies it housed from time to time, was the center of much history in the development of Iowa, Nebraska, and the Dakotas. It is difficult for us to realize now what an immense influence these companies in the early days had in the settling up of the central west. A debt of gratitude is due the men who risked their fortunes in this developing work that many of us now are too apt to forget. Had it not been for the railroads these early patriots projected into the unsettled portions of these states the development of the west would have been greatly retarded. Immigration would have been slow, for people are never eager to settle in farming communities where there is lack of transportation facilities to get the produce of the farms to market. It is felt that a brief account of the influences that went out from this center is entirely appropriate here. In fact it is needed as a part of this history of Linn county. Greatly to our regret the gentleman responsible for the historical data given below wishes his name withheld, but through modesty only. What is here printed was furnished by one who knows whereof he speaks, for as Virgil once wrote, "of it he was a great part." THE BLAIR BUILDING John I. Blair, of Blairstown, New Jersey, being then the president of several railroad companies having their general offices and official headquarters at Cedar Rapids, erected a building to furnish adequate room for the business of these companies and for the First National Bank of Cedar Rapids, in which he was heavily interested. This building was known as the "Blair Building." In its time it was much the most pretentious structure in the city. It was located at the corner of Eagle and Adams streets--now Third street and Second avenue--was two stories in heighth with a high mansard roof, and set above and back from the street. The plans for this building were made by W. W. Boyington, then the most prominent architect in Chicago. It was what might be termed of the "court house" style, having more the appearance of a public building than one erected for commercial purposes. On May 23, 1868, Mrs. Mary A. Ely purchased of A. C. Churchill, for Mr. Blair, lots 6, 7, and 8 in block 15, including the brick dwelling house thereon, for the sum of $10,000. Mrs. Ely afterwards conveyed this land to Mr. Blair, who deeded it to himself and Oakes Ames as trustees for the several companies who contributed to the cost of the land and the buildings. The work of construction began in the autumn of 1868. The building was completed and occupied in the spring or early summer of 1869. The total cost of the land, the new building, and the overhauling of the dwelling house was $54,418, which was paid by the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad Company, The Iowa Rail Road Land Company, the Iowa Falls and Sioux City Railroad Company, the Sioux City and Pacific Railroad Company, and the First National Bank of Cedar Rapids. [Illustration: JAMES E. HARLAN, LL. D. President Cornell College] In 1870 the dwelling house and the land lying southwesterly of the wall of the Blair building was sold to John F. Ely for $11,000. In 1884 the First National Bank conveyed its interest to the Iowa Falls and Sioux City Railroad Company, and thereafter, until the liquidation of the bank in 1886, occupied the banking room as a tenant. When the bank had gone out of business, the railroads had been sold and the offices moved away, and the real estate holdings of the companies very largely reduced, the owners having no use for the space for their own purposes, and the building being so constructed as not to be useful for commercial purposes, it was decided to sell the property. It was advertised for sale. A customer not being found at private sale, it was sold at public auction on May 2, 1888, to David P. Kimball, of Boston, Massachusetts, for $25,000. Mr. Kimball, together with his brother L. C. Kimball, of Boston, J. Van Deventer, then of Clinton but later of Knoxville, Tennessee, J. E. Ainsworth, then of Council Bluffs but later of Williamstown, Vermont, and P. E. Hall and Henry V. Ferguson of Cedar Rapids, organized the Kimball Building Company, to whom the property was conveyed. During the year 1888 the Kimball Building Company rebuilt the Blair Building, extending its exterior walls out to the street line and added a new portion so as to cover the entire lot, making the building when so completed 76 feet on Second avenue and 140 feet on Third street, four stories high, and thereafter known as the "Kimball Building." In addition to being the president of all of these railroad companies, Mr. Blair after 1862 gave personal attention to their construction and was in absolute control of their affairs in the west. These railroads came to be called the "Blair Roads," and were so generally spoken of in the public prints. From this people generally came to think that he was nearly the sole owner of all, or at least personally owned a controlling interest in the whole group. This, however, was not the fact. Mr. Blair's individual ownership averaged about one-sixth, about another sixth being owned by his associates in the Lackawana Iron & Coal Company of Pennsylvania, among which were Joseph H. Scranton, of Scranton, Pa.; Moses Taylor, of New York, and William E. Dodge, D. Willis James, and James Stokes, who then comprised the firm of Phelps, Dodge & Company. The controlling interest was always owned by a group of New England capitalists and their associates, who were at the same time the controlling stockholders in the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska Railroad Company--the line already constructed from Clinton to Cedar Rapids. Among these latter were Oakes and Oliver Ames, of North Easton, Mass.; John Bertram, of Salem, Mass.; Charles A. Lambard, of Maine and later of New York; William T. Glidden, David P. Kimball, Joseph and Frederic Nickerson, of Boston, and Horace Williams, of Clinton, Iowa. THE CEDAR RAPIDS AND MISSOURI RIVER RAILROAD In May, 1856, congress passed what was then called "The Iowa Land Bill," making grants of land to the state of Iowa to aid in the construction of four lines of railway across the state, one of which was to be from Lyons City, thence "northwesterly to a point of intersection with the main line of the Iowa Central Railroad near Maquoketa, thence on said main line running as near as practicable to the 42nd parallel across the state of Iowa to the Missouri River." The general assembly of the state by an act approved July 14, 1856, granted the land inuring to the state for the construction of this line to the Iowa Central Air Line Railroad Company upon certain conditions contained in said act. That company began the construction of the road in the year 1856, considerable grading was done at different points along the line as far west us Anamosa, but the panic of 1857 coming on the work was stopped and never again resumed by the Iowa Central Air Line Company. It being quite probable that at the next legislative session the state would resume this land grant and forfeit the rights of the Iowa Central Company, and pass the grant over to some other company who would undertake the construction of the road; for the purpose of obtaining this grant, the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad Company was organized on June 14, 1859, by the prominent eastern stockholders in the Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska Railroad, together with John Weare and John P. Ely, of Cedar Rapids, and G. M. Woodbury, of Marshalltown, Iowa. In March, 1860, the state resumed the land grant from the Iowa Central Company and made it over to the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad. Work was begun on the line west from Cedar Rapids in 1860. The bridge over the Cedar river was built in the winter of 1860-61, and forty miles of track completed to Otter Creek Station (now Chelsea) during the year 1861, and to Marshalltown in December, 1862. Milo Smith, of Clinton, Iowa, was the chief engineer and had charge of the construction of the road until it reached Marshalltown. In 1861 John I. Blair became largely interested in this enterprise, and thereafter took control of the construction beyond Marshalltown. After 1862 W. W. Walker was chief engineer until the road was finished. Track was laid to State Center in 1863, and on July 4, 1864, to Nevada, and to Boone in December, 1864, but the road was not surfaced up, finished and put in operation from Nevada to Boone until the succeeding year. In July, 1864, congress made an additional grant of land to the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad, and authorized it to change its line of road so as to connect with the Union Pacific Railroad at Council Bluffs. Work beyond Boone began in December, 1865, the track was laid into Council Bluffs in January, 1867, but regular service between Woodbine and Council Bluffs was not instituted until April of that year. In July, 1862, the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad was leased in perpetuity to the Galena and Chicago Union Railroad Company, which company then owned the line from Chicago west to the Mississippi River opposite Clinton, Iowa, and operated the Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska Railroad under lease. The lease covered not only the portion of the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad then built, but the entire line to the Missouri river when the same should be completed. On June 2, 1864, the Galena and Chicago Union Railroad Company was consolidated with the Chicago and North-Western Railway, and from that time the operation of the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad under the lease was by the Chicago and North-Western Railway Company. L. B. Crocker, of Oswego, N. Y., was the first president of the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad, and until 1866. Mr. Crocker during this period was active in the financial affairs of the company, and especially in obtaining the land grant from the state and the supplemental grant direct from the United States. While not a man of large means, he was possessed of great energy and foresight. John I. Blair was president from 1866 to 1871, when he was succeeded by Horace Williams, who remained the president until the company went out of existence in 1884. In 1884 the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad was sold to the Chicago and North-Western Railway. It was in fact a consolidation, but for convenience in handling the transaction it was made a sale, the Cedar Rapids Company deeding its railroad and all rights and franchises pertaining thereto to the Chicago and North-Western Railway Company, receiving its pay in the stock of the latter company, which stock was distributed pro rata to the stockholders of the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Company, after which the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad Company closed up its affairs and went out of business. THE SIOUX CITY AND PACIFIC RAILROAD COMPANY An act of congress passed in 1862 authorized and required the Union Pacific Railroad Company to construct a railroad and telegraph line from Sioux City to a connection with the Iowa branch of the Union Pacific Railroad, whenever there should be a line of railroad completed through Minnesota or Iowa to Sioux City, Iowa. On July 2, 1864, the original Union Pacific act was amended, and among other things it was provided that the Union Pacific Railroad was released from the construction of said branch, and such company as should be organized under the laws of Iowa, Minnesota, Dakota or Nebraska, and be by the president of the United States designated and approved for that purpose, was authorized to construct said branch and receive therefor lands and subsidy bonds to the same extent that the Union Pacific Railroad would have done under the act of 1862. It was further provided that if a railroad should not be completed to Sioux City across Iowa or Minnesota within eighteen months after the passage of said act, then the company which should have been so designated might commence, continue and complete the construction of said Sioux City branch. The Sioux City and Pacific Railroad Company was organized in August, 1864, to construct this branch line and was by the president of the United States designated and approved for that purpose. The corporators and first board of directors were Platt Smith, L. B. Crocker, M. K. Jesup, James F. Wilson, A. W. Hubbard, Charles A. Lambard, Frederick Schuchardt, William B. Allison, and John I. Blair. Soon afterwards the Sioux City and Pacific Company passed under the control of Mr. Blair and his associates in the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad. The necessary money to build and equip the Sioux City and Pacific was principally furnished by them. The general offices of the company were first at Dubuque, but on the passing of the control to the Cedar Rapids people headquarters were moved to Cedar Rapids. Construction was begun in the spring of 1867. The Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Company built six and a half miles of railroad from Missouri Valley Junction to California Junction, where it connected with the line of the Sioux City and Pacific. These six and a half miles were turned over to the latter company. Track laying began at California Junction in September, 1867. Thirty-six miles were completed by the first day of December, 1867, and the line to Sioux City in February, 1868. Early in 1869 the entire line was completed and in operation between Missouri Valley Junction and Sioux City and to Fremont, Nebraska, where connection was made with the Union Pacific Railroad. The cars were ferried across the Missouri river during the summer months, and crossed on a temporary bridge during the winter months up to the fall of 1883, when the bridge across the river was completed and opened up for business. L. Burnett was the engineer in charge of construction of this railroad and superintendent in its operation until January 1, 1878. This company received from the United States a grant of land comprising the alternate sections within twenty miles on either side of the line of the railroad. But as nearly all of the government land within these limits had already been disposed of, and where the grant of this company lapped over the grant to the Union Pacific Railroad, each company received half, so this congressional grant only amounted to about 42,500 acres. There was acquired through a consolidation with the Nebraska Air Line Railroad a state land grant of 46,000 acres. The company received from the United States a loan of six per cent bonds to the extent of $16,000 per mile of road constructed between Sioux City and Fremont, and issued its own first mortgage bonds to an equal amount. This company up to August, 1884, operated its own road and also leased and operated the Fremont, Elkhorn & Missouri Valley road, as the same was from time to time extended. The earnings of the railroad were never sufficient to pay the interest on the first mortgage bonds. The avails of the two land grants and the proceeds of the sales of the town lots along the line up to 1875 (when the remaining land assets were sold to the Missouri Valley Land Company) were used to make up the deficiency. After these assets were exhausted the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River, and Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska Railroad companies, through loans and other methods of assistance, made up the deficit until the sale of all of these roads in 1884. In 1880 the Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska, and the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River companies by purchase from the individual stockholders acquired over ninety per cent of the capital stock of the Sioux City Company. This stock was in the treasury of these railroads at the time of their purchase by the Chicago and North-Western Railway Company in 1884. Through and under that purchase the Chicago and North-Western Railway Company became the controlling owner of the Sioux City and Pacific and moved its general and operating offices away from Cedar Rapids. John I. Blair was the first president of the Sioux City and Pacific Railroad Company and was succeeded by Horace Williams in 1871. Mr. Williams was president until the fall of 1877, when he resigned and was succeeded by Oliver Ames. Mr. Ames remained president until the control of the railroad passed into the Chicago and North-Western Railway Company. THE IOWA FALLS AND SIOUX CITY RAILROAD COMPANY In the Iowa Land Bill of 1856 a grant was made to aid the construction of a line of railroad from Dubuque to Sioux City on the same terms as fixed for the other three trunk lines across the state, viz: a grant of every odd numbered section within six miles on either side of the railroad, and where such odd numbered sections had already been disposed of by the United States, the railroads were authorized to select an equal number of acres from the odd numbered sections within fifteen miles of the line of the railroad. This grant was given over by the state of Iowa to the Dubuque and Pacific Railroad Company, which company began the work of construction but afterwards failed and was reorganized as the Dubuque and Sioux City Railroad Company. This last named company continued from time to time to extend the line westwardly, so that in 1867 it was completed and in operation to Iowa Falls. Considerable right-of-way had been acquired between Iowa Falls and Fort Dodge and the grading already commenced when a sale and transfer of the right-of-way, the uncompleted work and the portion of the land grant belonging to the line west of Iowa Falls, was made to John I. Blair and his associates. The Iowa Falls and Sioux City Railroad Company was organized on October 1, 1867, and on January 7, 1868, by a contract of that date, took over from the Dubuque and Sioux City Company all the right-of-way west of Iowa Falls and the work already done, also the proportion of the land grant inuring to the line west of Iowa Falls and all of the rights and franchises of the Dubuque & Sioux City Company pertaining to that portion of the line. Prior to this date, viz: on September 13, 1867, the Dubuque and Sioux City Railroad Company leased to the Illinois Central Railroad Company the portion of its road already constructed to Iowa Falls and also the line to be thereafter built from Iowa Falls to Sioux City. This lease was for twenty years or in perpetuity at the option of the Illinois Central Railroad Company. The legislature of the state of Iowa on April 7, 1868, passed an act ratifying the said sale by the Dubuque and Sioux City Company and vesting the land grant in the Iowa Falls Company. [Illustration: CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH, CENTRAL CITY] [Illustration: CHRISTIAN CHURCH, CENTRAL CITY] The work begun by the Dubuque and Sioux City Company was vigorously prosecuted so that the road was completed and in operation to Fort Dodge early in 1869. In the fall of 1870 it was finished through to Sioux City and the entire line turned over to the Illinois Central Railroad Company for operation under the lease. J. E. Ainsworth was superintendent of construction. In the original articles of incorporation the principal place of business of this company was fixed at Dubuque, Iowa, but in October, 1869, the articles were amended and the main office of the company moved to Cedar Rapids. John I. Blair was the first president. He was succeeded in 1871 by Horace Williams, who remained at the head of the affairs of the company until the control of the same passed into the hands of the Illinois Central Railroad. In March, 1887, the Iowa Falls and Sioux City Railroad Company sold to the Iowa Rail Road Land Company the remaining acres of its land grant and all assets accruing from land transactions. At that time all of the individual stockholders of the railroad company sold their shares to the Illinois Central Railroad Company, who moved the offices of the corporation from Cedar Rapids to Dubuque, and afterwards consolidated the company with the Dubuque and Sioux City Railroad Company. THE FREMONT, ELKHORN AND MISSOURI VALLEY RAILROAD COMPANY This company, while a Nebraska corporation, soon after its organization and up to 1884 kept its general offices and accounting department in the Blair building in Cedar Rapids. It was organized at Fremont, Nebraska, in January, 1869, to construct a line of railroad up the Elkhorn Valley, in Nebraska, and obtained a land grant from the state of Nebraska amounting to about 100,000 acres, also some county bonds from Dodge and Cuming counties, Nebraska. In 1869 John I. Blair and his associates in the Sioux City and Pacific, and the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River enterprises obtained control of the company, and undertook the construction of the railroad. Ten miles of track north from Fremont were laid late in the season of 1869. In 1870 the road was finished to West Point, and leased to the Sioux City and Pacific Company, which company from that time on continued to operate (under said lease) the several extensions of the Elkhorn road up to August, 1884. In 1871 the road was extended to Wisner, a distance of fifty-one miles from Fremont, where the terminus remained until 1879, in which year the main line was built to Oakdale, and six miles of track laid on the Creighton branch north from Norfolk. In 1880 the main line was extended from Oakdale to Neligh, and the Creighton branch finished to Plainview. In 1881 the main line was extended to Long Pine, and the Creighton branch finished to Creighton. In 1882 the main line was extended to Thatcher, and in 1883 to Valentine. In August, 1884--at the time of the purchase of the Iowa roads by the Chicago & Northwestern--this last named company acquired all the stock in the Fremont, Elkhorn & Missouri Valley Railroad, and thereafter the work of extension was pushed vigorously. In the two succeeding years a line was built into the Black Hills country and the main line of the road extended to the eastern boundary of the state of Wyoming. Between 1884 and 1888 several lines of railroad in the south Platte country of Nebraska were constructed by the Fremont, Elkhorn & Missouri Valley Company. L. Burnett, was engineer in charge of location and construction until the road was completed to Wisner. From 1879 to 1889--during which period the main line from Wisner to the west line of the state, the Black Hills branch as far as Whitewood, and the South Platte lines were built--P. E. Hall was superintendent of construction and J. E. Ainsworth chief engineer. John I. Blair was the president from 1869 to 1872, Prince S. Crowell, of East Dennis, Massachusetts, from 1872 to 1876, and James Blair, of Scranton, Pennsylvania, from 1876 to 1883, when he was succeeded by Horace Williams, who remained the president of the company until the control was taken by the Chicago & North-Western Railway Company in 1884. THE MAPLE RIVER RAILROAD The major portion of the land grant to the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad--transferred to The Iowa Rail Road Land Company--was situated north of the main line of the Cedar Rapids & Missouri River Railroad. In 1876 a large portion of several counties was vacant and still the property of the land company, so the stockholders interested in the Cedar Rapids & Missouri River Railroad and The Iowa Rail Road Land Company decided to build branch lines north from the main line to the end that purchasers might be found for the land and thus settle up the country, and furnish business for the main line. The Maple River Railroad Company was organized in that year to build these lines. The money for the building of the same was furnished by the stockholders in the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River, and Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska companies, they taking the stock and bonds of the Maple River Railroad Company issued for construction. The road was leased to the Chicago & North-Western Railway Company in advance of construction. Work was begun in the fall of 1876, and in 1877 the line was completed from Maple River Junction to Mapleton, a distance of about sixty miles. In 1879 a branch was built from Wall Lake Junction to Sac City. This Sac City branch was extended to Holstein in 1882, and in 1883 to Kingsley. The building of the above lines was under control of P. E. Hall, vice president. J. E. Ainsworth was the chief engineer. In 1884 when the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River, Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska, and Sioux City and Pacific roads were purchased by the Chicago & North-Western, the Maple River Railroad was included in the sale, and from that time on became a part of the Chicago & North-Western Railway, which company has since extended the branch line from Kingsley to Sargeants Bluffs, thus making another through line from the east into Sioux City, and also extended the main line from Mapleton to Onawa. THE MISSOURI VALLEY AND BLAIR RAILWAY & BRIDGE COMPANY In 1882 congress granted to the Sioux City & Pacific Railroad Company the right to build a bridge across the Missouri river to connect the Iowa and Nebraska portions of its railway at the point where the line crosses the river between Missouri Valley, Iowa, and Blair, Nebraska. The Sioux City & Pacific Company not being financially able to undertake the work, assigned its rights under said act to the Missouri Valley and Blair Railway & Bridge Company, which company was organized in 1882 for the purpose of building the bridge and its approaches. The capital stock of the bridge company was subscribed for by the several railroad companies whose roads made up the through line from Fremont to Chicago, viz: the Sioux City and Pacific, Cedar Rapids and Missouri River, Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska, and the Chicago & North-Western companies, each taking stock in proportion to its mileage in the through line between Fremont and Chicago. The money for the construction of the bridge was raised principally by the sale of bonds, which bonds were guaranteed--both principal and interest--by the several railroad companies who were stockholders in the bridge company. Work was begun early in the summer of 1882 and the bridge completed and opened for traffic in November, 1883. When the bridge was opened for business it had cost about $1,300,000, of which $400,000 was for the bridge proper across the channel of the river and the other $900,000 for the approaches and protection work. Several hundred thousand dollars have since been expended in protecting the river banks so as to hold the channel of the river under the bridge. After its completion the bridge was operated by the Sioux City and Pacific Railroad Company under a contract. Horace Williams was the president of the bridge company from the date of organization to the time when the control passed to the Chicago & North-Western Railway. P. E. Hall was vice president and in general charge of construction. George S. Morrison was the engineer who made the plans and directed the building of the bridge. When the Chicago & North-Western Railway Company took over the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River and the other roads in 1884, it became the owner of the entire capital stock of the bridge company and moved the accounting offices away from Cedar Rapids. The total grants of lands to these companies by the United States, the state of Nebraska, and several counties in Iowa, amounted in the aggregate to about one million, nine hundred and ninety thousand acres. As the several railroads were projected it was the policy of the companies to acquire land around the stations and plat and sell town lots. For convenience in distribution of the proceeds to the stockholders, and in handling the real estate, land and town lot companies were organized from time to time to take over and dispose of not only the land grant lands but of the purchased lands and town lots. THE IOWA RAIL ROAD LAND COMPANY This company was organized in 1869 and its capital stock distributed pro rata among the stockholders of the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad. The land grant of that railroad company was conveyed to the land company on September 15, 1869. In 1887 the Iowa Rail Road Land Company bought from the Iowa Falls and Sioux City Railroad Company for cash, all of its remaining unsold lands and the bills receivable, and other assets resulting from previous sales. From time to time thereafter, through consolidation and purchase, all of the remaining real estate and bills receivable of these several land and town lot companies and of the Moingona Coal Company, which were under common control, passed to the ownership of The Iowa Rail Road Land Company. The Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad was finished in 1867, and the land grant completely earned then. From that time on the officers of the railroad company and of its successor, the land company, for thirty-five years persistently and continuously worked to have this land grant finally adjusted so that the tracts actually granted might be definitely known and the companies receive evidence of title thereto. Their efforts were finally successful in 1902. John I. Blair was the first president of this company. Horace Williams was president from 1871 to 1872. In 1872 J. Van Deventer, then of Clinton, Iowa, and later of Knoxville, Tennessee, was elected president and remained so until 1889, since which time P. E. Hall has been the president of this company. Henry V. Ferguson, now vice president of this company, came into the employ of these companies in 1868, and has been continuously in their service since that time. P. E. Hall has been an officer of The Iowa Rail Road Land Company since 1871. THE TOWN LOT COMPANIES The Blair Town Lot and Land Company was organized in June, 1871, and took over the unsold town lots and purchased lands along the line of the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad, and also the avails from previous sales. It was consolidated with The Iowa Rail Road Land Company in 1888. The Sioux City and Iowa Falls Town Lot and Land Company, organized in 1871 to dispose of the town lots and purchased lands along the Iowa Falls and Sioux City railroad between Iowa Falls and Sioux City, was consolidated with The Iowa Rail Road Land Company in 1888. The Elkhorn Land and Town Lot Company was organized under the laws of the state of Nebraska in February, 1871. There was conveyed to this company the land grant made to the Fremont, Elkhorn and Missouri Valley road, also the purchased lands and town lots at the several stations between Fremont and Wisner. This company was consolidated with The Iowa Rail Road Land Company in 1899. The capital stock of these three companies was issued pro rata to the stockholders of the respective railroad companies along the lines of which these town lot companies respectively operated. The Missouri Valley Land Company was organized in May, 1875, and purchased for cash the remaining unsold portion of the land grant of the Sioux City and Pacific Railroad Company, as well as the unsold town lots and purchased lands belonging to that company. This company was consolidated with The Iowa Rail Road Land Company on May 3, 1901. THE MOINGONA COAL COMPANY When the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad was extended west from Boone there was purchased for account of the stockholders of that company certain timber and coal lands at and near Moingona--where the line of railroad crosses the Des Moines river. The Moingona Coal Company was organized in June, 1866. These coal and timber lands were conveyed to that company, and its shares of capital stock ultimately allotted pro rata to those stockholders in the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad, who had furnished the money for the construction of the line west of Boone--known as the third division of the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad. The town of Moingona was platted and put upon the market and coal mines opened at that point, which mines were operated continuously for about twenty years. In 1899 mining operations had ceased and the personal property of the coal company having been closed out, the remaining real estate was turned over to The Iowa Rail Road Land Company. The aggregate sales up to 1910 made by these railroads, land and town lot companies and this coal company, including land grant lands, purchased lands, and town lots, amount to sixteen million, six hundred and sixteen thousand dollars. The taxes paid by said companies on said real estate while held by them amount to two million, seven hundred and forty-seven thousand dollars. For many years it has been fashionable for magazine writers and a certain class of politicians to severely criticise and condemn the public men of that day for their action in making land grants to railroad companies. The members of congress have been characterized as imbecile and corrupt, and the recipients of land grants denounced as thieves and robbers. While it is quite probable that in some cases sufficient care was not exercised, and that such grants sometimes have been a little too liberal, looking at the situation as it was in those days and the subsequent results, there can be no doubt whatever that the policy was a sound one and the action of congress in most of the cases exactly right. A large portion of what is now known as "the middle west" then consisted of vast unbroken stretches of prairie land, impossible of settlement because of the want of timber for fuel and building purposes. This territory could not support a population until transportation facilities were provided for carrying in the necessary lumber, fuel, and supplies, and carrying away the agricultural products as the land should become cultivated. The price of the land at private entry was then $1.25 per acre. The government gave half of the lands within the land grant limits to the railroads and immediately advanced the price on the even sections to $2.50 per acre, not only getting the same amount of money for the same acreage, but making sales of the government land much more rapidly. [Illustration: SCENE AT TROY MILLS] [Illustration: MILL AND DAM, COGGON] Soon after the first of these grants was made it became the policy of the government to give away its public lands to actual settlers. Until the railroads were built through these vast bodies of vacant lands it had not been possible for the United States to even give away its lands, but after the construction of such roads the whole of this vast territory was in a few years occupied by actual settlers. This settlement and the growth in population and wealth resulting therefrom have more than any one thing contributed to the present greatness of this United States. The land grant railroads taken as a whole have not been a source of much profit to the original stock and bond holders. In many cases the companies have been forced into extensive and costly litigation to protect their rights; taxing authorities--both county and state--have regarded these land grant companies as legitimate prey. The fact that these several lines of road were built in advance of settlement and civilization in almost every instance, made the first earnings of the roads insufficient to pay interest on bonds issued for construction, let alone dividends to stockholders, so that quite often a large portion of the avails of the sales of these lands had to be used to pay interest on the bonds. A majority of the land grant railroads have gone through reorganization and foreclosure, some of them several times. In the cases where there has been a profit to the original investors, it has been no greater than it ought to have been considering the risks run. CHAPTER XXVI _Some of the Old Cemeteries_ The father of Osgood Shepherd, who died in the summer of 1839, was interred at the top of the hill above the tracks on A avenue in Cedar Rapids where the Cedar Rapids Candy Company has erected a building. During the excavation several other graves were found, but it is not known who were buried there. Another cemetery where a number of old settlers were buried was on Fifth avenue and Eighth street where W. W. Higley later settled; these bodies were removed when Oak Hill Cemetery was laid out. At Linwood burials were made at an early date. One of the first cemeteries was known as Craig's cemetery on section 7 in Franklin township about three miles west of Mt. Vernon. Elias Doty was buried here in 1841 and James Doty in 1847. Members of the Craig family and many others of the first settlers were also buried here. This cemetery is not now kept up and it is not even surrounded by a fence. Campbell's cemetery was set off by Samuel Campbell, who donated an acre for cemetery purposes. Here Samuel Craig was buried in 1840, members of the Oxley family, the Hunter family, and of the John Paul family, also of the Smith, Berry, Snyder, Blaine, and Darr families, names familiar to all who have a knowledge of early Linn county history. The Rogers cemetery, laid out by old Dan Rogers, is on the west side of the river near Ivanhoe. Here, also, are buried many of the first settlers who lived on the west side of the river. A little to the north of Cedar Rapids near the Illinois Central track the relic hunter can find some ruins of what is known as "McCloud's Run." Only a few crumbling ruins remain of what used to be an old mill known to all the old settlers in the county. Through this picturesque valley runs a winding brook known as "Cold Stream," a beautiful rivulet whose clear transparent water plays sonorous music as it runs swiftly over the pebbles as if hastening to join its forces with the Cedar. The surrounding hills have in a good measure been shorn of their beauty by cutting down the timber, and now only the naked clay hills remain, offering a poor pasture for cattle. West of this stream on top of the hill overlooking the city can be found a few broken headstones and some mounds, but no flowers and no evergreens can be seen, not even a fence of any kind, for this little space, like all the surrounding hills, is given up to the pasturing of cattle. There in the vicinity of the city are more than ninety mounds showing that Linn county was from the earliest time a fit abode for man. Who these first settlers were we do not know; they have left us no other relics but these mounds; their funeral pyres and a few carvings indicate that they were Sun and Star worshippers, but whether they belonged to our Indian race has never been ascertained; however, the mound builder serves as a chain in man's existence. On the top of this hill is located the family cemetery of the McCloud family. John McCloud came here in 1838, and for a number of years was one of the prominent men of this county. From an examination of the small marble slabs thrown about in confusion, scratched by the hand of vandals, are to be found the following inscriptions: "Departed this life June 6, 1846, Hester, consort of John Vardy, age 37 years; in life beloved; in death lamented." "Angelia, died August 30, 1852." "Grant, died March 29, 1852." "Alpheus, died December 28, 1861." "Eliza Jane, died January 11, 1862." "Ester Ann, died January 11, 1861, 15 years." All were children of John G. and J. McCloud. "John McCloud, died November 10, 1863, age 61 years 7 months and 29 days." Mrs. John Vardy died in 1846 and was buried in this cemetery. Many of these places are neglected, and weeds grow in profusion and the head stones are marred and weather beaten so that the names, dates and deaths of many pioneer men and women have been effaced. This is the history of many neglected burial places in various parts of this county. Owners of land on which these small places are located think more of their value for corn lands than they do as places for a cemetery, and in many localities these cemeteries have been changed into pastures and corn fields and not even a headstone can be found to tell where some dear father or mother was buried in the long ago. The Egyptians, Jews, Greeks, and Romans all protected the burial places of their dead, and after a lapse of 2,000 years we can still go back and find something as to how the dead were cared for, and the very place in which they were buried venerated by succeeding generations, while out here in Iowa after a lapse of only half a century many of these places have been neglected and ignored and now some descendant returning to the home of his fathers may be unable to find any trace of where they were buried. Certainly some protection should be offered by the county or the state so that these sacred places may be preserved and the memory of the old settlers duly honored for what they accomplished during the pioneer days in Linn county. Spring Grove cemetery, near Palo, is one of the oldest cemeteries west of the river. Many of the early settlers have been interred in this lot. A few of them are: Dyer and Hiram Usher, Charles Dickey, John Garrison, Peter Davis Burt, Thomas Spencer, George Mathew, J. Z. Drake, Caldwells, the Rawson and Tweed families, F. Klumph, Mrs. Dyer Usher, and many others. Dyer Usher as well as the other members of the Usher families was always friendly with the Indians and in return shared the good will of the various Indian tribes. In an early day one of the chieftains died and was buried in the cemetery lot of the whites according to the Indian customs. This brave was interred with bows and arrows as well as with the dead carcass of a horse or Indian pony. Here the Indian brave has slept for many moons, ready at the final day to join the good Indians on a fleet charger for the happy hunting ground in the by and by. In the Wilcox cemetery, near Viola, Edward M. Crow and his two wives, many old pioneers as well as old soldiers are laid to rest. Shiloh cemetery, in Rapids township, has been the burial place for many years of the old settlers in that part of the township. Scotch Grove cemetery, near Fairfax, has also been used for many years and here are interred most of the old settlers who died in that part of the county. The Marion cemetery, the Lisbon cemetery, the Center Point cemetery, where is interred a Revolutionary soldier, as well as the Oak Hill cemetery in Cedar Rapids are all places where a large number of the old settlers have been buried during the past fifty years. The town cemeteries seem to be kept up while the country cemeteries are neglected. CHAPTER XXVII _Early Experiences in Stage and Express_ One way to learn of the history of a city is by studying its developments and the men who were its leaders in progressive enterprises and in things political. It is another phase of the matter, none the less important, to study the lives of the men who did the persistent everyday work three hundred and sixty-five days in the year and sometimes, it seemed, almost twenty-four hours in a day. Cedar Rapids was fortunate in having a large number of both classes of these pioneers. Among the latter class who worked steadily and everlastingly from the time Cedar Rapids was a straggling little village to a city of its present size and who aided materially in its upbuilding is W. Fred Reiner, in the early fifties a stage driver out of this city, and for many years after a messenger of the American Express company. It may be safe to assume that Mr. Reiner handled as much money and bullion in pioneer days as did any man in Linn county. His experiences were common to the stage driver and express messenger of the early day. How he overcame one difficulty after another, escaped highwaymen, pulled himself out of mud-holes, etc., as he interestingly relates, is what was the life of the real pioneer of the early fifties and sixties. The events which are most vivid in Mr. Reiner's mind are those which occurred after he became an express messenger for the American Express company. We are indebted to the _Republican_ for the following interesting account of the experiences of Mr. Reiner in the stage and express business: It is fifty-three years since Mr. Reiner, at the age of eighteen, left his home in Germany to risk his future in America. Coming west, he settled for one year at Columbus, Ohio, then pushing still farther west, he came to Iowa City in 1854. Here for a little while he did teaming and other work, then began driving stage between Marengo and Iowa City. Soon he was driving for the Western Stage Company. In 1857, while in the employ of his company, he drove the first stage from Calamus, near Dewitt, at that time the terminus of the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad, to this city. It was while on this route running to Calamus that Mr. Reiner first became acquainted with Conductor Holten, now of Des Moines, and well known all over Iowa as the oldest conductor in the employ of the Chicago and Northwestern. After working in this capacity for a while Mr. Reiner returned to Cedar county and took up farming. Soon coming back to Iowa City, he went to the stage company's office and was immediately given a stage between that place and Cedar Rapids. One day while on his route he met at Solon the proprietor of the stage company coming from Iowa City with a four-horse stage. The new stage drew up along where Mr. Reiner was, and the proprietor called, "Fred, I want you and your team." Wondering what was going to happen, Mr. Reiner immediately unhitched his horses, and the driver of the leadhorses on the other stage had also unhitched his. Mr. Reiner's team was put on as the leadhorses, and he was told to get on the stage. While coming on into this city the proprietor informed him that he was to run the new stage from this city to Springville, at that time the end of the Dubuque and Southwestern railroad. [Illustration: HIGH SCHOOL, CENTRAL CITY] [Illustration: BRIDGE OVER WAPSIE AT CENTRAL CITY] As the railroad was pushed nearer and nearer Marion, the stage route became shorter and shorter, until it was finally between Cedar Rapids and the county seat. It was while driving between this city and Marion that he began to carry express, and that in an unusual way. One of the express messengers who ran into the county seat and whose home was at that place, had to accompany the express down to this city each night on the stage. There being no return stage until morning, he was compelled to spend the night in Cedar Rapids. He would very often ask Mr. Reiner to take charge of the express at Marion and bring it to this city. The express messenger was Dr. J. M. Ristine of this city, now one of the best known physicians in the state. One day Supt. Thomas Adams, of the American Express company, was at Marion. He opened a conversation with Mr. Reiner in the course of which he asked him if he would be willing to take a position as express messenger on the western end of the Northwestern, at that time nearing the city of Boone. Mr. Reiner took the matter under advisement, and later accepted the position. Going to Boone, Mr. Reiner was given the first express route from that city through to Omaha. With the railroad stopping at Boone, and nothing more than a mere trail to follow, with a few stopping places, this route on to the Nebraska city was everything but pleasant. Nevertheless Mr. Reiner took hold of the work, and on November 7, 1865, after forty-eight hours of almost continuous riding, he carried the first express ever hauled by the American Express company into the city of Omaha. Early in the morning of the last day a stop had been made at Council Bluffs for breakfast, and when Mr. Reiner was ready to continue the regular stage had gone. The local agent hustled around and found a carriage which he turned over to Mr. Reiner, so that the first express which the American Express ever took into Omaha did not go by stage, but by carriage. There was nothing delicate or easy in the route assigned to the new messenger. He left Boone on Tuesday afternoon. The stage, by changing horses at regular intervals, went steadily on during the afternoon and night, and all the next day and night. Early Thursday morning it would pull into Council Bluffs, where a stop for breakfast was made. The trip was then continued to Omaha, which was reached during the forenoon. Leaving Omaha that same afternoon at four o'clock, the return trip was commenced and kept up until Boone was reached at nine o'clock Saturday morning. As Mr. Reiner had previously driven stage he was nearly always found upon the seat with the driver. Thus he was exposed the same as the driver was. Through all kinds of weather, the blizzards of winter and stifling heat of the summer, these trips were made with greatest regularity. Gradually, however, the railroad was worked farther and farther westward, and the stage driver's route shortened accordingly. During this period of his life Mr. Reiner had many trying and sometimes exciting experiences. Although he is modest about relating them, those which he told a reporter illustrate what the messengers of that period had to contend with. "I remember one time," said Mr. Reiner, "it was in the spring of the year and the roads were in terrible condition. From Panora to Boone there was one slough after another. We were driving along one night. I was on the box with the driver, when we came to a wide slough. There were tracks where others had driven through, but of course, we could not go across in the same place for fear of cutting through. But the slough looked all right, so we started in a new place. We had got into the center when suddenly the wheels cut through the sod and the stage sank into the water-soaked ground clear up to the axles. The four horses began floundering around in a most dangerous manner. Both the driver and I jumped from our seats down into the mud and water, and as soon as possible unhitched the horses. "There we were, stuck in the middle of the slough with nine passengers on the inside of the coach, one of them a woman. They, of course, had been aroused by the disturbance, and now called loudly to know what they should do. There was but one thing that could be done, and that was to get out and wade to shore. This they did, one of the gentlemen carrying the woman on his shoulders. They were told that if they would follow the road for three miles they could find lodging for the night. A spring snow was on the ground, and the air was cold, but they started on their way. The driver, capturing one of the horses, jumped on it and rode for help. "I was left there alone. In the stage coach was my express containing some very valuable property which I did not dare to leave under any circumstances. There was but one thing for me to do, and that was to wade back to the stage coach and climb in and stay there until help should arrive. This I did. I wrapped myself in my buffalo robe which was the best I could do, but it was far from comfortable. "In the morning help came and we were pulled out of the mud hole. A fresh set of horses was hitched to the stage and we were soon at the next stop. Here we met all the passengers. They had had good beds to sleep in and warm breakfasts, so were anxious to be off. I hastily swallowed a cup of coffee, and still in my wet clothes, climbed up on the box seat, and rode all that day and the next night without a rest. This was but one of the experiences which were familiar to stage drivers and express messengers of that time." Although during his twenty-five years of service for the American Express company Mr. Reiner never lost a penny which had been placed in his charge, it was not because he did not have his opportunities to do so. "There was one experience," he remarked, "that I remember well, and which came as near being a hold-up as I ever had. It was the same week that an additional express messenger had been put on the route between Boone and Omaha, and our routes had been altered accordingly. The stage left Boone on a Monday afternoon and was in the neighborhood of Denison. It was a bright night and the horses were jogging along at a good gait. "Suddenly ahead the driver saw two men crouched by the roadside. As we drew near they both sprang out into the road and began firing at us rapidly. One of the first shots struck and killed the rear horse on the left hand side. The other three animals sprang forward with such force that they fairly jerked the harness off from the animal which had been shot. They circled to the right and the wheels of the coach ran over the fallen animal. The animals continued their circling until they completely reversed the coach, then they turned and ran down the road along which we had just come. It was always believed that the highwaymen did not know of this change, and thought the stage carried express as before. But the fact was I had left Boone on Monday instead of Tuesday. "The driver, according to the story he told me afterwards, was cussed most roundly for not stopping the team, but he insisted that the shooting the robbers had done so frightened the horses that they had become unmanageable. Although the highwaymen were far from satisfied with the explanation they made the best of a bad matter, and began to search the driver to see what they could find. He gave them his pocketbook, which, he said, contained forty dollars. That, by the way, is more money than I ever saw him have at one time, and considerably more than stage drivers usually carried. The hold-up men took the money and gave the pocketbook back to him, as it contained some papers he wished to save and which were of no value to the robbers. "Soon after this incident, while going over my route one cold night the driver stopped the team and called to me. I sat in a seat on the inside with my revolvers lying beside me. Getting out of the door, the driver told me there was a man crouched down in the road ahead of us. We were out on the prairie some miles from a station. I went forward, with no feeling of pleasure, to investigate. The man came forward also and I recognized him as a fellow who had been lying around one of the stations for several days. I asked him what he wanted and he replied that he wished to get in and ride for a ways. Although the night was cold I could not let him in for fear that he had companions farther up the road and was only getting inside to get the lay of the land. The express was unusually valuable that night. The fellow ran along behind the coach for some time, but the horses gradually outdistanced him, and that was the last we ever saw of him." After the completion of the railroad, Mr. Reiner was given a position as express messenger on one of the trains. "Many times," said the veteran express messenger, "I have literally had the car floor paved with gold and silver, over which I walked in doing my work. We had carried lots of gold and silver bars east from Virginia City, in Nevada. In order that, the weight should be evenly distributed the bars were spread like paving bricks all over the car floor. The following description, written by a reporter from one of the Council Bluffs papers while Mr. Reiner was yet at Boone, gives a description of the work of carrying the bullion: "While viewing the scenes at the transfer yesterday afternoon, we boarded W. F. Reiner's Northwestern express car and beheld a scene that caused our hump of inquisitiveness to jump. Mr. Reiner is a messenger of the American Merchants Union Express company, and will have served in his present position and on his present route seven years in November next. He lives in Boone. On the floor of his car were sixty-seven gold and silver bricks. That is, each brick was composed of gold and silver in compound. In some of them, silver predominated--in value. They resemble silver almost entirely in color. They are of somewhat irregular sizes, though nearly every one of them weighs more than one hundred pounds. Some of them were much more refined than the others. The amount of gold and silver in each one is stamped on the face or top, in different lines, and the total value of the brick is added in a third line. The value of each metal is marked, even to a cent. How those values can be so accurately determined in a compound brick is beyond our knowledge. Fifty-seven of those bricks which we yesterday saw, were worth $101,950.80. The remaining eleven were worth $15,077.57. They were mostly from Virginia City and are being taken to New York. Mr. Reiner informed us also that these bricks are carried only by the Northwestern and Rock Island roads. On some days he has had as many as 160 of them in his car. They are taken east nearly every day." For ten years Mr. Reiner lived in Boone, then a redivision of the road brought him back to this city. For the next fifteen years he continued to run out of this city and do active service. Thirteen years ago the terrible strain he had undergone in the earlier years of service for the company began to tell upon him and he broke down in health. Then, if a private company ever did a good and wise thing, the American Express company did it. They said they realized the value that Mr. Reiner had been to them when they were getting established in Iowa and running their route through to Omaha, and they would not forget his efficient services now that he was getting old. CHAPTER XXVIII _Linn County Libraries_ THE IOWA MASONIC LIBRARY BY HELEN R. DONNAN The Iowa Masonic Library, "unique in idea and unapproachable in scope," is an institution of which Cedar Rapids is proud, and to which the Masons of Iowa point as a satisfactory answer to those who would question the purposes of the fraternity. As early as 1844 the late T. S. Parvin, grand secretary and librarian of the Grand Lodge of Iowa, A. F. & A. M., from its organization until his death in 1901, began the collection of books which today is world famous. With rare discernment and infinite patience this vast wealth of treasures has been gathered together and placed at the disposal of all students. The library, for years housed at Muscatine, later in the Burtis Opera House at Davenport, was removed to Iowa City in the year 1867, where it remained in rooms rented for that purpose until 1883 when it had so far outgrown its quarters that a new and more permanent home was needed. At the annual session of 1883, the Grand Lodge set aside $20,000.00 for a fireproof building, and, the citizens of Cedar Rapids having offered to donate a lot and $10,000.00, it was decided to build in that city. The site selected was ideal, fronting on one of the most beautiful avenues, in the residence district, yet within a few blocks of the business portion of the city. The front of the building, which is of red pressed brick trimmed with sandstone, consists of two stories and an attic, while the rear part is two stories, and under all is a basement, well lighted and ventilated by a wide area-way. Surrounded by a well kept lawn and beautiful shade trees, it presents a very attractive appearance. So rapidly did the library grow that in 1901 the trustees were authorized to purchase the adjoining corner lot on which was a fine brick residence. This has since been used as a general reference library and reading room, known as the Annex. Both buildings have recently been improved and re-decorated until today one entering either one finds "a place of quiet and beauty, where sightseeing is a delight, and study an absolute pleasure." On the right of the main entrance is the Grand Master's room, furnished in dark and massive oak, thoroughly in keeping with the dignity of the fraternity. On the left, a lighter treatment in decoration and the mahogany furniture make the reception room a delightful apartment in which the friends gather and are made welcome. The fireproof doors at the end of the entrance hall open into the library proper, filled with book cases on every side, and in the center of the room are large glass cases containing thousands of rare and interesting curios. The upper floor of this hall is a gallery guarded by an iron railing and lighted by the skylight above. This, too, is filled to overflowing with books and display cases. On the walls of both rooms hang pictures of the long line of Grand Masters who have ruled the craft in Iowa from 1844 to the present time. [Illustration: T. S. PARVIN Long Grand Secretary Iowa Masons] The leading feature of this library is naturally the Masonic department. Here in cases adorned with meaning symbols are to be found all the standard works of the fraternity and those which later scholarship has contributed to the history, philosophy and ceremonial of Masonry, together with the proceedings of all Grand Lodges, Chapters, Commanderies, Councils, Shrines, Chapters of the Order of Eastern Star, and all Masonic organizations of the world. This department also contains the constitutions, by-laws, monitors, and rituals of all Masonic bodies, both American and foreign. Masonic periodicals and magazines from all parts of the globe are on the shelves in perhaps more complete sets than can be found in any other library. Many rare and costly works have been added, some few of which are unique, no other copy being known to exist. The early history of Freemasonry shows traces of the influence of other secret societies, and it in turn has influenced almost every other secret organization. A Masonic library would therefore be incomplete without the history, literature and ceremonies of these associations. This semi-Masonic department includes all works bearing upon the secret societies of the American revolution, the early secret societies of the middle ages and France, works pertaining to the history of the Nestorians, Dervishes, Thugs, Druids, Rosicrucians, the Guilds, etc. As Masonry is closely linked with art, archaeology, mythology, and religion, a large collection of this class of material finds place in the general reference library, now housed in the Annex. The French and German books, comprising some four thousand volumes, the government publications, and a large number of proceedings have been removed to the basement, while the attic is crowded with duplicate proceedings, magazines, and pamphlets without number. Another interesting feature is the Iowa department containing works by Iowa authors, as well as all works pertaining to the history of the state. In order to make this collection of the greatest possible benefit to its patrons, it has been classified and a card catalog of the books has been made in accordance with approved library methods. For the casual visitor the principal attraction is the museum, which contains archaeological, mineralogical, and geological specimens from all parts of the country. Here the relics of ancient American races and tribes give evidence of prehistoric culture, while the ruder implements, weapons and pottery of the aborigines make a notable collection. One large case contains only weapons of warfare; another is filled with Iowa birds. An unusual collection is the one of shoes from China, Japan, India, Burma, Siam, and several other foreign lands. The case of colonial relics is especially interesting to older visitors. The book lover finds the case devoted to rare and beautifully bound books the supreme attraction, while the small boy enjoys the stamp collection, the post card display, the birds, and the "freaks" of nature exhibited here. Masonic badges, medals, coins, old diplomas, charters, manuscripts, aprons, and other old lodge paraphernalia are artistically displayed in the various glass cases. Scattered throughout both buildings are many pictures, fine art pieces in bronze, bisque, and marble, antique vases, jars, pitchers, and various pieces of modern pottery, all donated by friends of the library. In the autograph letter department are three large double cases each having one hundred and forty glass covered drawers devoted exclusively to this material. Here may be found the signatures of noted literary men, the presidents of the United States, governors of Iowa, and others prominently identified with the history of the state as well as noted men of the fraternity. In 1901, upon the death of T. S. Parvin, the founder of the institution, his son, Newton R. Parvin, was elected Grand Secretary and librarian. He is peculiarly fitted for this responsible position, having served as deputy to his father for twenty-five years, and, like his father, is giving to the building up of this splendid library the "enthusiasm and energy of a single-purposed life." N. R. Parvin being Grand Secretary as well as librarian, the headquarters of the Grand Lodge are in the library building, and in the three splendidly equipped vaults are stored many valuable papers and records. A card index giving the record of every member in the state has recently been completed and placed in one of the vaults. The entire expense of maintaining the library is met by an annual tax of ten cents for each member in the state. All expenditures are under the supervision of a board of three trustees appointed by the Grand Master for a term of six years. Those composing the present board are W. S. Gardner of Clinton, W. L. Eaton of Osage, and Crom Bowen of Des Moines. FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY OF CEDAR RAPIDS BY JOANNA HAGEY The people of Cedar Rapids had felt the need of a public library. In the seventies a subscription library was founded but it was forced to discontinue from lack of funds and the books were given to the Y. M. C. A. The City Federation of Ladies' Literary Clubs, and especially the president, Mrs. C. D. Van Vechten, should be given the credit for creating a sentiment that resulted in a vote of the people on March 2, 1896, to establish a library. The council appointed a library board in June. In October the first tax levy was made, and they began the formation and organization of the new library which was opened to the public January 15, 1897, in rooms in the Granby block. The work prospered and the patronage increased so that additional space was needed, and in 1900 the library was moved to the Dows Auditorium. Again larger quarters were demanded and it was deemed best for the city to own the library building. Mr. Andrew Carnegie generously gave $75,000, which was used for the erection of the beautiful and commodious building on the corner of Fifth street and Third avenue. The new building was dedicated June 23, 1905. Some idea of the growth of the library can be gained from the following comparisons: When the library was opened there were 1,325 volumes on the shelves. December 31, 1909, there were 19,505 volumes; 29,730 books were circulated the first year, and 94,078 books last year; the receipts the first year were $4,471.52; last year they amounted to $11,049.14. Mrs. C D. Van Vechten, Mrs. Charles A. Clark, Mrs. N. M. Hubbard, Sr., Miss Emma J. Fordyce, F. F. Dawley, A. T. Cooper, V. A. Jung, L. W. Anderson, and Luther A. Brewer constituted the first board of trustees. The following are the present board: Mrs. Mary Ziek Andre, Mrs. Kate Terry Loomis, Miss Emma J. Fordyce, Miss Elizabeth Cock, B. L. Wick, L. W. Anderson, Frank Filip, C. M. Doan, and Sandford Kerr. Others who have served as trustees are: Miss Meta Aussieker, Mrs. Ida M. Ballheim, Mrs. Channie J. Redmond, H. H. Troy, Joseph Mekota, John Vosmek, J. M. Terry, J. T. Hamilton, W. I. Endicott, Jomes A. Molony, Robert Palmer, John W. Barry, and Theodore Schauwecker. Miss Virginia Dodge was librarian from 1896-1899, Miss Harriet L. McCrory from 1899-1903, and Miss Harriet A. Wood from 1903-1910. The present librarian is Miss E. Joanna Hagey. COE COLLEGE LIBRARY Coe College at an early date owned a well selected text-book library. It was generally conducted by one of the students. Many donations have been made, mostly by men connected with the Presbyterian ministry. The large library of Rev. James Knox was one of the early additions made. Later the Rev. George R. Carroll presented his valuable collection of books to the college. Many valuable books have been donated from time to time by members of the faculty, by students, and persons interested in the growth of the college. Miss Ida Dodd and Miss Cornelia Shelley served as librarians for some years. Miss Mary Irene Amidon, by the assistance of several helpers, has placed the library on a sound basis by a system of cataloguing which before had been neglected. COLLEGE AND PUBLIC LIBRARY, MOUNT VERNON No definite data can be given for the beginning of the library at Mount Vernon, though in the catalogue of the Iowa Conference Seminary for 1855 the statement is made that "a small but good selection of books has been procured to which students will have access." There seems to have been a hesitancy about giving any number of volumes, till in the catalogue of 1864-5 we read that "the college library has about 600 volumes." From this early beginning the library very gradually grew in strength and helpfulness under the direction of various members of the college faculty. The professors who served as librarians were: S. N. Fellows, 1857-60, A. Collin, 1860-70, H. H. Freer, 1870-73, S. N. Williams, 1873-91, W. C. Webster, 1891-93. In 1891 Miss May L. Fairbanks was appointed assistant librarian, and in 1893 she was elected librarian, which position she still holds. A gift of $50,000 was obtained from Andrew Carnegie for a library building for the town and college. In June, 1904, the corner stone of the new building was laid, and in August, 1905, the college library, consisting of 25,548 volumes, was moved into the new building. December 1, 1905, the library board of trustees was formally organized with Dr. James E. Harlan as president. Prof. W. H. Norton, Col. H. H. Rood, E. B. Willix, W. E. Platner, Prof. H. M. Kelly, Dr. A. Crawford, A. A. Bauman, J. B. Leigh. There has been no change in the library board. The annual income is $5,000. The library now consists of 33,900 volumes and many hundred pamphlets that have not been numbered. The administration of the library resembles that of a college more than a public library, and no list of borrowers is kept. MARION FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY Marion free public library dates from 1903. Miss Adaliza Daniels first began her work as early as 1902, to agitate for a Carnegie library. She and Mrs. C. N. Owen then began to solicit funds for a building site and collected $3,775 for that purpose. The first board consisted of the following: Messrs. Alderman, Alexander, Bowman, Treat, Mrs. Dobson, Mrs. Busby, Mrs. Owen, Miss Tyler, and Miss Daniels. The present board consists of J. W. Bowman, president, Dr. J. Morehead, vice-president, Mrs. C. N. Owen, secretary, Mr. Wood, Miss Marshall, Mrs. B. C. Busby, Mrs. Millen, and Mrs. Parkhurst. The income of the library has varied from $1,100 to $1,350. There are 800 card holders and more than 3,550 volumes in the library. The librarians have been Miss Mary Parkhurst and Miss Mabel Alexander. THE BOHEMIAN READING SOCIETY The Bohemian Reading Society was organized November 22, 1868, at Cedar Rapids, and some of the charter members who are still living are: Anthony Soukup, Frank Soukup, John Pichner, and John Safranek. Many of the pioneer settlers contributed from time to time largely of their means for the purchase of Bohemian books and tried to inculcate in their children a desire for the reading of books printed in their own tongue. Many foreign newspapers and magazines were also taken in order to keep up with the times and to create in the minds of the young a love of the land of their fathers. The average number of books loaned has been about 3,000 volumes a year. The library being open to the members at stated times, much reading is done in the library building, where a librarian is in charge. The number of bound books for circulation has been from 2,000 to 2,500 volumes. The expense of running the library outside of room rent, heat, etc., has been from $200 to $300. Many donations of books and magazines are constantly being made. A few of the librarians have been the following named persons: Mrs. Kabasa, Neibert and Stolba, Frank Kurka. The present librarian has served continuously for the past sixteen years. [Illustration: WEST ROWLEY STREET, WALKER] [Illustration: MAIN STREET, PRAIRIEBURG] CHAPTER XXIX _Wages and Prices in the County from 1846 to 1856_ During the decade from 1846 to 1856 land was very cheap in Linn county, and everything else was in proportion. Wages were low, and what the farmer raised on his premises he could find no market for, and, consequently, outside of wheat it was pretty much worthless. The panic of 1857 was a severe one in the county, and many of the bankers and business people met with severe reverses from which some never recovered. No one had any foreboding of the financial storm and all were caught short to such an extent that they lost nearly everything, even their homes which had been mortgaged. Many a business man with good credit, possessed of considerable means, became swamped in the crash. It mattered not what a man had in property, if it was not in gold it had no price, and there was no market for anything except on a cash basis. From N. B. Brown's account book we glean the following as to prices for eatables in Cedar Rapids in 1846: Beef, 2-1/2c per pound, flour, 2c per pound (1-1/2c in 1847), beans, 75c per bushel, veal, 3c per pound, coffee, 14c per pound, sugar, 16-1/2c per pound, tea, $1.25 per pound, wheat 37-1/2c per bushel, corn meal, 25c per bushel, buckwheat flour, 1-1/4c per pound. This interesting book is in the possession of Emery Brown, one of the sons. During the decade mentioned a horse sold at from fifty to sixty dollars, and a yoke of oxen could be had for the price of one good horse. As many of the pioneer farmers had not the means to purchase a team of horses, they did the next best thing and invested in a yoke of oxen and thus managed to get along and weather the storm. A good wagon with spring seat cost from one hundred to one hundred and twenty-five dollars, and a log chain from two dollars and a half to five dollars. Ordinary stirring plows sold at from ten to fifteen dollars. Mowers and reapers were not common in those days, the scythe and the cradle being the tools with which the young boy earned some of his first spending money. It was surprising how much hay and grain a good farm hand could cut in a season in this way. The people dealt in log houses in those days like we do in second hand furniture today. These houses were bought and sold at from fifty to seventy-five dollars each and moved at leisure in the winter time from one part of the township to another; at times a log house was moved from ten to fifteen miles and everyone chipped in and helped to move. A jug of whiskey, some hot coffee, and a good dinner were all they expected in the way of remuneration for their labor. The young folks at times insisted on a free for all dance and a free fiddler for the assistance they had rendered in moving and fixing up the house. If the young married couple who were to occupy the house did not dance or believe in dancing, a party or two were given, ending up with a midnight supper. While the prices of government land was one dollar and twenty-five cents an acre, the speculator land generally sold at from five to ten dollars and as high as twelve dollars and fifty cents an acre. Wages were very low, from fifty to seventy-five cents a day being the average price paid a good farm hand. In town a person generally received from seventy-five cents to a dollar a day and then boarded himself. Oats sold at fifteen cents a bushel, corn at ten cents, wheat at from forty-five to sixty cents. Hogs sold at one dollar and fifty cents a hundred. Potatoes were considered high at ten cents a bushel, while quail sold at thirty cents a dozen. Butter brought from five to six cents a pound, and eggs six to eight cents a dozen. While prices for farm products were quite low the prices paid for the necessaries of life were high on account of lack of transportation facilities. Coffee sold at ten cents a pound, sugar at from eleven to twelve cents, tea retailed at eighty-five cents. Calico sold at forty cents a yard--and a poor quality at that. Salt in the early days sold at ten dollars a barrel, the price coming down in Cedar Rapids to five dollars when W. B. Mack brought his first cargo of salt by steamer from Ohio to Cedar Rapids. Nearly all worked on shares, land was rented on shares, grist mills operated on shares, as well as saw mills. Masons and carpenters had to take their wages out frequently in form of property, and, while they were hard up and needed the money, this property in time made many of them wealthy men by their retaining what had been turned over to them in the form of wages. Old Thomas McGregor relates how he worked for a contractor by the name of Robinson and was offered lots where the mills of the Quaker Oats Company now stand at ten dollars a lot to apply on his wages, and when the writer inquired why he did not take these lots he replied: "My wages were seventy-five cents a day, on which I had to keep a wife and children, and they were more to me than corner lots." Old James Cleghorn worked for the Greene Bros. in the saw mill and was offered corner lots, and finally obtained in trade a forty acre tract of land in Scotch Grove for his summer's work. Old Elias Skinner, the well known Methodist preacher, in the early fifties traded a team, harness and wagon for a forty acre tract on what is now the location of the town of Norway, and at the time thought that the man who got the team had the best of the bargain, as there was no market for land and no income from it, while with a team of horses a man could make something and always could trade it for something else if he wanted to. Money was a scarce article in those days, while labor was cheap and the days were long. It was generally work from sun up to sun down and sometimes until way after dark, and no one was heard to complain, because if a person did complain there were always plenty of others willing to take the place of the man who wanted to quit. There were not many varieties of food in the good old days, but the people were healthy, they worked hard and everything tasted good. The ordinary dishes were Indian corn, corn bread, hominy, corn dodgers, bacon, venison, and prairie chickens. The cooking was done by an open fireplace, stoves in those days being few. Rye coffee was used frequently instead of the ordinary coffee and tasted good after a long day's hard labor in the timber. Many a thrifty housewife worked for weeks to dry corn in the fall of the year, as well as to dry apples; hominy was also made at home. All these delicacies--so-called--tasted good during the winter months and no one was known to be afflicted with ptomaine poisoning. Before the days of grist mills coffee mills were used for the grinding of corn and wheat. In some instances a few of the early settlers used the Indian stones, turned by hand; later horse mills were erected, which the early settlers thought were great inventions. These mills consisted merely of an enclosure of logs with a large wheel in the middle around which a leather belt was placed, which was also attached to a smaller wheel which turned the mill stones and ground the corn. The pioneers would come several miles to such a mill and sometimes had to wait a day or more in order to get their grist ground. They would help run the mill, would sleep in the wagon at night and live on parched corn on the trip; if a cup of coffee could be obtained at the stopping place the settler would be more than gratified. While the settlers raised almost all their provisions, they also made most of what they had to wear. In a very cheap sort of a way they tanned their own leather and made their own shoes; in short, relied on their own ingenuity for nearly all the comforts of life. The women folks were as handy as the men, if not more so, for they were all spinsters, dressmakers and tailors; they made the blue hunting shirts with fringes, adorned the buckskin belt which was worn around the waist, and also cut out the tight fitting cotton blouses worn by the boys, and even made moccasins and a coarse kind of brogan shoes. They were furriers as well, for they made some excellent fitting wolf skin caps for the men and some neat looking gingham bonnets, well starched, for themselves. While the shoes were at times heavy and ill fitting, they were only worn on Sundays and during the winter, for as soon as spring came nearly everyone went barefoot, about the house at least, for the sake of economy as well as for comfort. During these pioneer years in the forties and fifties our ancestors did not have an easy time of it by any means. They endured the hardships of pioneer life and were subject to fevers, as well as homesickness, and frequently during the winter months they were exposed to the severity of the early Iowa winters when the log houses were both small and uncomfortable, but they were men and women of iron nerve, full of push and energy and perseverance. They had taken up a tedious battle for existence out on the barren prairies of Iowa, far away from home and kindred, and, at times, surrounded by wild frontiersmen, freebooters and ruffians who were making a last stand in these parts of Iowa until the opening up of the vast barren tracts west of the Missouri river. It was not until after the Civil war that the people of Linn county became, so to speak, comfortably well fixed and had some of the comforts which they had so long looked for during the early years. CHAPTER XXX _Some of the First Things in Cedar Rapids and Linn County_ The first log cabin was erected on the site of what became Cedar Rapids, by Osgood Shepherd or Wilbert Stone in 1838. The first frame house was erected by John Vardy in 1842, and the first brick building was erected by Porter W. Earle at the corner of First avenue and Second street in 1844. P. J. Upton, of the Star Wagon Company, received a carload of freight on the first freight train that ever came to Cedar Rapids; this was in 1859. W. B. Mack received the first cargo of salt on the steamboat "Cedar Rapids" in 1855, bringing down the price of salt from $10.00 to $5.00 a barrel. The first steamboat company, incorporated for $20,000.00, was organized in 1855, some of the incorporators being Alex. Ely, Dr. S. D. Carpenter, the Greenes, and other business men of Cedar Rapids. The first grist mill was built by N. B. Brown in 1843. Isaac Cook was the first lawyer locating in Cedar Rapids; John Shearer was the first justice of the peace, and James Lewis was the first constable. The first general store was opened by George and Joseph Greene in 1842. Judge George Greene taught one of the first schools near Ivanhoe in 1839 and 1840. Alexander Ely, George Greene, and N. B. Brown, with others, erected the first school house in 1847 in Cedar Rapids, later selling it to the school district. Joseph Greene was the first postmaster in Cedar Rapids and carried the mail in his plug hat and distributed the same as he happened to meet the people to whom the letters were addressed. Dr. S. H. Tryon was the first physician in Linn county. Dr. E. L. Mansfield was one of the first physicians locating in Cedar Rapids, in 1847. H. W. Gray was the first sheriff of Linn county, being appointed by Governor Lucas in 1838. The first county fair was held in October, 1855. The first hotel was built in 1847, called the Union House, James Dyer being landlord; this building was destroyed by fire in 1865. In 1855 W. D. Watrous, W. W. Smith, and J. J. Snouffer built the steamer "Blackhawk" for the purpose of navigating the Cedar river. It ran between Cedar Rapids and Waterloo for two years. It was later purchased by the government and used for a supply boat on the lower Mississippi. In the '40s and '50s Mississippi steamboats made regular trips to Cedar Rapids. The first railroad reached Cedar Rapids in 1859; it is now known as the Chicago & Northwestern. The first fire company was organized in Cedar Rapids in 1869. In 1871 the Cedar Rapids Gas Light Company was organized. The first mayor of Cedar Rapids was Martin L. Barber. The first steam mill in the county was built by J. P. Glass in 1845. The first hand-raking reaper brought into Linn county was by William Ure, of Fairfax township, who hauled it from Chicago by oxen in the summer of 1847. The first newspaper in Cedar Rapids was the _Progressive Era_, published in 1851 by D. O. Finch; the first newspaper in Marion was the _Prairie Star_, published by A. Hoyt in 1852; the first daily newspaper published in Linn county was called the _Morning Observer_, the first number being issued on September 1, 1870, and edited by Thomas G. Newman and Z. Enos. [Illustration: MAIN STREET, SPRINGVILLE] [Illustration: QUAKER MEETING HOUSE, WHITTIER] [Illustration: WHITTIER] N. B. Brown erected the first flour mill in 1844; the first woolen mill was erected in 1848. The first judge of probate in the county was Israel Mitchell, appointed in 1838. He was also one of the justices. The first bridge erected across the Cedar river in Cedar Rapids was in 1856 at what is now Seventh avenue. The oldest settler now living in the county is Robert Ellis, who arrived in 1838. The first marriage in Linn county was that of Preston Scott and Miss Betsey Martin, which occurred in July, 1839. The first white male born in Linn county was George Cone, who first saw light at Marion, April 12, 1839. The first death in the county was that of Mr. Williams, who died January 15, 1839. He was buried in the Campbell cemetery near Bertram. The inscription on his tombstone is yet visible. The first mill was erected by John S. Oxley in 1842-43 on Big creek. It was later purchased by Jacob Mann. The first citizen to become naturalized was Peter Garren who, during the October term of court, 1840, as a native of Scotland, renounced all allegiance to the queen of Great Britain. James E. Bromwell, who came to Linn county in 1839, will always be remembered by the residents of Marion. He helped lay out the county seat. He made the first coffin for the first interment in its cemetery, assisted in the erection of the first residence in the town, as well as in the erection of the first store buildings, besides taking time enough to procure the second marriage license issued in the county for his marriage to Catherine Gray, on August 26, 1841. Elizabeth Bennett, a native of Syracuse, New York, who had been reared in Canada and married to Edward Crow, November 14, 1839, is supposed to have been the first school teacher in the county. She died in Buffalo township February 5, 1844. The first white child born within the confines of Linn county was Maria Osborn, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Osborn, and was born in September, 1838. This statement has often been disputed and cannot be proved with certainty. THE FIRST GRIST MILL There has been more or less controversy as to the name of the man who erected the first grist mill in Linn county. Marshall Oxley insists that the first mill of this kind was built by John S. Oxley in 1842-43. It was located in the northwest corner of Linn township on Big creek. The material used was grown in the immediate vicinity. The dimension lumber was hewn out of the forest and the roofing was made of clapboard, then the primitive material used by the pioneers in covering their buildings. The machinery was purchased in Davenport and transported by wagon across the prairies. Before the erection of this mill the early settlers were compelled to take their grists to what was known as the Catfish mill near Dubuque. Frequently it required several days to go to the mill and to return home with the flour. Sometimes the good housewives ran short of flour while the meal was being ground. In such cases they would grind a little corn in the coffee mills, mix it with salt and water, cook it, and thank Providence that they lived in a land flowing with hoe cake, milk and honey. After the mill had been in successful operation some time two well dressed gentlemen called at the home of the owner and asked to be given entertainment for the night. Their request was cheerfully complied with. Next morning they strolled down to the mill and looked it over. After they had been hospitably entertained and were about to depart they represented that one was a patentee and the other a lawyer and that the owner was using an infringement on their patent. They told him that if he did not pay them forty dollars they would prosecute him to the full extent of the law. He paid them the sum asked but remarked afterwards that he guessed he should have given them a charge of shot. The mill was operated in successful manner by the miller, Jacob Mann, until August 15, 1848, when he purchased the property for $500. He continued to operate it until it was swept away by the flood of 1851, Mann at this time losing his life in the flood. A FEW OF THE EARLY ENTRIES TO LAND A number of people resided in the county and were, so to speak, "squatters" before the land was opened for settlement and entry could be made. A few of the following names and locations will give the reader an idea of some of the old settlers who came here, some of whom resided on their respective claims before entry could be made. Peter Kepler entered land in section 1-82-5 June 15, 1842; A. M. McCoy, James Huntington, Edward Isham, Horatio Sanford entered land in section 2-82-5 from May 17, 1844, to November 3, 1845. Mary Ann Doty entered part of section 4-82-5 November 29, 1844; Abner Doty entered land March 11, 1845, in section 3-82-5; William Abbe entered land in section 5-82-5 in 1844; Henry Kepler entered land in the same section two years previously. Jesse H. Holman entered a forty acre tract in section 6 in the same township and range October 12, 1842. During the year 1845 Horatio Sanford, William Abbe and William Johnson entered considerable land in the same locality; also Allison I. Willits and Fred Kinley as early as 1842. James, Joe and Robert Boyd entered considerable land from February, 1843 to 1844 in section 8, while entries were made in section 10 from 1842 to 1844 by John I. Gibson, Oliver Day, Oakley Parker, and Robert Stinson. During the same period the following entries were made in section 11, to-wit: by Simeon Archer, Oliver Day, John I. Gibson, Nathan Peddycord, and James Kelsey. In section 13 the following entries were made from February, 1843, to 1845, viz: by Saul Elliott, Gabe Archer, James Bartley, and G. B. Bowman. In section 14 entries were made from 1843 to 1844 as follows: by James Kelsey, Leonard Platner, John Donahoo, Joe Smith, Ackley Parker, and Reuben Ash. In section 15 entries were made from February 22, 1843, to September 18, 1844, by Dan Hahn and James Muckalls; and in section 17 by John Stewart and John McLaughlin. In section 18 during the same period entries were made by Nate P. Wilcox, Meron C. Barnes, and A. J. McKean; George Greene entered a tract in section 29 February 21, 1843. Nearly all of the above described sections seem to have been picked up between the years 1842 and 1844. A few names appear in various localities as having entered lands in smaller or larger tracts, viz: Hugh Downey, J. G. Berryhill, John J. Gibson, H. W. Sanford, William Abbe, A. J. Willits, and Morgan Reno; a number of those men were not residents of the county at any time as far as is known, with the exception of William Abbe. In Linn Grove township 83, range 5, the following entries were made: In sections 1 and 2 by Cyrell M. Webster, Morgan Reno, and William Smythe during the years 1852 and 1853. In sections 4 and 5 Benjamin Simons, David E. Fussel, Joe S. Butler, and John S. Oxley made entries from 1843 to 1844. In sections 6, 7 and 8 the following entries were made during the years 1842 and 1843: John Milner, Le Grand Byington, Socrates H. Tryon, Jesse Tryon, Dennis Tryon, Alexander Paul, Jacob Mann, John Safely, Jane Safely, Jacob Safely, and Adam Safely. In section 9 and 11 entries were made during 1844 and 1845 by Ann Whitlatch, Alonzo B. Clark, Morgan Reno, Matt Lynch, Dan I. Finch, and Seward Kyles. In sections 15, 17, 21 and 22 the following entries were made during the years 1842 and 1844: James S. Varner, Levi Lewis, S. A. Yeisley, John, Thomas and Will Goudy. In sections 25 to 29 the following entries were made: by John and Andrew Safely, Sam Ellison, John Goudy, George Krow, and Lewis Fink during the years 1843 to 1844. Dan Peet made entry to certain tract of land in section 14 at the same time. In section 1-85-5 and 6 the following entries were made from 1852 to 1856: by Stephen Conover, Barnett Cole, Nancy H. Hunt, and others. Richard Barber made the first entry in section 4 in 1848, while in section 6 Philip Coffits made entry in June, 1847, and John Smith in November, 1849. In section 7 Chandler, Ebenezer and Moses C. Jordan entered land from 1846 to 1848. Richard Barber makes an entry in section 9 in 1848. In section 14 Edward Crew, or Crow, enters land in November, 1840 to January, 1845. In section 15 Jacob Mann enters land in May, 1845, followed by another entry made by George Paddington in February, 1846. In section 23 Absalom Cain makes an entry February, 1846, and in section 25 George C. Perkins and Morton Claypool enters land in 1845. John Peet enters land in section 36 in 1844, and Joseph and Ormus Clark enters land in section 3 in 1844 and 1845. In section 44, range 5, some of the early entries are by John Peet, Harvey Stone, and Nelson Crow from 1842 to 1845. Sam Kelly enters eighty acres in section 11 in 1840, and about the same time John Gillilan enters land in section 12. John Crow enters one hundred and sixty acres in 1840 in section 13. Charles Pinkney makes an entry in section 28 in 1840; also another entry in section 29 the same date. In section 32 on August 5, 1840, Nathan Brown, G. H. Robinson, Thomas Sammis, and William Styles make entries. The first entry made in section 33 was made by Benjamin Simons and Abel M. Butler. Charles E. Haskins makes several entries from 1843 to 1848 in section 12-82-5, as well as in sections 1 and 2, Peter Kepler also making entries in January, 1842. William Abbe made several entries of land in sections 5 and 6 from 1842 to 1843, while Thomas Craig made entries in sections 6 and 7 from 1843 to 1846, as well as Daniel Hahn in section 15. Israel Mitchell and James Hunter enter land in sections 4 and 5 in 1844, and Herman, or Harman, Boye made several entries in 1854 in sections 24 and 28. In sections 1 and 2-82-2 entries are found as of 1843 and 1844 made by Thomas Craig, Elizabeth D. Waln, Robert Smythe, and Samuel Littrell. In sections 7, 8 and 9 Thomas Crabtree, Abe Stotts, and James Hunter make entries from 1844 to 1846. Daniel, William, Henry and Elias Rogers make numerous entries in section 14 in 1849; William Davey, Mary S. Legare, Edgar G. Stoney, J. G. Berryhill, and Thomas J. Cox entered this land from 1849 to 1850 in sections 2 and 5-82-7. In section 12-83-7 entries were made in 1843 by S. H. Tryon, J. H. Blackman, M. Mitchell, and E. T. Lewis. In sections 14 and 15 J. Stambaugh, N. and D. Chapman, Ambrose Harlan, H. Weare, Isaac Carroll, George Greene made entries from March 4, 1843, to June, 1844. John G. McCloud makes an entry in section 16 in December, 1846. In section 17 Robert Ellis entered land July 19, and August 8, 1843, and John Lichtebarger in July of the same year. In section 18 the heirs of Dan Potter convey, and Thomas Gainer and Isaac Lichtebarger about the same time. In section 21-83-7 Addison Daniels and N. B. Brown entered land March 31, 1843, and George Greene makes entry of land July 13, 1847 and October 31, 1848. From 1843 to 1847 entries were made in section 22 by A. Daniels, N. B. Brown, John G. Cole, Levi Lewis, Joshua Phillips, and Ambrose Harlan. In section 27 Otho S. Bolling, Levi Lewis, and Jason C. Bartholomew made entries from 1843 to 1845. In section 28 entries were made by David W. King, Tom Gainer, and J. M. May from March, 1843, to 1859. The entries are made earlier in the eastern and southeastern part of the county, and later on the west side of the river and toward the west and northwest; the most entries were made from 1852 to 1859, when there seems to have been a wholesale tide of emigration. ORGANIZATION OF DEMOCRATIC PARTY IN THE COUNTY Copy of a paper given the Linn County Historical Society by Miss Mary Durham, daughter of Hon. Samuel W. Durham. Marion, April 27, 1843 Committee of organization met at Marion, Linn county, Iowa. Resolved, that a sufficient number of gentlemen in each township be appointed to act as a committee of organization. Franklin Township--C. C. Haskins, S. Elliott, Robt. Smyth, A. M. Artz, Jno. Wolfe, Jas. Stewart, Benj. De Witt, Henry Kepler. Linn Township--William T. Gilbert, Sam'l C. Stewart, Ira Sammons, And. Safely, Jno. Scott. Brown Township--Geo. Perkins, Jas. V. Hill, Isaac Butler, Horace N. Brown, Sam'l Kelly. Washington Township--Bart Magonigle, Sam'l Lockhart, Ben D. Springer, Wm. B. Davis, Thos. Lockhart, Sr., A. Moats, Wm. Cress, Wm. B. Harrison. Lafayette--Gilman Clark, Chas. Cantonwine, Daniel Richards, Sam'l Brazier, Jacob Cress. Putnam--Jno. Barnet, Jno. Hile, Alex Cox. Marion--M. Strong, Geo. Greene, Iram Wilson, Prior Scott, Perry Oxley, S. H. Tryon, Joel Leverich, John Hunter, Thos. Railsback, S. W. Durham. Rapids--N. B. Brown, P. W. Earle, Baker, Gainor, Justus Wells, John G. McLoud. Resolved, that each township send one delegate to Linn convention and those having 100 votes, 2, and 1 for every additional 50. Resolved, that with order to an organization of the democratic party in Linn County the committee in each township be requested to give due notice to the democratic citizens of their respective townships by written advertisement or otherwise, to meet at some convenient place in their said townships on the first Saturday of June next at 2 o'clock P. M., for the purpose of choosing delegates to attend the Territorial Convention at Iowa City on the 4th Monday in June, and also to appoint delegates to a District Convention, to be held at William L. Gilbert's at such time as may hereafter be agreed upon by the corresponding committees in the counties composing the 8th electoral district, to nominate candidates for Representatives to the Legislature to be supported by the democratic party at the annual election in October next. Resolved, that a committee of three be appointed. L. M. STRONG, Prest. SAM'L W. DURHAM, Sec. [Illustration: MAIN STREET, CENTRAL CITY, FROM THE SOUTH] [Illustration: GENERAL STORE AT COVINGTON] CHAPTER XXXI _Society in the Early Days_ The early settlers in Linn county were intelligent and cultured. They did not come to the county because communities in the east were glad to be rid of them. It was for far different reasons our pioneer men and women made their homes here. They looked upon this as a goodly land, one filled with opportunity, and they entered in and occupied it. Mrs. R. C. Rock, now in her 83d year, has vivid recollections of beginnings in Linn county. She came overland from Dubuque in 1850, and ever since has called Cedar Rapids her home. She says in her first years here the people took the best magazines of the day, passing them around so that all might read them. In 1852 there was organized a literary circle of ladies and gentlemen. This circle met once a week at the homes of the members. Original papers were read at these meetings, the subjects being assigned in advance. Occasionally distinguished lecturers from abroad were obtained. On one occasion Oliver Wendell Holmes was here, giving an entertaining talk to a large audience on the "Great Pyramids." Judge Williams, of Muscatine, one of the original members of the supreme court of the state, was also a lecturer here. From time to time Dr. J. F. Ely, Judge Greene, and other local men read papers or made addresses, "and they were always of a high order," says Mrs. Rock. Occasionally there were formal parties, as in these days. There was a greater amount of entertaining a half century or more ago here than there is now. There were no special distinctions of class, all the citizens were welcomed. Some of the most hospitable homes were those of the southern colony, mentioned in another chapter in this book. Dr. and Mrs. Ely entertained a great deal in their home located where now stands the old Post Office building. Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Bever were always hospitable, and the Greenes did their share. Mrs. Rock says nothing as to her own entertaining in these days, but her home was recognized as one of most cordial hospitality, refinement and culture. Col. W. H. Merritt, Gabriel Carpenter, William Greene, Lawson Daniels and their wives were also pleasant and hospitable entertainers. Mrs. George C. Haman, whose husband by the way is the oldest business man in this city--oldest in point of continuous service--wrote in 1906 quite interestingly for the _Republican_ her recollections of society in Cedar Rapids in the early days. We take the liberty of reproducing the same here. It is a vivid picture of social doings a half century and more ago. Society in the early days had one pleasant feature that we do not have at the present time. There was only one social circle and there was not so much society to the square inch as there is now. It was before the days of parties with the men left out and before the days of clubs and cliques. A large social function meant all the social people in town, and was thoroughly enjoyed by all, and nothing but sickness or death kept any away. The first social affair I attended was in '57. Even then Cedar Rapids enjoyed a social reputation equal to any town in the state and it soon took the lead with such families for social leaders as those of Judge Greene, Dr. J. F. Ely, S. C. Bever, Gabriel Carpenter, Colonel Merritt, William Greene, Lawson Daniels and a few others, who believed that money-getting should not be the only aim in life, and believed in a high standard of social and literary enjoyment as well. The social, literary and religious foundation laid by these far-seeing men and women is what gave Cedar Rapids the prestige it enjoys among the sister cities of the state. Of course in the forties and fifties most of the entertainments were simple, but there were red letter days. The first large social affair I attended was a wedding, and the first wedding I ever attended. It was the marriage of Miss Carpenter, daughter of Gabriel Carpenter, to Mr. George Weare, brother of the late John Weare and Mr. Charles Weare. The bride was lovely. The groom was a young business man of Sioux City, where they have lived ever since. The wedding banquet was a feast of all the good things that a good housewife could prepare, and Mrs. Carpenter was famous for her culinary achievements. Her turkey dinners brought joy to many friends. She is now in her eighties, and lives a retired life. While writing the account of this wedding I received a paper giving the account of the wedding of a granddaughter of this bride and groom. The second social affair that stands out prominently in my memory is a large party given by Dr. and Mrs. Ely. The social functions given at this hospitable home were always delightful. The genial personality of the host and hostess pervaded every corner of the home, and when one entered its portals one knew that Dr. and Mrs. Ely would give a cordial welcome. It was a home where all of the new-comers were always entertained, the latch-string always being out. Mrs. Ely was a very philanthropic woman, was the leader of all of the charitable works for many years. Under her leadership many of the philanthropic women of today received their early training. Her noble works gave them their incentive. There were not so many spacious homes as now, but those who had them dispensed hospitality most generously and in a way not surpassed in these days. The home of S. C. Bever, for many years the largest, stood where the Rock Island offices now stand. This home was where the bishops and other clergy of the Episcopal church were always entertained while in town. This home, with its large family of young people that drew like spirits, was the source of many gaieties. Mr. and Mrs. Bever's hospitality many times won financial success for Cedar Rapids. They entertained strangers who came to spy out the land. One occasion of this kind was in '55, when Judge Greene, Dr. Ely, John Weare, Lowell Daniels, W. W. Walker, S. D. Carpenter and S. C. Bever all went to Chicago to attend a national republican convention. All being business men, ever ready to build up Cedar Rapids, at this convention they made it their business to meet men from New York and Boston and to talk up the advantages of Iowa and what a railroad could do, until Mr. Ames of Boston, Crocker, Bertram and others came back with the Cedar Rapids delegation, and were taken in conveyance through central Iowa. While the men were working the eastern capitalists for a railroad the women all got busy and prepared for a reception and dance at the home of S. C. Bever. Some baked cakes, others prepared meats, others the bread and others the ice cream. The whole town was invited, so when the eastern men returned, they were won completely over and the project of the first railroad into Cedar Rapids was laid then and there. Homes were often called upon to open their doors to strangers in town, who often were induced by the warm hospitality and good fellowship to invest their money and join hands and build up Cedar Rapids. When a large function was given all the friends assisted. Dishes and table linen and services were offered. We could not hire a caterer to come and prepare refreshments and serve a company. Our friends were the helpers. The home of William Greene was also one with open doors. It stood on the corner of Third street and B avenue. It was not a large house, but a very hospitable one. Later William Greene built a beautiful house in the block where A. C. Taylor, Dr. Ruml and Dr. Kegley now live. The grounds covered the whole block and were laid out with landscape effect. It was a beautiful place, and many fine entertainments were given there. The Higley brothers, Harvey, Wellington, Mort and Henry, in the early days, lived in small homes, but that did not deter them from keeping up their end of social life. Lucy and Jennie Higley were fine cooks and charming hostesses. Mort and Wellington were jolly good fellows and every one knew they were sure of a pleasant time when invited to their homes, no matter whether it was to a church social, or a big "standup" party as they were called in those days. S. L. Dows' first home was like those of the rest of the pioneers, small, but hearts were large and no one extended a more cordial welcome to their friends than Mr. and Mrs. Dows. After they built their new home on First avenue, many brilliant affairs were given by them. The home of George C. Haman, on the corner of A avenue and Fifth street, is an old land mark. Mr. and Mrs. Haman have lived there for over forty years. Their children were born and brought up there, and like many pioneer homes, it has been the scene of many festivities and good times. The home of the late John Weare, with its large family of young people, will always be remembered by the old settlers. The home of Mr. and Mrs. Belt, now owned by Mrs. George W. Bever, was the scene of many enjoyable house parties. Friends from eastern cities and prominent people throughout Iowa were entertained there. Mrs. Belt loved to entertain the clergy. The entertainments given by Judge and Mrs. Greene were the crowning social events of early days. The home and estate were outside of town, but that was no obstacle to their entertaining. Judge Greene was ready for every emergency and the home was characteristic of the man. He was broadminded, warm hearted, foresighted, generous and philanthropic, and his home was conducted on these plans. His first house on his beautiful estate, Mound Farm, was not large, but he always found a way to entertain his friends and visitors to Cedar Rapids. For example, he had a house party of friends and wished Cedar Rapids people to meet them. He was at the time building some buildings to shelter his sheep, of which he had a great many. So he put floors in the building preparatory to entertaining his guests and friends. He found on short notice that if he expected to have the only good music in town he must take it next day. He and Mrs. Greene talked the matter over and decided to have the party. They sent word to the other members of the Greene family and intimate friends what they expected to do and they all came to their assistance. Early in the morning Mrs. Belt made out the list and the family delivered the invitations. Mrs. Belt and Mrs. William Greene baked all the cakes. I don't know just how many picked strawberries, but Mrs. Greene told me that eighty quarts were picked and hulled that day. Mrs. Greene superintended the making of the ice cream and the decorating of the building. Special train service over the Dubuque and Southwestern was arranged to bring the guests from a central point to the sheep pens. All was in readiness and the host and hostess ready to receive their guests at eight o'clock. It was a most enjoyable event, and is still recalled with pleasure by the old settlers. It is safe to say that with the conveniences of today, such a social affair could not be gotten up in one day. Later when Judge Greene built his large house on the crowning point of Mound Farm, in the center of the beautiful grounds which he had been ten or more years preparing, Mr. Paddington, an English gardener, had it in charge. Every kind of shrub and tree that could be grown in Iowa was planted. The place for situation and beauty could not be equaled in Iowa, and the grounds were the most beautiful. When Judge Greene had the walls up and ready to roof, a tornado tore them down. But notwithstanding this discouragement, his house was built and furnished with the richest furnishings of those days. Three thousand dollars worth of oil paintings hung on the walls. All the furnishings were bought in New York City. When all was complete, he opened it with a most brilliant house warming. As Judge Greene always considered Cedar Rapids and her citizens in whatever he did, all were bidden, as were many of his friends throughout the state, to the opening of his new house. The beautiful impression of the illuminated grounds and house and the cordial hand-clasp of welcome from host and hostess that thrilled each guest with good fellowship and heartfelt appreciation were never forgotten. Indeed it was an evening of rare pleasure. There were a few years when fancy dress parties were all the rage. The first one given was in the home of Colonel Merritt and was novel and beautiful. Colonel and Mrs. Merritt were charming entertainers. Colonel Merritt built the house where Dr. J. H. Smith now lives. It was bought by John W. Henderson. He and his handsome and cordial wife entertained hospitably. After Dr. Smith owned the house, he and his wife dispensed hospitality lavishly and state politicians were often their guests. The Daniels home was another of the hospitable homes, where many large parties were given especially for the pleasure of the younger set. The home of Mr. and Mrs. J. S. Cook was for several years the largest and most modern in the city. Mrs. Cook, with her charming daughters, gave many elegant parties. The house was built by I. N. Isham. He only occupied it for a few years and sold it to H. G. Angle, who lived there one year. J. S. Cook then bought it and lived there many years. Now it is used for the National hotel annex. In the home of Mr. and Mrs. A. R. West, children as well as their older friends, found a warm welcome. The little folks loved to congregate there and entertainment and refreshments were always provided for them. "Papa and Mama West," as the children called them, were never too busy to answer all the questions asked by their young friends, who were always made to feel thoroughly at home. The home of Mr. and Mrs. R. C. Rock was one of hospitality and of culture and refinement, as well. No woman ever did so much toward the education of the young people in early days as Mrs. Rock. She was also a great worker in the church and is the only living charter member of Grace Episcopal church. The first church wedding was in the little Second Presbyterian church. It was the marriage of Mr. George C. Haman and Miss Louise Wolf. It was at five o'clock in the morning, and the wedding breakfast was at 4 o'clock. The reason for having the wedding at this unseemly hour was that the bride and groom were going east and there was only one train a day left town, and that was at six in the morning. The attendants at the wedding were Mrs. M. P. Mills, nee Coulter; Mrs. Portus B. Weare nee Risley; Mrs. Taylor, nee Earl, and Miss Carpenter, bridesmaids. The groomsmen were Mr. James L. Bever, Mr. Carter Berkley, Mr. Mortimer A. Higley and Dr. Lions. The first large public affair in Cedar Rapids that gathered together all the people of the town, all in the state who could get here and some from Chicago and the east, was in June, '59. The occasion was the completion of the first railroad into Cedar Rapids. It was the Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska, now the Chicago & Northwestern. The citizens had looked forward to this for many years, and it was a financial struggle to get it through, but when it was completed there was great rejoicing. A great celebration was given. The tables for the banquet were spread where now stands the Masonic Library, and the George B. Douglas home. The women prepared all the edibles and with the assistance of the young men and girls, served the banquet. The men took charge of the speeches, parade and music. The depot was then in the lower end of town, about Twelfth avenue and Fourth street. The speeches were made there. At the finish the marshals of the day formed all in line and marched to the grove where the banquet was spread, and it is needless to say the feast was enjoyed. I fear there were not twelve baskets full left. The climax of the occasion was a ball given at Daniels's hall, that stood where the Masonic Temple now stands. It was a brilliant affair and the dancers tipped the light fantastic toe until the rosy dawn was breaking. The weary dancers wended their way home on foot, the girls in tarlatan gowns and white kid slippers. Public carriages were scarce, and the new and only bus had gone to meet the early train. Thus ended the largest public social event up to that time. [Illustration: UPPER WAGON BRIDGE, CENTRAL CITY] [Illustration: HENDERSON BRIDGE AT CENTRAL CITY] The years from '61 to '65 were years of great anxiety and all the entertainments given were to gather the forces to make all we could to get delicacies for our soldiers who were fighting in the Civil war. The women, as always, did their part. Mrs. Ely, with her loving heart and her capable leadership, directed the younger women. Dramatic entertainments were given by the young people. I recall some of those who took part: The Misses Carrie and Kate Ely, Dr. Lions, William Berkley, J. H. Haman, Miss Laura Weare, the Misses Coulter, Miss Earl, Miss Risley, Mrs. Dr. May, William Baker, Mr. and Mrs. Haman, Hall, Wood, Stibbs, and Carroll. The rest of the men had all gone to the war and most of these finally went. Sociables and fairs were then held to raise money. There were days and nights of sewing and packing barrels to be sent to the seat of war. These were the days when all personal sacrifice was a pleasure. When the war was over and the pall of horror was lifted, the first joyful events were given in honor of fathers, husbands, brothers and lovers home from the war. Days and nights were spent making flags and banners, twining arches that were placed over the street, cooking of good things. Nothing was too good for the soldier boys. When the tables were spread in the grove the returned soldiers, led by Colonel T. Z. Cook, Colonel Merritt, Colonel Coulter, and General Jack Stibbs marched up the street. Many were scarred and lame and with emaciated faces. The bullet-riddled flags were carried at half mast for those who fell in the battle or died in southern hospitals. Our tears of joy were mingled with tears of sorrow. For a year or two afterwards all entertainments were given to raise money for soldiers' widows and orphans. Parties and fairs of every description were given. A colonial ball was given in '59, in which Colonel T. Z. Cook and Colonel Merritt and General Jack Stibbs came in military costume. All three were handsome men with soldierly bearing. All who attended this ball were in colonial dress. To me it was the most beautiful social function of those days. There were a number of beautiful women and handsome men who looked well in colonial style of dress. This party was given at Carpenter's hall Tuesday evening, March 1, 1859, and was for the benefit of the Mount Vernon fund. The patronesses were Mesdames Wm. H. Merritt, H. G. Angle, S. C. Koontz, Wm. Greene, J. G. Graves, W. B. Mack, C. B. Rowley, H. W. Perkins, S. D. Carpenter. The committee on arrangements was composed of Wm. H. Merritt, H. G. Angle, R. R. Taylor, W. B. Mack, D. M. McIntosh, Lawson Daniels, Edward J. Smith, Hon. Geo. Greene, S. D. Carpenter, Wm. Greene, John G. Graves, T. Z. Cook, H. B. Stibbs, T. S. McIntosh, Wm. Berkley. In '69 and '70 there was a fine course of lectures by Bayard Taylor, Henry Ward Beecher, Barnum, J. G. Saxe and other noted lecturers. The money raised was used to fit up a small public library which was in circulation for a number of years. Judge Greene built a fine opera house and always gave the use of it for entertainments for charity and the ladies gave a great many affairs. It was not unusual for them to make one thousand dollars at one entertainment, for everything was donated and people attended entertainments of that sort better then than they do at the present day. Years ago towns in the vicinity of twenty miles returned social courtesies. In the winter of '68 Iowa City and Cedar Rapids got very friendly. A party of young people were invited to a ball given at the Kirkwood in Iowa City. The weather was cold, the snow deep; but bob sleds were rigged up with buffalo robes. This party started out early, but owing to the deep snow and an upset or two, it was late when they arrived. But they had a pleasant time and returned late next day. Marion and Cedar Rapids were very cordial to each other. When the homes of I. N. Preston, Mr. Twogood, and Preston Daniels were opened with social events a number of Cedar Rapids people were invited and these families gave beautiful parties. CHAPTER XXXII _Southern Influence_ In every frontier community we gauge the settlement by the influences which predominate. Thus we have the Buckeye, the Hoosier, and New England elements in certain states and communities, making these local influences more or less marked traits of character, according to the size of the settlements, and also the temperaments of the settlers. In an early day there arrived in Linn county a number of people from South Carolina, who located here and influenced the social side of this frontier settlement in a marked degree. These families settled here in 1849: The Legare, Bryan, McIntosh, Stoney, and other families. The Legare family came from John's Island, about ten miles from Charleston, where they had lived for several centuries, being of an old French Huguenot family, which had removed to England and from there emigrated to America. It was here, or rather in Charleston, that Hugh Swinton Legare was born in 1789, the mother being of Scotch descent and related to Sir Walter Scott. Hugh Legare first obtained a private education from a Catholic priest, later graduating from the University of South Carolina. He embarked in 1818 for France, later taking up studies in Edinburgh and on the continent. After a stay of two years he returned to America to take charge of his mother's plantation. Not until 1822 did he begin the practice of law in Charleston; he also edited the _Southern Review_, and in this journal advocated views opposed to nullification. His attitude on this question brought him into prominence, and he was elected attorney general of the state. While in Washington he met Livingstone, then secretary of state, who offered him a position as minister to Belgium, which he accepted. After his return to America he was elected to congress in 1836, but was defeated for re-election in 1840 on account of his opposition to the sub-treasury bill. He was rewarded by President Tyler with a place in the cabinet as attorney general, and for a time acted as secretary of state. He died in 1843, one of the best known public men of his time. His sister, Margaret Swinton Legare, who had been her brother's travelling companion and most intimate friend, in 1849 brought a fortune to Cedar Rapids. She was accompanied by her nephews, B. S. Bryan, Hugh L. Bryan, and Michael Bryan. It is said that nearly $80,000 in cash were at one time invested in property in this county by this family alone. A large part of this amount was invested in lands and in a woolen mill, which was located near what is now known as the Cooper mills. Michael Bryan was married to a Miss Dwight, a distant relative of General Marion. She was also wealthy in her own name. A bank was started by the Bryans and the Wards in the early fifties known as Ward, Bryan & Co.'s Bank. This bank failed in the panic of 1857, Colonel I. M. Preston becoming receiver. Donald M. McIntosh, Mrs. Rutledge, and her sisters, Joanna and Harley, came about the same time and were related to the other families. Many other less prominent southern people during these years came to Cedar Rapids which could boast of a true southern society. Mr. McIntosh erected one of the first brick dwellings in the city and held various public offices. Michael Bryan was alderman in 1851, while B. S. Bryan was elected city recorder. The Bryans were not outspoken in politics, but McIntosh was a democrat, the aunt, Miss Legare, held to the whig tenets of her illustrious brother, whose speeches and works she edited. She was also interested in church work, as well as in the education of women. Michael Bryan erected a fine residence where the old N. B. Brown homestead is now located. At this house social affairs of the little town were conducted in true southern style, and fortunate was the person who was favored with an invitation to visit in the Bryan home. Michael Bryan died here, and the widow with her family returned to South Carolina just preceding the Civil war. B. S. Bryan removed to the coast and is still living in Seattle. Miss Legare organized a ladies' seminary, and was an artist of considerable talent. She was also an accomplished musician. It is said that she brought the first piano to the county. However, this claim has been disputed as it is said that the J. P. Glass family brought a musical instrument here in 1846. In the '50s Miss Legare became the wife of Lowell Bullen, an uncle of the Daniels brothers, whose home was in North Brookfield, Massachusetts. They resided at Marion until Mr. Bullen's death in 1869, when the widow returned to her old home in South Carolina, surviving her husband a number of years. Nearly all the members of the southern society were members of the Presbyterian church, and took an active part in the religious and social work of that people. Mrs. Bullen was kind and considerate. Her dignified presence was enough to give her entrance into any home. She took an active interest in the poor, and was interested in education in general. She loved and revered the memory of her statesman brother, and never forgot what place he held at one time in the affairs of the nation. During the rebellion she felt that her heart would break as she thought of friends and relatives fighting on both sides in that terrible struggle for the preservation of the Union. A letter received lately from Bryan & Bryan, attorneys of Charleston, South Carolina, throws some light on this subject: "In reply to your letter of the 10th instant, we beg to say that H. S. and B. S. (Benjamin Simons) and Michael Bryan, of whom you speak, were the sons of Col. John Bryan, a planter of this section. "He (Col. John Bryan) married a sister of Hugh Legare, the writer and statesman, and attorney general of the United States. These sons went to Cedar Rapids before 1860. "Michael Bryan married Harriet Dwight, a sister of my mother, Rebecca Dwight. "It happened strangely enough, that my father, George S. Bryan, who married Rebecca Dwight, was no relation to Michael Bryan, who married Harriet Dwight. (In other words, the two Bryans being no relation, married two sisters.) "Michael Bryan had several children, the survivors are Emily Bryan, married ---- Andrews, now living in Abbeville county, South Carolina, with a number of children, her husband being a planter; and William Bryan, whose residence is unknown to the writer. "Michael Bryan's nephew, Edward Bryan, is also living on one of our Sea Islands, in the vicinity of Charleston, and is a planter. As far as we can ascertain, B. S. Bryan of whom you speak, was engaged in banking in Cedar Rapids, and Michael Bryan was engaged in real estate, having built up a portion of Cedar Rapids. He died in Cedar Rapids before 1860, and his family removed back to South Carolina. They were not Quakers, but Presbyterians, and attended the Circular church, Meeting street, in Charleston, S. C., which was a branch of the Presbyterian church." [Illustration: BAPTIST CHURCH, PRAIRIEBURG] [Illustration: MILWAUKEE BRIDGE, AT COVINGTON] In addition to the above mentioned, a large number of cultured and educated people came from Maryland, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Virginia. Who does not remember the aristocratic and learned A. Sidney Belt, the robust, courtly old gentleman, Colonel S. W. Durham, the versatile and polite Judge Israel Mitchell, the genial Oxley brothers, and scores of other southern men and women? The members of the Legare, Bryan, McIntosh, Durham, Oxley, Belt, Mitchell, and other southern families who located in Linn county did much in changing the manners of this somewhat cosmopolitan community. These families pursued education. The members had traveled much. They were descended from some of the most cultured families in this country. They were social, interesting, and entertained much, and it is needless to add that the citizens of the county were not slow in receiving the southern settlers into their homes. The presence of such an influence in the formative period of the county's history wielded an influence which has not been entirely effaced after a period of half a century. Some time later came the Hart brothers, Jacob A. and Caspar J., and for years the influence of these sturdy men was a power for good in the city and the county. It will be many years before these splendid representatives of the southland will be forgotten. The home of Mr. and Mrs. Jacob A. Hart was a most hospitable one. It was always open to the new settler from the south, and especially to those who came from Maryland, their old home. Their commodious brick dwelling that stood so long at the corner of Second street and Fifth avenue, was a center for long years of true and genuine hospitality. Its doors were never locked against a Marylander, and all these felt free to "come early and stay late." To many a young son of the south Mother Hart was ever the best of mothers, caring for the sick lads, satisfying their hunger with fried chicken and Maryland biscuits--oh, who that once was welcomed there will ever lose the memory of it! Mrs. Hart is yet a resident of this city, spending a ripe old age in dispensing the same well-remembered hospitality, going about doing the deeds of kindness. Mrs. R. C. Rock, herself a pioneer of 1850, has vivid recollections of beginnings in Cedar Rapids. She knew the Bryans intimately, and also the Legares. She says they were people of culture. Mr. Stoney, the husband of Miss Bryan, was educated abroad, and came to Cedar Rapids in 1852 or 1853. These people were led to locate in the city through the influence of Judge Greene, whom they met in Washington. Mrs. Rock states that at this day it is impossible to estimate what Judge Greene meant to the young city. Through his influence people of means, culture, and learning were induced to come to the city and county. He traveled a great deal, and something good for Cedar Rapids always resulted. J. J. Snouffer was another Marylander who came to Cedar Rapids in 1850, and for nearly a half century his was a powerful influence in the community. He was prominent in business and political affairs, and was ever a loyal citizen. Dr. Robert Taylor, one of the prominent early physicians, came from Virginia in 1851. After remaining here a few years he removed to Philadelphia. CHAPTER XXXIII _Some Township History_ BERTRAM TOWNSHIP In the history of Linn county Bertram township has played a conspicuous part, and was at various times about to be the township in which were located some of the most enterprising towns in the county. Ivanhoe, Westport, also known as Newark, and other places are well known names among the early settlers. Their locations have been wiped off the map, so to speak, on account of changed conditions. The following sketch is taken largely from manuscripts and articles written by the late John J. Daniels, one of the old citizens of Linn county, one of the early county recorders, for many years a justice of the peace, and a well known and enterprising citizen, who was always interested in the old settlers and in the development of historical research in the county in early days. Mr. Daniels says: "In the early settlement of Linn county the territory now forming Bertram township was selected by the early settlers for very prominent reasons, it having good mill streams, good water, and plenty of good timber near at hand, which was so much needed by the early settlers for building and fencing. Two of the early pioneers were Thomas W. and Sarah Campbell, of Dearborn county, Indiana. They came in the fall of 1838 and settled on the northeast quarter of section 27, and obtained a patent from the United States March 7, 1844. Mr. Campbell was elected the first county treasurer in 1839, and in 1840 his first collection of county taxes for licenses, ferries, and lands was $985.85. He died February 22, 1876. "Perry and Catherine Campbell Oxley, of Montgomery county, Indiana, first located in Linn township, but in the fall of 1838 came here and took up a claim on the southwest quarter of section 22 and built their cabin in the grove near the east line. Mr. Oxley was the first constable elected in the county in 1839, and was bailiff of the grand jury of the county. He was the best shot in the county. He died September 30, 1886, universally mourned. "Norris and Ann Cone, of Connecticut, came in February, 1839, and settled on section 21. Mr. Cone later removed to Marion. George Cone, their son, claims the honor of being the first child born in the township in 1839. "James and Elizabeth Leabo and Israel Mitchell, natives of Kentucky, in 1838 left the mining regions near Dubuque and settled on claims in this township on the north side of the river. Mrs. Leabo died September, 1852, and James Leabo removed to Oregon, where he died. "Mr. Mitchell was a graduate of a Kentucky college and celebrated the first 4th of July at Westport in 1838, Judge Mitchell being the orator. "The first and only election of the county that year was held there, thirty-two votes being cast. The first store opened in the county was at Westport, by Albert Henry in the fall of 1838. "James and Mary Scott, of Indiana, came in 1838 or 1839. Mr. Scott was an enterprising farmer. He purchased a saw mill on Big creek and early built a large flouring mill during the fifties. On account of the failure of crops the mill was not a success. He died in 1894 in Marion township. "Elias Doty, of Ohio, came in 1838 or '39, and in 1840 commenced the building of a saw mill on Big creek, but was accidentally killed at its raising. The mill property later passed into the hands of James R. Briney. "James Hunter, a native of Ireland, came in 1838 and took a claim; he died May 14, 1888, at the age of sixty-nine. "Everett Oxley, a native of Kentucky, born in 1812, at the age of fifteen removed to Indiana where he married Catherine Milner, also a native of Kentucky, coming to Linn county in 1840. Mr. Oxley died in 1887. Several of the Oxley family emigrated to Linn county. "Jeremiah Daniels arrived in the spring of 1844 with a stock of dry goods, trading for wheat in the fall, shipping same by flat-boat to St. Louis. In the fall of 1847-8 he built a saw mill on Indian creek and a few years later located a flour mill on Big creek. Mr. Daniels died in 1882." Mr. Daniels further states that some of the early settlers were the following: "Michael and Peter McRoberts, Peter D. Harman, Ben and John Dewitt, John, Joseph, and Nancy Gourly, Andrew and Thomas Dill, Isaac, Lawrence, Elijah, and Joseph Wain, Louis Lafore, Perry and Ann Knapp, Ada J. James, Steve, Charles, Daniel, George, Theresa, and Ann Rose, Sylvester Lyons, Thomas Rose, James and Thomas Piner, James M. and Susan Doty, Abraham Darr, John Arford, Hiram and Mary Leabo-Deem, Sam and Rachel Stambaugh, Jonathan and Dorcas Paul, John Bromwell, Michael Cox, Louis Kramer, Dr. Grove, Dave Stambaugh, James Briney, Leonard Speckelmeyer, James Berry, James Anderson, Caleb Dyer, Joseph Caraway, John and Mary Scott, and Samuel Durham." Some of the Bertram justices have been William S. Darr, Frank Allen, W. B. Plummer, E. Doty, J. C. Anderson. Bertram township has been the location of a number of squatter towns. William Stone first staked out a squatter town and called it Westport. He sold out his right to Albert Henry and then staked out Columbus where Cedar Rapids is now located. Henry, it is stated, erected two of the first frame buildings in this town, and in fact in this part of the county. The only sawed lumber in the entire buildings were the window frames and the casings. The siding was what was known as shaved lumber. These buildings were torn down in 1861 by Elias and Daniel Doty. One of these buildings was used by James Doty for his pottery shop up to the time of his death. Perry Oxley bought Albert Henry's squatter claim and he later sold his right, title, and interest in the town as well as in about 117 acres of land at $2.50 an acre. Now for the first time James Doty thought he would comply with the law, and on November 12, 1844, filed a plat in accordance with the law and called the town Newark, from Newark, New Jersey, his birthplace. Ivanhoe was never platted, but was only a squatter town founded by Cowles. Colonel Merritt kept the first store at Ivanhoe for parties in Rock Island. This town had better prospects of becoming a great city than any other town in the county. It had a good river frontage, a rich country around it, plenty of timber and good water, and had the government road besides. For some unknown cause the place seems to have been ignored when Marion and Cedar Rapids began to flourish. This is true, that Ivanhoe and Westport were laid out expecting the river to be the means of communicating with the outside world. The railroads, mills, dams and other things changed conditions, and the Indian trading villages came to naught. FAIRFAX TOWNSHIP Fairfax township lies in the extreme southwest portion of Linn county. Prairie creek, at times an unruly stream, drains this part of the county. In the early day this portion of Linn county had more or less timber, especially in what is known as Scotch Grove, northeast of the town of Fairfax. This timber has, for the most part, been cut off. The first settlers, as far as is known, who came to this part of the county were Robert and Jane Ure with their family of grown children, in the spring of 1841. The children were John, Margaret, James, William, Robert, Walter, and David. The family had emigrated from Scotland in 1838 and gone west, locating in Ohio for a short time, removing to Iowa territory in search of land. They located in the northwestern part of the township in the grove which has since been called "Scotch Grove." The Ures wrote back to Scotland to their friends, and for many years emigrants came who located in and around Scotch Grove in Linn and Benton counties. Later came the McDowell family, the Listebargers, the McKinnons, the Mitchells, Giddings, Knickerbockers, Flahertys, Ferriters, Henrys, Cahills, Hines, McFarlands, and many others. A cemetery was established in Scotch Grove where a number of the early settlers are buried. The cemetery near Fairfax is now the one in use, and also the Catholic cemetery southwest of Fairfax. One of the first school teachers in the township was Mrs. Keziah McDowell, who taught in a private house. The first school building was erected in 1855 on the place where the Elm Grove school now stands. The first teacher who taught in a school building was a Mr. Eckerman, who boarded around. The families who had children attending school at that time were the McKinnons, the Listebargers, and the Hodges. The first reaping machine in this part of the county was purchased by William Ure at Chicago in the summer of 1847, and was a hand-raking machine. Mr. Ure drove with an ox team to Chicago and returned with a machine in time for cutting the grain that summer. After he got started all the neighbors helped and the machine was run night and day until the season was over and the grain harvested. The Scotch families were United Presbyterians, and for many years attended church in Cedar Rapids. In May, 1858, the Presbyterian church was organized and established in Scotch Grove. The fiftieth anniversary of the establishment of this church was celebrated in 1908, and the paper read by Miss Jennie G. Mitchell, daughter of James Mitchell, now residing in Cedar Rapids, gives a full history of the church and of many of the old settlers of this county, and is herewith inserted in full: "THE ORIGIN OF FAIRFAX U. P. CHURCH "The first settlers in this part of Linn county, Iowa, were Robert and Jane Ure, who, with a family of grown children, came here in the spring or summer of 1841. The children were John, Margaret, James, William, Jane, Robert, Walter, and David. The family had emigrated from Scotland in 1838 and spent the intervening years near Springfield, Ohio. But land was high in the old settlements and they came 'west' where they could enter government land, settling, or at first camping, on the same ground where this church is built. Log houses were soon erected and some land entered and a few years later a brick house was built, the first in this part of the country. The brick was made by the boys and the entire house erected without the assistance of any expert, the lime being hauled all the way from Muscatine. The Ure family did not leave their religion in the Auld Kirk in the Homeland, but during all their travels, whether they tarried or camped for only the night, the morning and evening sacrifice of family prayer was offered; and on Sabbath at noon the family were gathered and God's word read, followed by praise and prayer. Thus they kept God's holy day and worshiped in their own home until preaching could be obtained, and by searching the records of the First United Presbyterian church of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, we find that on the 9th day of September, 1850, a meeting was held and a petition forwarded to the Associate Presbytery of Iowa, asking for a supply of preaching, and in 1851 the congregation in Cedar Rapids was organized, the Ure family uniting with them. [Illustration: THE "OLD SCHOOL" COGGON] [Illustration: SOUTH SIDE MAIN STREET, COGGON] "The cheap land and plenty of timber attracted others, and in the early fifties the McKinnon family came from Scotland and settled in Linn county near Scotch Grove. In 1852 Samuel and Sarah Hall, with their large family, settled at Sisley's Grove, and in 1854 James Cleghorn, Sr., with his two children and John and Agnes Anderson. James Cleghorn and Agnes Anderson were brother and sister. James Cleghorn, Jr., is still living near where they located and built their first home. Robert Brownlie and family now reside where the Anderson home was built. This same year (1854) Joseph and Margaret Humphrey and family came and settled south of Prairie Creek, and in the spring of 1855, James and John Mitchell with their wives and families, and later Walter Mitchell and John and Jane McGregor with their families of sons and daughters, and a few years later Moses Mitchell, all finding homes in and around Scotch Grove. "The Ure family, thus re-inforced, soon after began an effort to secure preaching at Scotch Grove. But who first proposed asking for preaching, or where the meeting was held, is not on record and can not be recalled, but a minute on the records of the Cedar Rapids church, dated May 25, 1856, reads thus: 'The people of Scotch Grove presented a petition and were granted one-fourth of the pastor's time.' But by whom this petition was presented is not recorded. Another record reads: 'At a meeting of the United Presbyterian church of Kingston, held on Tuesday afternoon at four o'clock, July 6, 1858, the following paper was adopted: Action of the United Presbyterian congregation of Kingston in relation to the organization of a church at Scotch Grove, Linn County, Iowa. _Resolved_: that we approve of the organization with the understanding that they continue in connection with us as the same pastoral charge until otherwise ordered by the Presbytery.' But the name of the Presbytery is not mentioned. It is supposed that Joseph Humphrey carried the petition to Presbytery. The organization was granted and on the 12th day of August, 1858, a meeting was held in the home of James and Mary Ure, a sermon preached and the congregation organized by Rev. Hugh Sturgeon. There were fifteen charter members, and the name given the congregation was 'Fairfax.' The names of all present can not be recalled, but we remember that John Beatty, who later with his family came to the neighborhood, brought Mr. Sturgeon and was present at this meeting. Three elders were elected, Joseph Humphrey, Alexander Johnson and James Mitchell. James Mitchell did not accept the office and at a later meeting James Ure was elected and with the other two, ordained and installed. Thus organized and equipped they began the work with high hopes and willing hands, if not much ready money. There being no public building which could be used for religious meetings, they were held in homes, most of the time in the home of Miss Margaret Ure. Rev. Sturgeon did not long remain and others came. Revs. Douthett, A. J. Allen, Sawhill, Fulton, and others. Doctor Roberts of the Covenanter faith preached a few times. One occasion is remembered when he was to preach in the home of Mr. Wadsworth, where Mr. and Mrs. William Russell now live. Heavy rains had fallen during the week and Prairie creek was over its banks, with the bridge either washed away or overflowed. Several families lived on the other side who must attend the service on the Sabbath, no thought of the high water being an excuse for staying at home. They wished to attend and were needed to assist with the singing. The names of three families are remembered: Dixon, Junk, and Humphrey. Among other plans some one suggested building a raft, whom we do not remember, but superintended by Andrew Mitchell the work was begun, and finished Saturday afternoon. Sabbath afternoon the families came in their wagons as far as the creek, where they were met by neighbors on this side, ferried across by Andrew Mitchell, and conveyed to the home of Mr. Wadsworth. After the service they were brought back to the place of crossing and again ferried over, all in a quiet way becoming the day and occasion. Thus obstacles were met and overcome with the persistent determination of people who retained some of the spirit of their invincible John Knox. But a school house was erected in the early sixties, known as the James Ure school house, and religious meetings were held here. If possible, preaching, if not, Sabbath school and prayer meeting until their first pastor, Rev. J. T. Torrence, came among them. "Shall we ask: Did the work prosper? How well, vines transplanted from the Scotch Grove church in Nebraska, Kansas, Colorado, Idaho and far-off California will testify. "Is it possible to over-estimate the courage and perseverance of our fathers and mothers, who began the work in this new country under the great difficulties and privations, and whose faith, as well as strength of arm, has made possible the privileges we, their children, enjoy? We trust we shall not forget, but to succeeding generations tell the heroism of the daily strife and the earnestness and value of the twice daily prayer, 'All honor to the builders of this Church.' 'The world may sound no trumpets--ring no bells, The book of life the shining record tells.' "THE CHARTER MEMBERS "Fifty years is a longer time than the memory of most of those living runs. The span of life is not always, in fact not usually, lengthened to include events so wide apart in space of time. "Fifty years ago, the great Civil war had not been fought, and it was the hopes of those who held the welfare of their country nearest to their hearts that such a calamity might be averted. Fifty years ago, the memory of those two great national characters, Webster and Clay, whose eloquence and zeal postponed that great contest a decade, was fresh to the little band that bound themselves together here at Scotch Grove that they might have the privileges of a church home. "In May of 1858, the United Presbyterian church was formed by the union of the Associate Presbyterians and Associate Reform Presbyterian churches. In the fall of that same year, fifteen devoted Christian citizens organized the new congregation and called it the United Presbyterian Church of Fairfax, Iowa. "It is interesting to note that while these fifteen early pioneers were planning for the organization, Abraham Lincoln was debating with Douglas the merits of the Dred Scott decision. "These fifteen charter members were: "Samuel Hall and wife, Sarah Hall. "Joseph Humphrey and wife, Margaret Humphrey. "Alexander Johnson and wife, Janet McKinnon Johnson. "James Mitchell and wife, Margaret McArthur Mitchell. "John Mitchell and wife, Margaret Mitchell. "William McKinnon and wife, Janet McKinnon. "James Ure and wife, Mary Ure, and "Miss Margaret Ure. "Associated with these fifteen charter members in word and work were John McGregor and wife, Jane Robertson McGregor, who later became members of the new organization. "Of these persons, there are three still living--Mr. and Mrs. James Ure, who live at Denver, Colorado, and Mr. James Mitchell, who lives at Cedar Rapids, Iowa. [Mr. and Mrs. Ure are now deceased, 1910]. "James and Margaret Ure were among the very earliest settlers in this community. They, with their parents, had come to Iowa in 1841, five years before the territory was admitted to statehood. Both were born in Scotland and came to America in 1838, settling near Springfield, Ohio, where they lived till they came west. In 1857 James Ure was married to Mary Kerr. She was born in March, 1835, in Mercer, Pennsylvania, where she spent her early childhood, later removing with her parents to Dubuque, Iowa. They began housekeeping on their farm just east of the grove, where they lived till April, 1892, when they moved to Denver, Colorado. "In September, 1879, Mr. Ure asked for his certificate of admission, which was granted. He was one of the ruling elders elected at the time of the organization. "Margaret Ure was born in Scotland in 1821. After coming to Scotch Grove she resided on the Ure homestead, now owned by Jas. Rogers. She was a woman of great abilities and was always liberal in giving of her time and means to the work of the church. The church building was not erected for some years after the organization of the congregation and her home was always open for the holding of services during this time. The pulpit furniture now in use was a gift of hers. She removed to Cedar Rapids in 1884, where she died. She was buried in the Fairfax cemetery. "James Mitchell, one of the three surviving charter members, and who now resides at Cedar Rapids, Iowa, was born March 3, 1821, in Buchlyvie, Stirlingshire, Scotland. He came to America in 1851 and settled in New York state. July 8, 1853, he was married to Margaret McArthur and in July, 1855, came to Linn county, Iowa. Mrs. Mitchell was born June 8, 1823, and died June 20, 1904, at the age of 81 years and 12 days. "At the time Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell came west, in 1855, the railroad ran no farther west than to Rock Island. At this point they, in company with Margaret and William Ure, were compelled to cross the Mississippi river on the ice. It was here that they received their first initiation into the life of hardship and peril that fell to the life of the early pioneer. While crossing the river, the wheels of their dray began to cut through the ice. There was danger of the ice giving way and all being drowned, but by means of levers and props they were able to reach the Iowa shore in safety. "When Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell reached Scotch Grove, they took for their home a small log house some five or six rods southwest from the present church building, and with the munificent sum of ten dollars with which to furnish their home, started to carve out their career in the new country. With Mrs. Mitchell there was little thought of what her spring hat would be like, or what she should serve when it came her turn to give a Kensington to the ladies of the community. It would probably be some days before any money would find its way into the family purse, and those ten dollars must be guarded with jealous care. True, potatoes could be had, and Mr. Ure and his family had proven that the potato could be used as the sole article of diet for at least three months. "In 1898 they removed to Cedar Rapids, where four years ago Mrs. Mitchell died. She was buried at Fairfax cemetery. Mr. Mitchell is now eighty-seven years of age. He was elected to the office of ruling elder in December, 1879, which he filled till the time he removed to Cedar Rapids. July 8, 1903, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell celebrated their golden wedding. "John Mitchell came to America in 1853. Margaret McGregor Mitchell was born in Sterlingshire, Scotland, September 8, 1831. In 1852 she came to America with her parents, settling in New York state. The following year she was married to Mr. John Mitchell and in 1855 came to Scotch Grove. Here they settled in a small log house near the present church lot. Robert Ure, father of James and Margaret Ure, had, during the time of the gold excitement in California, built three of these houses, the first being erected without the use of a nail. "Mr. Mitchell entered forty acres of land west of where the Conley school house now stands. After the school house was built, preaching services and Sabbath school were held there, and Mr. Mitchell was one of the most active in lending help and maintaining the services. He died January 17, 1896, at Norway; she February 3, 1892. Both were buried in the Fairfax cemetery. "Alexander Johnson was born in Pennsylvania, his father coming to America from Ireland. On coming to Iowa he lived at Cedar Rapids for a time, where he teamed. Here he lost his first wife and was later married to Janet McKinnon, who was born in Bo'ness, Scotland, and came to America in 1845. "Mrs. Johnson owned some land at Que's Grove, now known as Quam's Grove. This she bought from the government. Mr. Johnson had money with which to build a house and they thus moved on the land, where they lived till the time of his death. "Mr. Johnson was elected to the office of ruling elder when the congregation was organized, and was at all times an active and persistent worker in the church. He had become attached to his early church home and was reluctant to leave. It may seem strange, but yet it is true, that the place where a person spends the best years of his life, where he has toiled and labored to make a home, becomes in old age, after he is compelled to lay down his labors, the spot that is dearest to him. He had seen the community grow and develop, and as it had grown, his hopes had opened. "Some time prior to his death, the members of his family wanted to remove to Washington, Iowa. He could not entertain the thought of leaving his old home community, whose growth and development had meant so much to him, and in a conversation with a member of the congregation remarked that he had said, 'If they take me away from here, it will be in my coffin, but now I have given my consent to go.' "He was not permitted to make the change. During the latter part of his life he was confined to his bed. He died at Norway, having reached the age of eighty-four years. Mrs. Johnson died three years ago at Washington, Iowa. "Joseph Humphrey was born in New York state, January 19, 1816, and when quite young his parents removed to Butler county, Pennsylvania. In 1836 he was married to Margaret Gill. She was born May 30, 1818, in Butler county, Pennsylvania. They came to Iowa May 5, 1855, and settled near Norway. "In the church he occupied the highest office to which a private member can be called by the voice of the congregation, that of ruling elder, being chosen elder at the organization of the congregation. He had a high sense of the responsibility of his office, viewing it as one of divine authority. It was his study, as a steward of God, to fulfill its duties and maintain its authority. He was punctual and regular in attendance at all the meetings of the congregation and gave largely of his means and time in forwarding its interests. He believed that the minister was worthy of his hire, and rather than neglect this duty he would let his boys go barefooted to church. He died December 5, 1871, at the age of fifty-six years. Mrs. Humphrey died May 22, 1900, eight days before her eighty-second birthday. Both were buried in Fairfax cemetery. "Samuel Hall was born March 29, 1806, in Westmoreland county, Pennsylvania. His wife, Sarah Jobe Hall, was born October 8, 1808, in Lancaster county, Pennsylvania. In April of 1851 they came to Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and entered land just west of that place, where they lived till their removal to Cedar Rapids in 1883. Mrs. Hall died March 10, 1886, and Mr. Hall on the 13th, three days later. Both were buried in the same grave in Sisley Grove cemetery. They were one of the four couples mentioned here, who celebrated their golden wedding. [Illustration: SCENE ON THE CEDAR AT CEDAR RAPIDS] [Illustration: BIRDSEYE VIEW LOOKING EAST, CEDAR RAPIDS] [Illustration: CEDAR RIVER DAM, CEDAR RAPIDS] "Mr. and Mrs. William McKinnon were born in Scotland and were married before coming to America. They came to Scotch Grove at an early date, about 1852. For a time they lived with David McKinnon, east of the grove, and later moving to their new home north of Norway. Moved to the western part of the state and there died. "During the early days of the new congregation, Mr. McKinnon rendered valuable services as leader in the singing. His clear and distinct voice could be heard and followed with ease by the body of the congregation. "Mr. and Mrs. John McGregor were both born in Scotland, he May 11, 1801, in Callander, she August 13, 1806, in Bo'ness. They came to America in 1852, settling in New York, and in 1857 came to Iowa where they settled on a farm west of the grove. Mr. McGregor was active in the work of the church and especially in the raising of funds for the new church building. Both were loyal supporters of the church, and were among those who kept their membership in the congregation till the time of their death. "The same vessel that brought them to America brought Mr. Jas. Mitchell. It was a sailing vessel and required six weeks to cross the ocean. This past summer their great-granddaughters made the voyage in the Lusitania in less than five days. "In 1877 they celebrated their golden wedding at their home, the same home they chose when first coming to Scotch Grove. Mr. McGregor died November 8, 1894, at the age of ninety-three years, the greatest age reached by any of the early members. August 13, 1880, Mrs. McGregor died, being just seventy-four years old. Both were buried in the Fairfax cemetery. "Conditions then and now are quite different. Railroads were not yet built into the community. At one time the produce had to be hauled to Davenport and Muscatine. It took a week to make the trip and when one got back home, little was left to encourage another trip. There were no roads in many places, and the oxen, which were often used in those days, frequently left the wagon stuck in some slough. Before railroads were built into Cedar Rapids, a steamboat came up the river from the Mississippi, bringing groceries and dry-goods and carrying the produce back. No money could be had for the grain and stock. One must take in exchange for them groceries and dry-goods. The panic of 1857 had not yet spent its force. Such were the conditions surrounding the early pioneers when the congregation was organized. "These members were not only pioneers in carving out homes in a new country, but they were pioneers of the faith. Religious services, Sabbath school and prayer meetings were held at Conley school house, at Norway, and at Livermore school house, besides those held at the church. They cherished the hope and faith in the divine which they had brought with them to the new country, and were persistent in offering to all who might come, the advantages of the sanctuary. "The early pioneers are always men of firm faith, sturdy and strong in their beliefs, set in their opinions. It is not to be wondered at, that when the question of where to erect the new church building arose, there were differences of opinion. Some wanted it located at Brownlie's corner, some at Conley's school house and some just west of the present site. It was at such times that William Ure stepped into the threatened breach and by his calm counsel brought unity to the opposing opinions. Although not a member of the Fairfax congregation Mr. Ure rendered services as valuable as any of its members in giving financial aid and in other ways. "Of these fifteen charter members, Mr. and Mrs. James Mitchell, James and Margaret Ure, William McKinnon and John Mitchell were all born and lived during their childhood in the same community in Scotland. They were all baptized by the Rev. Mr. Russell, and they attended the same church and school. In coming west to the new country they chose out a beautiful spot, fertile and productive. During the fifty years, within the memory of one of the charter members, land that was bought from the government for $1.25 per acre has been sold for $150 per acre. "Four of these couples, Mr. and Mrs. Jas. Mitchell, Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Hall, Mr. and Mrs. Jas. Ure, and Mr. and Mrs. John McGregor, have celebrated their golden weddings. Of these early pioneers of Scotch Grove, one has passed the age of ninety years, six have passed the age of eighty years, and but two died before reaching the age of seventy, a beautiful commentary upon their rugged and sturdy character and habits." BOULDER TOWNSHIP Boulder township is located in the northern part of the county and despite its name is one of the most fertile and productive portions of the county. The surface is generally rolling, dotted in an early day with excellent groves of native timber. Buffalo creek in the days before windmills were in common use was a much prized stream which was used by farmers near and far, for the use of their stock. William Wagner is supposed to have made the first settlement in 1850. He was shortly followed by William McQueen and Silas Edington. Later came the following named persons: John Wagner, Will Ward, H. B. Brown, Frank Cooly, J. Wilds, J. Barnhardt and Ben Harrison. In the early fifties came an itinerant Methodist minister, John Bell, and organized a small congregation, services being held in a school house near the present site of Prairieburg. The John McQueen grist mill which began operation about 1854 on Buffalo creek, a mile southwest of Prairieburg, was a noted mill in its day and was largely patronized by the early settlers. The town of Prairieburg was named by Henry Ward, the first postmaster. The first house was a log structure built by Joe Barnhardt in 1853. N. Parsons erected the second house and Henry Wayne the third, which was a store building where he opened a store. In 1856, Will Wagner started a shoe shop, and other buildings, such as hotels and blacksmith shops came later. The recent advent of the railroad has boomed the town and the price of land has increased greatly. A number of the early settlers and their descendants are still land owners in this township, Coquillette, Whitney, Paul, O'Rourke, Carpenter, Walker, McQueen, Burke, Rundle, Pillard, Nelson, Lacy, Leonard, Le Clerc, Smith, Cushman, Hill, Soesbe, Garvis, Drexler, Tear, Considine, Matsel, and other well known families. CLINTON TOWNSHIP Clinton township, with a population of 1,000 people, located in the western tier of townships, has a rich, productive soil and has been farmed continuously for sixty years and the soil shows no sign of deterioration. The farmers residing in Clinton township have well improved farms, good roads and a number of fine school houses and churches. For many years the road known as the Toledo road, as well as the Marengo road, were the two chief thoroughfares for travelers, gold seekers, and others, and consequently it was early well advertised. Among some of the early settlers in this township may be mentioned John Conley, Hiram Usher, Joe Brown, Dyer Usher, George Buchanan, Reese and the Langhams, and scores of others who came here in the '40s. James Yuill, Henry Maurer, John Fox, Whiteneck, Sisley, Kuhn, Wieneke, Lederman, O'Connell, the Miller family, Misners, Scotts, Swetts, Hall, Snell, and many others of the early settlers came here in an early day, building up the community. They have long since passed away leaving their children and grandchildren large tracts of productive land. Sisley Grove was at a very early time a place where all the settlers, as well as travellers, congregated. The grove at that time was much larger than it is at present, and many of the farmers adjoining owned small tracts of land in this grove where they cut rails and fence posts for their farms during the winter. Here is also located a cemetery where many of the old settlers are buried, and at an early day a church was built at which the early pioneers congregated once a week to hear the word of God preached. In the absence of any regular preacher frequently the pioneer farmers preached to the congregations. This church was abandoned some years ago and the congregation has since worshiped at Fairview, a few miles further east. Here, also, was located Kuhn's blacksmith shop and hotel. Kuhn was a queer old fellow, who not only was an expert blacksmith but the only one for miles who was competent to shoe oxen, and consequently during the winter months he was a very busy man. Kuhn not only was a good horseshoer and blacksmith, but he was a dentist as well and pulled teeth when blacksmithing was slack. At one time he pulled a tooth for an old settler with an instrument used in those days and as it was pretty severe he gave a drink of whiskey to stop the pain. After the fellow fully recovered his senses the tooth ached as before and the patient learned that the dentist had pulled the wrong tooth and so informed the blacksmith, to which the blacksmith replied, "That will be easy to remedy, just take another drink and we will go at it again, and you will not be out very much as my charges are only ten cents a tooth." Old Mr. Kuhn seemed to know the wants of the community, for he kept a barrel of whiskey in his blacksmith shop and sold the stuff at thirty cents a gallon, and served free drinks to anyone on paying his bill. The hotel was not a modern kind of a house, but was generally full, as travellers in those days were plentiful. The old man also sold feed to travellers and consequently he generally got a little something out of every traveller who passed by Sisley Grove. The grove was named in honor of the first settler who owned most of the land, on which the grove is situated. During the early '50s and '60s Clinton township produced more wheat, it is said, than any other township in the county, all of which was hauled to Cedar Rapids. BUFFALO TOWNSHIP Buffalo township was first settled by George C. Perkins, who came here in 1839 and made a claim which he occupied thereafter during his lifetime. In the early days it was well wooded and consequently much of this land was sold in small strips to adjoining farmers. GRANT TOWNSHIP AND WALKER For the following interesting sketch of the early settlement of northwestern Linn county we are under obligations to Justin Barry, editor of the Walker _News_. Grant township, forming the northwest corner of Linn county, was organized in 1872 as the result of a struggle over the levying of a tax in aid of the construction of a railroad. The B., C. R. & N., since incorporated into the Rock Island system, had projected a line from Cedar Rapids north toward the Minnesota line. Washington township, then embracing much more territory than at present, had voted a five per cent tax in aid of the road. Those living in the northern portion of the township rebelled, and in an effort to escape the tax petitioned for a division of the territory and the formation of a new township. They succeeded in the latter effort and the new township was designated Grant, in honor of General Grant, who was then president. However, the people did not escape the tax, and some of those who most vigorously opposed it later embarked in business in the new town of Walker, which sprung up with the coming of the railroad, and thus their defeat became in fact the foundation for modest fortunes, which came from the large territory and the equally large profits of pioneer business days. As the earlier settlers sought out the timbered sections regardless of the quality of the land, what is now Grant township, comprised as it is almost wholly of prairie, was one of the last portions of the county to be developed. Some few settlers came early, but progress generally was slow. A family named Norris was the first to settle within its territory, being already located along what is now its southern border when John K. Speake and family came in 1840. The Norrises have since disappeared and no one seems to know whither they went. James Buforde Speake is now the oldest living settler in the township, and though past eighty years of age he continues to operate the farm in section 19 on which his father filed when the family arrived here from Illinois in 1840. Other settlers came at long intervals, but for many years after the arrival of the first it was predicted with great assurance that the northern portion of the township never would be settled but would always remain a wilderness. And yet this valley, including the present town site of Walker, lying north of what in the early days was called Wright's Grove, now Fox's Grove, must have presented an attractive picture and one of rare beauty in its wild state, viewed from the surrounding hills, a little creek winding its way through the center, flanked all about by great rolling ridges and fringed on either bank with willows, with here and there a giant oak towering above all else. William Davis settled in the southwest portion of the township in 1841, and on his farm in about 1850 or a little earlier was laid out the first cemetery in the township. It is still in use for that purpose and many of the monuments erected in the early days bear quaint inscriptions. Mr. Davis died in 1866, leaving a large estate to his sons, Hezekiah and Edward, who carried on extensive farm operations. The former kept a pack of hounds and for many years scoured the country for miles around in search of wolves. The Davises later met with reverses and left the county years ago shorn of a large share of the princely estate, which once had embraced many hundreds of acres of land in Benton and Linn counties. E. D. Hazeltine, who died only a few weeks ago at his home in Center Point, was another early settler in the southern portion of the township, and he was long active in all its interests. He served for some time in the early days as a county commissioner. During the '50s numerous pioneer families arrived, including those of Thomas Fee, W. C. Ring, C. G. and Benjamin Gitchell, W. S. Bliss, Chorydon Gilchrist, Christian Iehl, and others. Following the close of the Civil war development was more rapid, a number of soldiers fresh from the service joining the pioneers in their work of subduing the wilderness. In 1873 when the railroad arrived settlement had reached the northern border of the township, where James A. North, Walker Purviance, William Moses and others were located. The building of the railroad brought the establishment of a new town on section 4, which was called Walker, in honor of W. W. Walker, then chief engineer and afterward superintendent and receiver of the road. James K. Hotchkin built the first business building, opening a general store, and he was also appointed as the first postmaster. The second business building was erected by Theo. Hamblin, present mayor of the town, who engaged in the grocery business. O. C. Barnes built a hotel on the site now occupied by the Walker _News_ office, and Fred Hoffman erected the store building now occupied by S. Liddle. The first residence was built by C. G. Gitchell, who leased his farm in section 21 and engaged in the lumber and grain business in partnership with Fred Hoffman, and Mrs. Gitchell was the first woman resident of the town. Messrs. Gitchell and Hoffman prospered greatly in business, amassing modest fortunes, and both remained for many years among the leaders in business affairs. Mr. Gitchell later represented his county for two terms in the lower house of the General Assembly of Iowa. [Illustration: QUAKER OATS PLANT, CEDAR RAPIDS] [Illustration: STREET RAILWAY STATION AT BEVER PARK, CEDAR RAPIDS] The town grew steadily and at once became an important market point, tapping a wide territory of rich farming country, and for many years it has been recognized as the best shipping point on the Decorah division of the Rock Island, barring only one or two of the larger cities. The farmers soon turned their attention largely to dairying, and in the town now is one of the finest creamery plants in the state, "Walker" butter having gained a wide fame in the city markets. Municipal affairs have been wisely and economically administered ever since the incorporation of the town in 1891, when the following were chosen as the first officers: Mayor, W. A. Jones; councilmen, C. G. Gitchell, J. P. Bross, H. J. Nietert, J. N. Keys, Theo. Hamblin and P. L. Hutchins; recorder, O. C. Swartz; treasurer, M. B. Dodge; assessor, E. R. Wheeler; marshal, J. M. Peyton. Walker now has a pretty park embracing about two blocks of ground, a complete municipal water-works system affording fire protection to all portions of the town, and a well equipped fire department. The water-works system has just been re-enforced by the sinking of a second deep well, affording an inexhaustible supply of water, and the installation of a second pumping equipment. The town's graded school system has reached a high standard of efficiency, and its graduates rank well as teachers and as students in higher institutions. The school has four departments, all of them crowded to their full capacity, the enrollment including many tuition scholars. Several thousand dollars have already been set aside as the foundation of a fund for the erection of a new brick school building, which will be a necessity within a few years. The town is well supplied with churches, having four protestant and one Catholic society. In the order of their organization they are: Methodist Episcopal, Free Methodist, Catholic, Presbyterian, Christian. The first church organized in the town was in 1874 by the Wesleyan Methodist, but that denomination has since passed from the field. That the town and surrounding country are prosperous and rapidly growing in wealth is shown by the fact that Walker now boasts of two strong banks having resources reaching a half a million dollars, and with deposits steadily increasing. Its business men are enterprising and progressive. Regularly laid out, its streets lined with shade trees, bordering permanent walks and well kept lawns, the town presents a pretty appearance, and town officials and citizens seem to vie with each other in their efforts to maintain its reputation as being one of the prettiest towns in the county. MAINE TOWNSHIP We are indebted to a loyal citizen of the county for the following historical sketch of one of the finest districts in the county--Maine township. Dr. Ward Woodbridge has treated sympathetically the early days in and around Central City. He long has lived there, has been a potent factor in the development of his community, and knows whereof he speaks. Maine township geographically is located in the northeast corner of Linn county, being in the second row of townships from both the north and east. Its shape is an irregular triangle, containing forty-seven square miles, making it one-third larger than the average township. This is due to an early arrangement whereby a portion of Buffalo township became a part of Maine. The Wapsie river divides Buffalo township nearly in the middle. In its early history the larger number of people resided south of the river, as there were no bridges in those days, and the river held a high stage of water, making it difficult to cross. These people finally asked to be attached to Maine township for administrative purposes, and all that portion of Buffalo on the south side of the river was made a part of Maine, and has never been restored. The Wapsie river runs along the northeastern border of Maine, and is the dividing line between it and Buffalo. Along the river, and from one to three miles in width on either side, the land is somewhat hilly, sandy, and has been heavily timbered. When the more level country is reached it becomes a gently undulating plain, rich black loam and very productive. As we turn in retrospect, seeing its growth and development, we can see the work of the hardy and determined pioneers on every hand. It was they who blazed the way. It was they who built this Appian way of progress. It was their devotion and privation, patiently endured, that have caused not two, but myriads of blades of grass to grow where hitherto the one blade was trampled under foot by the roving Indian and buffalo, and although their forms have vanished and their voices are stilled, and the hands roughened by honest toil lie quiet, yet their work lives after them. They left that imprint on both descendants and administration which makes of the Maine township citizenship today a sturdy, hard-headed class, whose public opinion always crystallizes on the side of righteousness, of truth and justice. Its people never have to apologize for their course. Probably the first white settler was John Jenkins, who came in 1838 and settled on the farm adjoining Central City known as the Ormus Clark farm. In 1839 Joseph Clark bought the farm of Jenkins, he being a son-in-law of Clark. It lies to the southwest of Central City, and a portion of it lies within the corporation. It is now owned by C. C. Crane. In the winters of 1838-1840 a few trappers wintered along the banks of the Wapsie, but the names of no permanent settlers are recorded. In the spring of 1840 two young men, natives of Maine, landed in Maine township. They had left their state two years before and stopped at Peoria, Illinois, working there through the summer, and going south in the winter where they worked in the cotton yards of New Orleans. Returning from New Orleans in the spring of 1840 they bought three yoke of cattle, a big prairie plow, and what other necessaries they needed, and headed for the Mississippi river. Crossing it they drove on and on until arriving one evening at the place known as "Jordan's Grove" they camped for the night. The next morning they cooked breakfast, and while one of them went out to gather up the cattle, the other took his bearings, and when the cattle were brought up he had the plow out of the wagon. On inquiry from his partner as to what he was about he said, "This looks good to me. Hitch onto the plow." These two young men were L. D. Jordan and Ed McKinney. They broke enough to hold their claims, went to Dubuque and filed on them, returned, built cabins, went back to Maine and married sisters, returned and made homes, and Mr. Jordan lived his whole life on the spot where he unloaded the plow, dying there in 1890. McKinney moved from the neighborhood some years before his death. They both lived to be old men. In 1840 the Heaton family came, and P. A. and Will Heaton still live in Central City, together with two or three of the women of the family. In October, 1844, Chandler Jordan arrived at his brother's place. He remained all night, and in the morning got on a horse and rode north through the grove to the brow of the hill overlooking the Wapsie valley. It was beautiful Indian summer. All was purple, yellow, and gold, and the blue-joint grass stood as high as the back of his horse all the way down the valley. He gazed fascinated, rode slowly down the valley of a small creek that meandered from its source in the grove, to the river. In a level place on the bank of the creek he stopped, staked out a claim, returned, went to Dubuque and filed on it, came back and began improvements. He broke the ground and raised crops, and in the spring of 1847 built a cabin on the spot where he first dismounted, and married Sarah D. Waterhouse in June. They went at once to the cabin and began housekeeping. Later they built more commodious quarters, and in 1860 erected the brick house in which they both died in 1909. Harvey Powell came in 1844 also, and entered a fine tract of land on the ridge west of Central City, where he lived to a good old age. In 1846 N. C. Gillilan came; Jennings Crawford in 1854, and the Haas family in the early fifties. About this time settlers began coming in so rapidly that honorable mention can not be made of all of them, even if they could be traced. It can readily be seen that the earliest settlers coming from the state of Maine gave the name to the township. They were a sturdy lot of pioneers, determined to win success from their surroundings. They knew no such word as fail or can't. They knew no surcease from labor, but toiled on without murmur or complaint. Markets were a long way off, Dubuque and Muscatine being the principal places where they sold their produce. It took four days to take a load to Dubuque and bring one back. They never made the trip with empty wagons. There were no bridges. The roads ran across the virgin prairie, and often, when sloughs were bad, they had to take off part of the load, drive through a bad place, unload what they had hauled over and return for the rest, thus delaying their journey. Finally the Northwestern road came to Cedar Rapids in 1859, and later a road to Marion and Springville, bringing, as they felt, markets to their very doors. They turned the virgin soil, sowed, reaped, mowed, and garnered the fruits of their labor year after year, early and late alike, working with the primitive tools of that day when most of the work was done by main strength instead of machinery. They formed from necessity those habits of saving every thing which, with many, later resulted in an abundance for the rainy day. These early privations, sturdy devotion to the work, with a fidelity well worth emulation has brought its rewards in one of the richest agricultural regions on earth. They saw the steady advancement of material things as a reward for their patient toil. They established schools and churches, overcoming as rapidly as possible the drawbacks and inconveniences of pioneer life. They made the way of the transgressor a hard one, and when law breakers and horse thieves escaped through some sharp practice, they took the law in their own hands and rid the country for all time of the horse thief and general law breaker, thereby putting a premium on honesty. The villages of Waubeek and Central City were established in the usual way. Blacksmith shops, stores, and post offices being a necessity, they were established on the banks of the Wapsie river, Central City on the north side of the river just at the north line of the township, and Waubeek five miles southeast on the south bank of the river. Some dams were built across the river at both places and saw mills established to saw lumber for the pioneer houses to displace the log cabin. These were followed by grist mills to make flour for the settlers, and for many years the mills at both places were run at their full capacity. Gradually wheat was abandoned as a product, and the people were able to buy a better grade of flour than the home mills could make. They were allowed to run down and were neglected until finally the mill at Waubeek was allowed to fall in the river. The last vestige of its site is gone. The mill at Central City has run until lately, grinding the feed for the farmers, but it, too, has quit, the wheel is still, and the busy scenes about its doors are but memories of its great convenience and usefulness to those it served so well. After years of quiet and peaceful pursuits the mutterings of civil war began to be heard. The lowering clouds portending the storm made the heart of many a pioneer mother beat with anxiety as she felt that if it came she must lay a son on the altar. Finally when the storm burst on the community Maine township was not backward in sending its quota of men, something like twenty of its best sons enlisting in the Twentieth Iowa, and others in the Sixteenth, the Twenty-fourth, and other scattered regiments. With improved market facilities and the high prices of war times the farmers rapidly accumulated a competence. The war over, the soldiers returned to peaceful pursuits, the young men of other states began to hunt up locations, and many of them found their way to Maine township. Farms were rapidly opened up after 1865, and it was not many years until all the open prairie was turned, fenced, put to crops, homes built, and the whole face of the township changed to a busy, peaceful, and prosperous scene. In its early days there was little chance or opportunity for religious gatherings. It was difficult to find ministers to conduct funerals, and church services were a long way apart, both in meeting places and appointment. In 1854 a Methodist class was established at Central City, then called Clarksford. In 1856 the Jordan's Grove Baptist church was organized, and in 1858 the Congregational church at Central City was established. In 1855 the village of Waubeek was laid out, and for many years was a fine trading point. Its stores, together with its mill, did a fine business. It has one of the finest store buildings in Linn county. In 1856 the village of Central City was surveyed, and the same year the dam was built across the river where it now stands. In 1887 the Illinois Central railroad built a line from Manchester to Cedar Rapids, running it through Central City. This little city, exactly half way between Manchester and Cedar Rapids, at once began to grow as soon as it was certain the railroad would be built. This road was a great boon to the north part of Linn county, as before that Marion was its nearest market, and many had to haul their produce twenty miles to reach it. Central City now has six hundred people. It has fourteen business houses, three churches, a solid bank, a fine school doing full twelve-grade work. The post office is third class, with four rural routes. It is the distributing point for freight for all the surrounding country, with large hog, cattle, hay, and grain buying facilities. It has two lumber yards, and from 1,200 to 2,000 tons of coal are shipped in here every year. The village of Waubeek has no railroad and has made no advance for the past twenty years. It has four stores, post office, creamery, two churches, good schools, and fine stone quarries. It is not necessary to enlarge on this history. It is doubtless a repetition of the history of many other townships, but we, its citizens, have a local pride in its beauty, its bounty, its prosperity, its boundless hospitality. No finer cattle, hogs, horses, sheep, and poultry can be found on the face of the earth than are raised in Maine township. The physical, moral, social, intellectual, and financial condition of the people is on a high plane, and shows a steady growth and development through all the years since the first settlement. Its people have laid aside the miserly habits made necessary by their early struggles, and there is literally nothing too good for them to have and enjoy. This prosperity is shown by the fine modern homes being built, or remodeled from the older ones, all over the township, with every modern convenience in the way of plumbing and heating, and furnished in the latest and best way. Commodious barns and outbuildings, tiling of wet places, and building of woven wire fences mark the advances of farm work, making every acre available for cultivation. The bounteous crops, the high prices of all farm produce, the solid improvements being made, the phenomenal price of land--and it is still soaring--all mark a prosperous, happy, and contented people, loyal, honest, industrious, hospitable, ready always to entertain the stranger within the gates. Farm life no longer carries with it the dreary isolation and monotony of early pioneer life. The work is done with modern machinery. Telephones extend to every home in the township. Rural delivery takes the mail each morning to their doors, and the latest literature is found on their library tables. They are in touch with every phase of life. The women no longer spin and weave, and then sew and knit, but buy ready made the best that is manufactured. When the day's work is done they come to town in their automobiles, the women gowned in the latest fashions, to enjoy an evening of social pleasure, engage in club work, society work, lodge work, and church work. The village of Waubeek has a ladies' improvement club, and they have built over a mile of fine cement sidewalk. As one rides over the great state of Iowa and sees its flocks and herds, its fine homes, cities, towns, and villages, the bounteous crops, and notes the intelligence and contentment of its people, we are led with the red men of virgin days to exclaim "E-A-WAH," the beautiful land, and no fairer spot can be found in its broad domain than Maine township, of which we are all proud to be residents and citizens. JACKSON TOWNSHIP Jackson township is in the north tier of townships. It is bounded on the north by Buchanan county, on the east by Boulder township, on the south by Maine and on the west by Spring Grove townships. It is well watered by the Wapsie river as well as by Buffalo creek, both of which streams traverse parts of the ground called for political purposes Jackson township. The township is largely settled by Americans whose ancestors located on these verdant prairies in the forties and fifties. The township is supposed to have been named by David Sutton, in honor of his patron saint Andrew Jackson. James Lytle came from Indiana and took up a claim here in 1841. He brought his wife who was a daughter of David Sutton, who located here in January, 1843, with a wife and nine children. The first white child born in the township was Frances, a daughter of Mr. and Mrs. James Lytle. Sam W. Justice came in 1845 and erected a house on ground where now is the town of Paris, which was staked out on the south bank of the Wapsie river on what is now sections 19 and 20, township 86, range 6. Sam Chamberlain opened the first store and established quite a trade, which later was shared by Rob. C. Powell, who erected a more complete store building and provided more pretentious quarters where he was besides store keeper the first postmaster. Dan McCrellis and Anos Bond located on lands on which this embryo town was started. Dave Long also saw fit to stop here in search of a home as early as 1848. Miss Pethenia Gray taught the first school about a half a mile west of Paris in 1850. The first religious services were conducted by Rev. Little at the home of Sam Justin. Jas. Nugent settled in section 12 in the northeastern part of the county in 1847 at what for many years was known as Nugent's Grove. Mr. Nugent was for many years justice, school director, township trustee, and held other offices. He was a leader of the republican party for many years and well known over the county. He died a number of years ago, the widow passing away at an advanced age in the fall of 1910. S. D. Mills settled here with his family in 1853, followed the following spring by F. M. Philips who came from Illinois, but returned again and permanently located in the county three years later. The years from 1854-1857 were the most active in the matter of land purchase in this township. In 1854 came Wm. Henderson of Scotch descent from Canada with his family and located on lands a little to the west of the present town of Coggon. A large number of the descendants of this family are still large property owners and respected and enterprising citizens of this township. E. L. Ware, Henry Thorp, G. C. Edgerly and many others purchased lands and settled here during these years. John Bruce in 1858 during the hard times had the courage to erect a stone grist mill on Buffalo creek at the present site of Coggon and this property later came into the possession of Amos Green who operated the mill till 1876, when he erected a frame structure. This mill was much appreciated by the settlers and it was a busy place for many years. Up till the time of the Illinois Central railway extension in 1887, the place was known as Green's Mill, later called Nugent, after the postoffice, and then named Coggon. The first store at Green's Mill was run by John Bruce, who ran this in connection with his mill. The advent of railroads brought up the price of lands, markets were offered for grain and rents at once advanced and since that time the growth has been steady and healthful till Jackson township is not excelled by any other community in the state. LINN TOWNSHIP Linn township, in the southeastern part of the county, on account of its location was early settled by L. M. Kepler of Indiana, and G. A. Yeisley of Pennsylvania, who came here as early as 1837. By 1840 a large number had located in the township, such as J. C. Goudy, Dan McCall, Isaac Kyle and Oliver Clark who had emigrated from Ohio, Benj. Hoover, Alex Torrance, Jas. Varner, who had come from Pennsylvania; Chancy Neal, Geo. House, William Perkins and others from the eastern states. Sam Ellison had come from Ireland, and J. W. Walton from England. The descendants of many of these early settlers are still residents of the county, the owners of large farms, and of much personal property. It was not until 1852-1857 that settlers came in any large numbers from the eastern states. Then nearly all the vacant lands which had not gotten into the hands of speculators were for the most part taken up and improved. Linn township was on the so-called Anamosa-Iowa City road, as well as on the Marion-Muscatine road, two of the early highways. The township cannot boast of any towns with the exception of Paralta, which is only a junction point of the Milwaukee system. The residents trade at Mt. Vernon and Lisbon. In this township can be found many descendants of the early settlers and even a few of the original pioneers. The Yeisley, Needles, Clark, Neal, Bussenbark, Ink, Leigh, Filloon, Ellison, Beechley, Chamberlain, Stinger, Paul, Remington, Lacock, Stewart, Goudy, Boxwell, Kearns, Ballard, Travis, and other well known early families are still owners of valuable farms within the confines of the old township borders. OTTER CREEK TOWNSHIP Otter Creek township, containing thirty-six sections, situated nearly in the center of Linn county, has been considered one of the best farming communities in Iowa for years. The soil is excellent and there has always been plenty of water in the streams for cattle, which also affords good drainage for tilling purposes. During the last ten years nearly every acre of unproductive land has been reclaimed by a thorough system of drainage, so that now Otter Creek land sells at the top notch. The first settler was William Chamberlain, who located in what later became Monroe township, in 1838. He is the father of the famous Chamberlain family who have made a fortune out of the patent medicine business in Des Moines. The children of William and Rachel Chamberlain were Davis and Lowell, and four daughters named Mrs. Mary Snyder, Mrs. Laura Weeks, Mrs. Lucy A. Taylor, and Isanna L. Chamberlain. Other early settlers might be mentioned as follows: John Cochran, George Cochran, Alexander Nevin, James Hemphill, William Ward, Nate Reynolds, who came in the early '40s. Caleb Hendrix came, it is thought, in 1838. Of him, it is said by John Lanning, that old Caleb used to say that he made a claim and spread his tent on what became Cedar Rapids, but that a lot of bloodthirsty and ferocious Indians camped on the other side of the river and by their acts and grimaces and the noise they made Caleb sized up the situation that this was a case where it would be better to be a live coward than a dead hero and he pulled up stakes and removed further north, going to a number of places before he settled in Otter Creek township, where he finally decided to make his home. Mr. Hendrix married a daughter of James Hemphill in 1845 and for many years was a pillar in the Methodist church and an enthusiastic Sunday school worker. Among other early settlers might be mentioned Perry Oliphant and his wife Susanna, as well as his sons Silas, Edward, John, William, and Henry, and his daughters Lizzie, Mary, and Rillar. These came in 1839 or 1840. Another of the old, well respected families who came here in the early '40s was the Neighbors. John Nevins erected the first saw mill in 1845 near what later became the village of Lafayette. This mill was later owned by John Yambert, James Greene, and A. Brenaman, still later it came into the possession of Fred Notebohn, who added a grist mill, and when the water gave out it was run by steam. Other of the old settlers were James Wallace, Alfred Thomas, William and Samuel Fleming, the Mounces, Seversons, Pences, Fishels, Browns, Fees, Jackmans, Taylors, Chesmores, Hollenbecks, Andrews, Martins, Metcalfs, and many others. One of the first stores kept was in the fall of 1847 when Morris Neighbor opened a small place in what was known as Shingle Town. This name, it is said, came about for the reason that clapboards were made in this vicinity. John Carr, having married Neighbor's sister, also lived here for some time. The postoffice for Otter Creek township was moved around among the old settlers from time to time and was kept, of course, in the farm houses. William Hunt seems to have been the first postmaster. The office was afterwards removed and the postmastership held by Perry Oliphant, and later again removed, with Richard Lanning in charge. During the Civil war the postoffice was conducted by Yambert, Polley, and Moller. It was around the postoffice and country store that politics were discussed and news of the neighborhood commented upon, and it was also here that the pioneer settlers became acquainted and friendships were formed which continued through life. For this reason, no doubt, the country postoffice and the country store did much in an early day to lessen the hardships in pioneer life. Otter Creek township was early visited by itinerary ministers, and as early as 1853 a Christian church was organized. William Kalb, John Yambert, and others being some of the first evangelical preachers in this part of the county. One of the first county meetings of this church was held at the home of George Cochran as early as 1859. The Evangelical church was later organized in this township and some of the early ministers in this denomination were Rev. Borchart, Rev. Maerz, Rev. Gerhart, Rev. Mayne, Rev. Brecher. COLLEGE TOWNSHIP College township is situated in the southern tier of townships in the county, the southern boundary being the county line between Johnson and Linn counties, while on the east and west respectively are Fairfax and Putnam townships. College township is well watered and well drained by several water courses, the principal ones being the Cedar river, Hoosier creek, and Prairie creek. It contains no towns of any size but most of its traffic is now conducted by the Cedar Rapids and Iowa City electric line running from Cedar Rapids to Iowa City. Much of the cream, milk and other products of the farm are shipped daily over this line to Cedar Rapids; since the construction of this line land in College township has gone up in price and the beautiful farm houses, magnificent and well tilled fields speak well for the population of this part of the county. Some of the old settlers of College township are the following: Isaac Smith, Phillip Smith, Dr. J. H. Smith, James Smith, and others of the Smith family who came here in the early '50s. During the next few years came John Lagore, Joseph Custer, Jacob Inbody, the Garnett family, Thomas Philipson, Horn, Henry Rogers, Fritz family, James Snyder, W. F. Minor, Joshua Minor, Sam Minor, the Bakers, and many others. One of the first Baptist churches was erected at Rogers Grove, and a large number of the early settlers in this community belonged to that denomination. SPRING GROVE TOWNSHIP BY A. W. FISHER Spring Grove township is situated in the northern tier of townships in Linn county. It is bordered on the north by Newton township, Buchanan county, on the east by Jackson, on the south by Otter Creek, and on the west by Grant. The land is generally an undulating prairie excepting a strip about two miles wide beginning at the northwest corner of the township in section six, and extending in a southeasterly direction to section twenty-four on the east side of the township, through which the Wapsipinicon river flows. The land near the river on both sides is not only hilly, but consists of a light sandy soil, and was almost covered with a heavy growth of timber in the early pioneer days. Back from the river about one mile the land is prairie and has a deep black loam. The early settlements of Spring Grove township were connected with the settlements in the neighboring townships, and divided themselves into three groups. The first one was on the north side of the Wapsipinicon river, while another settlement was made in the southeastern part of the township in what is called West Prairie, and the third settlement was in the western part of the township. The earliest settlers located along the Wapsipinicon river where the soil is of a poorer quality than it was on the open prairie. The reason for their choice was to secure timber for their buildings and for fuel. In a few cases the settlers were grouped around springs that furnished them with water. Game was abundant in those days and this helped the pioneer during the long cold winters. Large herds of deer were often seen along the timber near the river and on the prairies. Wolves were too plentiful to suit the settler as they prowled around his cabin during the night and carried off poultry whenever the chance offered. Panthers were rarely seen but were too numerous for the more timid in those days. Often cattle and hogs were missing and their loss was attributed to the work of the panther. The early settlers of Spring Grove township did not escape the discomforts of the average pioneer. Their houses were, at the best, rudely constructed of logs, and the stoves used in those days were very poor. Many of the old settlers have informed me that their coffee, when they were lucky enough to secure it, was often frozen after being placed on the breakfast table. The first settlement was on the north side of the Wapsipinicon river around two springs. One of them was in a grove in Newton township, Buchanan county, and the other one a short distance southeast in a grove in our township. To distinguish them the early pioneers called them the Upper and Lower Spring Grove. The name of Spring Grove then came in general use for the entire settlement and was adopted by our settlers as the name of their township. [Illustration: A VIEW OF CEDAR RAPIDS FROM THE ISLAND] [Illustration: RAILROAD YARDS AT CEDAR RAPIDS] The first settler in Spring Grove township was Leonard Austin, who with his family settled in section one of our township in the spring of 1845, and erected the first building from rough unhewn logs taken from the timber surrounding his building site. Mr. Austin was followed by A. J. Ward, who with his family settled near Mr. Austin during the fall of that year. Two years later, in 1847, Josiah Walton and Rev. Wm. Phillips settled as near neighbors to these hardy pioneers. These were soon followed by the Reeces, Holmans, Longs, McPikes, Peytons, Carsons, Whisenands, McKees, Fays, and Waltons, who settled in the northern part of our township and in the southern part of Newton township in Buchanan county, and who are remembered as the early pioneers. The early settlers of the southeastern part of the township were the Bices, Andersons, Saxtons, Leathermans, Plummers, Swaims, Frank Dorr, E. B. Fisher, Bumgardners, Benedicts, McBurneys, Nutting, Carpenters, and Jordans. These settlers formed part of a settlement that extended into Jackson township. They located there during the early part of the '50s. About the same time the western part of the township south of the Wapsipinicon river was settled. Those early settlers were Edwin Jeffreys, A. G. Kibbe, Elmer and J. E. Atwood, father and son, Chas. Cook and sons, Edwin, Enos, George, and Charles, and George Parkhurst. All these early pioneers took an active part in helping to develop the new country. In regard to religious worship the people of Spring Grove may be likened to the Puritans of the early colonial period, as among the earliest settlers came Rev. Wm. Phillips, a minister of the gospel who at first conducted meetings in his own home, and later became a "circuit rider," holding meetings every Sunday either in some private house or in a school house. The Christian organization that is now at Troy Mills was organized by Henry Holman during the summer of 1853 in John W. McKee's house near what is now Troy Mills. Mr. Holman preached the first sermon and continued as pastor until the organization was strong enough to secure a minister to take charge of the work. Isaac Holman, now a resident of Troy Mills, and a son of Henry Holman, was the first superintendent of the Sunday school organized in the township. Rev. N. A. McConnell, of Marion, was one of the ablest ministers of the early period, and would face the worst storms of the season in order to keep his appointment. The people living in the southeastern part of the township at first held services in private houses until the West Prairie school house was erected, where for several years they had a place for worship. They now have a splendid church near the West Prairie school house. The first justice of the peace of Spring Grove township was John Plummer, but the best known justices of the peace of the early times were Elmer Atwood, Josiah Walton, and Wm. Bleakley. While the people of those days were not free from strife among themselves, yet they were obliged to band together to free themselves from a worse evil--the horse thief. The people finally with the help of the neighboring settlers took the law in their own hands and dealt summary justice to the offenders. One of these thieves was followed by a posse to his camp on the Buffalo creek in Buchanan county, and on his refusal to surrender he was shot to death. This put a stop to the stealing. In politics the people of Spring Grove always took an active part, and for a long time claimed to be the banner republican precinct of the state. During the Civil war the republicans of West Prairie erected a flag pole on the bare prairie near where now stands the West Prairie church and raised the Stars and Stripes aloft and kept the flag there until long after the war closed. At one election during the Civil war not a democratic vote was cast. It was said that there were a few democrats in the township but they chose to stay at home rather than stand the jeers that were sure to assail them if they voted. Troy Mills, the only village in the township, was founded in 1853, when a dam was built across the river at that place and a saw mill built. This mill continued to run about ten years when the present mill was erected. The mill did a flourishing business grinding all kinds of grain, but of late years has only been used as a grist mill. Jordon Long brought the first stock of goods to Troy Mills, amounting to ten dollars. Meeting with success in selling these, he turned all his attention to carrying on a general store which he conducted for more than forty years. Dr. John Dix and E. C. Downs started the first drug store in the town but soon sold out. E. N. Beach, one of the best known men in the northern part of Linn county, came to Troy Mills at an early day and started a drug store and has conducted the same to the present time. Dr. E. Wilson was the only doctor in our township for several years and enjoyed a lucrative practice. The first blacksmith shop was started by Elmer and John E. Atwood in 1854, who conducted the same for nearly thirty years. Only a few of the old settlers remain who helped to transform the wilds into what it is today. Those now living here, who came in the early '50s, are David Reece, Isaac Holman, John E. Attwood, Mrs. Edwin Jeffries, Isaac Bice, Enos and Charles Cook. The others have either moved away or passed into that great beyond from which no traveler returns. WASHINGTON TOWNSHIP Washington township was early settled, for it is stated on good authority that Bartimus McGonigle settled near what later became Center Point in 1839. Some of the early settlers were Dr. S. M. Brice, John Osborn, Tom Lockhart, W. A. Thomas, James Down, Sam Stewart, E. B. Spencer, Alex Nevin, D. S. Way, Milt Squires, Will Cress, Jacob Thomas, Robert Osborn, Jonathan Dennison, Alex Thomas, Jas. Chambers. These came as early as 1842, a number coming in in 1839 and 1840. The following came before 1846: Thos. Fee, Isaac Berry, J. L. Benham, Levi Martin, L. Hollenbeck. The town was laid out in 1848 by Andrew Bottorf. A re-survey was later made as of 1854, and done by J. McArthur for Dr. S. M. Brice and J. R. Grubb. Most of the buildings in the town date from the time of the second plat, when the place began to thrive in earnest. Dr. Brice ran a store which was later sold to A. A. Adams. In 1855 Dr. J. P. Wilson opened a drug store. L. Hollenbeck also opened a general store in 1854. J. M. Bartleson, W. S. Bliss, and John Carr were also early settlers, Carr and Bartleson running a store for many years. The locality in and around Center Point, then, is one of the first settled in the county. The early settlers were enterprising and the newcomers were made welcome. No doubt the close proximity to the river and the abundance of timber in this locality made the place inviting to the new settlers who needed above everything else timber for use in building and for fuel. The railroad which the people had expected many years did not get into town till in 1873, and was continued the following spring. For the purpose of securing this railroad Washington township voted $16,000, being about a five per cent tax. In Washington township lived and died many years ago John Osborn, a revolutionary soldier, who is buried in Center Point cemetery. CHAPTER XXXIV _Lisbon and the United Brethren Church_ In narrating the history of Linn county mention must be made of that body of devoted men and women who early laid the foundations of the United Brethren church in this portion of what sixty years ago was the far west. The members of this christian body have had an important and conspicuous part in the history of our county. Their leaders have not only been men of piety, but they have also been men of ability, builders of commonwealths. Their work has been of a permanent character, and the descendants of these pioneer people are today doing grandly the work so nobly begun seventy years ago. We cannot do better here than to quote largely from the _Historical Souvenir of the Church of the United Brethren in Christ at Lisbon, Iowa, 1836-1904_, by Rev. Cyrus J. Kephart, published in 1904 by the Lisbon _Herald_: THE BEGINNING OF THE CHURCH IN IOWA The work of the United Brethren in Christ in Iowa began, as far as known, with the labors of Rev. Christian Troup, a member of the Wabash Conference, who came to Iowa as a missionary in 1836,[N] and settled upon what is now a part of the site of Mount Vernon. He afterwards traded his 160 acre claim for a yoke of oxen, and settled near the Cedar river, on what is now known as the Horn farm. Here he passed through all the privations of a frontier life. His daughter, Mrs. Pate, states that for a considerable time he and his family ground the corn for their bread on an old-fashioned coffee mill nailed to the side of a tree. Rev. Troup's field as a missionary extended from the city of Dubuque to Henry county. His preaching places were wherever he could find an opportunity to speak to the people. Thus he sowed the seed that afterward ripened into many an active Christian life. One of his appointments was near Ivanhoe, in a log house of only two rooms. Here standing in the low doorway he would speak first to those gathered in one room, then stooping, for he was a tall man, he would pass his head into the other room and speak to those there. He died in 1850 and was buried in the cemetery that then occupied the lot where the house of Mrs. Mary Hoover now stands in Lisbon. When the cemetery was changed his remains were removed to the present Lisbon cemetery. In 1838 Rev. John Burns, a local preacher, settled in Lee county, and began preaching at various points. Rev. Christian Troup and he seem to have been the pioneers of the United Brethren in Christ in Iowa. The first society was organized at the home of "Father" Edington, probably somewhere in Henry county, in October, 1841. This, however, was several years after Christian Troup began his work in the community in which Lisbon now stands. The first United Brethren quarterly conference west of the Mississippi was held at the home of Mr. Gibson near the present site of Lisbon, May 10, 1842. It was attended by Christian Troup, F. R. S. Byrd, Ira B. Ryan, Lewis Hoffman, "Father" Edington, and others. Ira B. Ryan was licensed to preach, and Christian Troup was chosen presiding elder. Another similar meeting was held in Henry county on September 10th of the same year. Considerable annual conference business was transacted at this meeting. A third meeting of the same character was held, probably in the southern part of the state in March, 1843, there being present a presiding elder of the Wabash Conference, of the territory of which Iowa at that time was a part. At this meeting there were reported thirteen organized societies, with one hundred and ninety-four members in Iowa. The first annual conference of the United Brethren in Iowa, and the first west of the Mississippi, convened at Columbus City, May 19, 1844, Bishop Henry Kumler, Jr., presiding. It was called the Iowa Branch of the Wabash Conference. The next annual conference convened at the home of Wm. Thompson, in Louisa county, August 14, 1845, Bishop John Russell, presiding. At this session the Iowa conference was formally organized. Other early conferences were held as follows: At Columbus City, August 31, 1846, Bishop J. J. Glossbrenner, presiding. At the home of Wm. Thompson, Louisa county, August 24, 1847, Bishop Wm. Hanby, presiding. At the home of John Shively, Henry county, September 1, 1848, Bishop Wm. Hanby, presiding. At the Hershey school house near Lisbon, August 23, 1849, Bishop David Edwards, presiding. During these years the preachers in charge of the territory including Lisbon were: 1843-44 John Peters. 1844-45 Christian Troup. 1845-47 J. W. Sterling. 1847-48 Luther McVay. 1848-49 Luther McVay, with John DeMoss, assistant. Writing of the Iowa conference of 1845, Bishop Russell said: "Myself and wife left the state of Maryland in a carriage for Iowa. A tedious journey indeed. All went well until we got between the two rivers--Mississippi and Iowa. In the high prairie grass our trail ran out, and of course we were lost. How to get on the right course was the trouble. "I went before, parting the grass, which was much higher than myself. After I had gone a certain distance, I put my hat on my cane to guide my wife to the spot. Thus I continued for some time till we got right again." THE UNITED BRETHREN AT LISBON Our life and work at Lisbon date back to the faithful labors of Rev. Christian Troup, who began preaching in this vicinity as early as 1836. Hence the church at Lisbon had its beginning with the very beginning of our church in Iowa. The work here grew slowly, however, for several years, Bro. Troup often advising his converts to join other churches on account of the weakness of the United Brethren in Iowa. In 1847 Rev. Christian Hershey led quite a large colony, chiefly his own relatives, from Pennsylvania to Iowa, and settled in Yankee Grove, the section of country surrounding where Lisbon now stands. This colony, being largely composed of United Brethren, made quite an addition to the United Brethren forces of this vicinity. In August of the same year Rev. Luther McVay was appointed to the Yankee Grove circuit. During the summer of 1848 he held a camp-meeting on the knoll now occupied by the Washington school building of Lisbon, with good results. He then organized "the United Brethren class in the Pennsylvania Settlement of Linn county, Iowa," with a charter membership of about forty, as nearly as can be determined from the original class book. About twelve names were afterward added, the year closing with a membership of 52. The effecting of an organization was strongly opposed by many of the older persons who took an active part in the camp-meeting; not because of opposition to the church, but feeling that it was not right to formally organize and put the names on a class book. Of these charter members, two are yet members of the church, Mr. Michael Blessing, and Mrs. Nancy Neidig. On August 23, 1849, the Iowa annual conference was held here. Lisbon had just been platted, and homes were scarce. To meet the difficulty occasioned by the coming of so many ministers, a camp-meeting was planned; tents were built on the camp ground, and the conference was held in connection with the camp-meeting. There were a number of conversions, and at the close of the camp-meeting twenty-five persons were baptized in the Cedar river near Ivanhoe, by Rev. Josiah Lindsey. Rev. Christian Hershey and Rev. D. Wenrich were received into the conference at this session upon their transfers. Rev. John De Moss, assistant pastor of Yankee Grove circuit, reported $26.55 received as salary and presents for the year. The Lisbon class proper, at first called North Yankee Grove class, was organized September 5, 1850, by Rev. S. W. Kern, pastor. The original record shows 36 members of this class, many of whom belonged to the "United Brethren Class in the Pennsylvania Settlement in Linn county, Iowa," and several were new members. That there existed some difficulty in connection with the work at this place at that time is manifest from the following from Rev. D. Wenrich in an article in the _Telescope_ relative to the conference session of 1850: "On account of a peculiar state of things on Yankee Grove circuit it was asked that a good disciplinarian be appointed to the charge. The selection of Rev. S. W. Kern and the adjustment of the difficulty proved the wisdom of the choice." Just what the difficulty was, whether it was among members of the church of a personal character, or whether it was something in connection with the administration of the affairs of the church, there is no record to show. The annual conference of 1852 chose Lisbon as the place of meeting for the next annual session. Rev. Christian Hershey, who had been in an important sense the father of the Lisbon church, looked forward to its coming with great expectations. When the time arrived for making necessary local preparation, he joined most heartily in the work. After cleaning the church and putting everything in readiness, he proposed to a friend who was with him to go into the church and offer prayer for the conference. He was in great joy. But on August 3d, the day before the assembling of conference, very suddenly the death angel called, and Father Hershey passed away. His death cast a gloom over the entire session. Rev. George Miller was chosen to preach the funeral sermon. The conference in a body marched before his corpse to the church and to the grave. His remains were buried in the cemetery beside the church and afterwards were removed to the present Lisbon cemetery, where they now rest. The growth of the church following the year 1849 was quite rapid. But it is impossible to determine what the total membership has been, on account of the mutilation of the early records. So far as we can learn the number of persons received between 1840 and 1870 was fully five hundred. Since 1870 the accessions have been quite numerous. A number of very successful revivals have been held. From 1870 to the present time, as nearly as can be determined, the number of accessions has been about 790, thus showing a membership of nearly 1,300 since the organization of the church in 1849. The Lisbon charge has been favored with a number of most excellent pastors. So far as the records show, the largest increase of membership was during the pastorate of Rev. William Cunningham. During his service of eighteen months there were eighty-four additions to the church. Among those who have assisted largely to the development and growth of the church, the following seem to deserve special mention: Christian Hershey, Michael Hoover, Sr., D. Runkle, John Neidig, Jacob Kettering, A. A. Sweet, Samuel Long, John Eby, Lawrence Easterly, J. E. Kurtz, D. Dorwart, Henry Meyers, John Ringer, Sr., Elias Hahn, D. Buck, John Turner, George Graul, D. G. Zeigenfus, Thomas Runkle, C. H. Neidig, Abram Runkle, Adam Runkle, Amos Runkle, W. S. Furnas, Elizabeth Perry, Nancy Neidig, Sr., Mother Bressler, Anna Bitzer and Elizabeth N. Runkle. The list could be greatly enlarged with perfect truthfulness. But these are among the number who seem to have stood out with special prominence in the work of the church. We would make special mention of Rev. S. E. Long, Rev. A. B. Statton, and Rev. M. S. Runkle, who were raised as members of our church and have gone into the ministry of the gospel. Also Mrs. G. K. Little, daughter of Bro. J. Bittinger, whose sweet voice and loving life are living epistles for Christ, greatly assisting in the evangelistic work of her husband, Rev. G. K. Little, who for years was a faithful member here. Rev. I. L. Buchwalter and his devoted wife, who have made Lisbon their home since he retired from the active ministry, have been active and liberal in their devotion to the interests and work of the church. CHURCH BUILDINGS In 1850 Rev. Christian Hershey built in Lisbon, chiefly at his own expense, the First United Brethren church west of the Mississippi river. This church, which still stands just north of Mrs. Mary Hoover's residence, was soon outgrown. In 1855 it was sold, and the proceeds were used in building the second church on the site occupied by the present edifice. This building served the church for twenty-six years. During the pastorate of Rev. T. D. Adams and the early part of the first pastorate of Rev. I. K. Statton, the need of a more modern church became apparent. At the session of the quarterly conference on April 7, 1880, the first official steps were taken toward the erection of a new building. During the following summer the old church was torn down, and the present structure begun. It was completed at a cost of $9,200.00, and on January 23, 1881, was dedicated by Bishop Milton Wright. Great credit is due to the ever earnest and faithful labors of the pastor, Dr. I. K. Statton. During the building of the new church, the congregation was favored in being granted the use of the Methodist Episcopal church for all its services. PARSONAGES The church during its history has owned three parsonages. The present building is an elegant frame structure of eight rooms, furnished with furnace, electric light, and city water. It was purchased during the summer of 1903 for $2,400, the old one being sold for $1,000. THE SUNDAY SCHOOL The Sunday school was organized early in the history of the Lisbon church, probably in the spring of 1853. It was first conducted as a union school, and so continued for a number of years, its development into a United Brethren school being the result chiefly of the organization of other schools in town. At the first it was divided into male and female departments, with five male and seven female classes; among them were one female and two male spelling classes, and one female infant class. Among the first scholars were Henry C. Kurtz, and Solomon Kettering, who are yet living. The record of 1854 shows three infant classes, one male and two female. In the male class were two of our present members, Henry C. Meyers, and Jacob E. Meyers, with their father Henry Meyers as teacher. The first secretary's record that is preserved begins with July, 1857. The enrollment was 121, the attendance 118. The superintendent was A. A. Sweet. May 27, 1860, is named as "the first day of the administration of B. [Benjamin] Hoover as superintendent, to which office he was elected last night." Other evidence states that Adam Runkle had served as superintendent, one year before this election. Following this the record shows nothing as to who was superintendent till April 2, 1865, when it states, "Had our annual election last evening for officers. Adam Runkle was re-elected superintendent, D. Dorwart, secretary, D. Buck, librarian." I. Scoles is the first secretary named, his election occurring May 2, 1858. The next named following him is J. E. Kurtz, who served a number of years, his term of office terminating with the election of D. Dorwart as above noted. The enrollment did not increase rapidly, owing in part no doubt to the organizing of other schools. On January 1, 1860, it was 144; on January 6, 1861, 145, with 140 in attendance. The record from 1857 to 1865 is rendered quite interesting by the recital of current events of the town and community. A few are here quoted: July 26, 1857. "A stranger bathing last Sabbath in the Cedar river was drowned. Remember to keep the Sabbath day holy." December 15, 1857. "Officers and teachers agreed to have a teachers' meeting monthly." April 11, 1859. "The Lutheran church organized a Sunday school in the old church today." July 9, 1859. "The school was opened at eight o'clock on account of the Methodist quarterly meeting in this house at nine o'clock." November 6, 1859. "Small attendance on account of wedding in town, Mr. Joel Ringer and Miss Barbara Kurtz." July 29, 1860. "Bishop Glossbrenner was here yesterday, and went to Western." September 9, 1860. "We hear for the first time two bells ringing in town." October 28, 1860. "Mrs. Easterly married to David Zeigenfus." November 11, 1860. "Old Abe elected." September 21, 1861. "Yesterday great military demonstration; young men leaving for the army." November 1, 1863. "Yesterday all the liquor destroyed by the sheriff." November 29, 1863. "No school in consequence of the Evangelical dedication." January 16, 1865. "Large school, as both schools are united." "Both schools" seems to refer to our own and a Sunday school conducted for a short time by the Presbyterians. Enrollment 129; attendance 166. April 16, 1865. "Our church was draped in memory of the death of our late President, Abraham Lincoln." May 7, 1865. "The Missionary Board met with us. Bishops Edwards, Markwood, and Kumler, and Revs. S. VonNeida and J. W. Shuey were present." Reference is frequently made to deaths that occurred in town. The burial of several soldiers is noted. The secretaries of later years recorded but little of such general events. The record of June 6, 1880, says: "On account of tearing down the church, school met in M. E. church at 2:00 p. m." On May 26, 1878, I. K. Statton, Mrs. T. D. Adams, J. Bittinger, Amos Runkle and wife and Miss Sue Fletcher were appointed delegates to the township and the county conventions. The superintendents have been A. A. Sweet, Benjamin Hoover, Adam Runkle, J. Bittinger, W. H. Runkle, J. S. Smith, U. D. Runkle, and the present incumbent, Amos K. Runkle, who has served the school continuously for sixteen years, and has just been reelected. The Woman's Missionary Association of the United Brethren church of Lisbon, was organized October 27, 1878, with the direction and assistance of Mrs. A. L. Billheimer. Mrs. T. D. Adams was appointed temporary secretary. The following officers were elected: Mrs. Mary Shaler, president; Mrs. A. K. Runkle, vice president; Mrs. Addie Eby, secretary; Mrs. Lizzie A. Runkle, treasurer; solicitors: Mrs. E. N. Runkle, Mrs. Holderman, Mrs. Nancy Neidig, Miss Maggie Houser, Mrs. Katie Kurtz. The first regular meeting was held at the parsonage and was opened by devotional exercises by Mrs. Charlotte Davis (wife of Rev. Wm. Davis). LISBON CAMP-MEETING The earliest camp-meeting of our church in this vicinity, as far as can be learned, was held in 1848 on the site of the present school building. It was followed by the second in 1849, and a third in 1852. Similar meetings were held at various times and places for several years. At a quarterly conference held July 7, 1879, a camp-meeting committee was appointed, consisting of Rev. T. D. Adams, and brothers J. Bittinger, D. Runkle, C. H. Neidig, A. E. Kurtz, A. K. Runkle, George Rupert, Sr., and J. S. Smith. The committee organized on July 11, electing Rev. T. D. Adams, president, and Rev. I. K. Statton, secretary. A plot of ground of about twenty-five acres, lying one and one-fourth miles southeast of Lisbon was purchased, and a camp-meeting planned to begin on August 26 following. At this time the temporary organization was succeeded by a permanent one, with Rev. T. D. Adams, president, and J. Bittinger, secretary. On September 3d, the grounds were dedicated by Bishop Milton Wright, Rev. T. D. Adams, Pastor, Rev. I. K. Statton, presiding elder, and a number of other ministers assisting. The ground was a nicely wooded tract, with two good springs, and was fitted up with a number of neat cottages, a boarding house, chapel, speakers' stand, and seats, and was enclosed with a substantial fence. Among the prominent men who at different times took part in the meetings were, Bishops Weaver, Kephart, Hott, Mills, and Wright, President W. M. Beardshear, and Dr. J. W. Etter. Interesting meetings were held each summer up to and including 1893. Some hindrance at length arose, and at the annual meeting held on August 27, 1894, the association voted to sell the grounds and disorganize. LIST OF PASTORS, YANKEE GROVE CIRCUIT AND LISBON STATION 1843-44 John Peters 1843-44 Christian Troup 1845-57 J. W. Sterling 1847-49 Luther McVay 1848-49 Luther McVay John DeMoss, Asst. 1849-50 J. S. Brown 1850-52 S. W. Kern 1855-56 J. B. Wells 1856-58 Martin Bowman 1858-59 George Miller 1859-60 Jonathan Wynn 1860-61 John Goodin 1861-62 A. Shessler 1862-63 Martin Bowman 1863-65 John Curts 1870-74 Wm. Davis 1874-75 S. Sutton 1875-76 Wm. Davis 1876-79 T. D. Adams 1879-83 I. K. Statton 1883-85 Wm Cunningham 1885-88 R. E. Williams 1888-92 C. K. Westfall [Illustration: FATHER FLYNN, CEDAR RAPIDS] 1852-53 F. R. S. Byrd 1853-54 Jacob Newman 1854-55 Daniel Runkle Jacob Miller, Asst. 1865-66 John Manning 1866-67 John Curts 1867-68 T. Brashear 1868-70 H. B. Potter 1892-95 V. A. Carlton 1895-99 I. K. Statton 1899-03 W. I. Beatty 1903 C. J. Kephart SESSIONS OF IOWA CONFERENCE HELD AT LISBON 1849 Bishop David Edwards, presiding 1853 Bishop L. Davis, presiding 1856 Bishop L. Davis, presiding 1862 Bishop J. Markwood, presiding 1865 Bishop J. Markwood, presiding 1867 Rev. D. K. Flickinger, presiding in place of Bishop Markwood, absent 1869 Bishop J. Dickinson, presiding 1872 Bishop J. Dickinson, presiding 1878 Bishop M. Wright, presiding 1883 Bishop J. Wright, presiding 1888 Bishop J. Dickinson, presiding 1892 Bishop J. Dickisnon, presiding 1899 Bishop N. Castle, presiding CHAPTER XXXV _County and District Politics_ It has been stated that the first election in the county was held at Westport in 1838 when thirty-two votes were cast in the county. This is said to have been the most quiet election on record. Gradually the people located claims, as more lands were thrown open to settlement, and politics began to cut a figure at an early date. While many of the settlers came from the south, a majority, however, came from Ohio, from the middle states, and from New England. Thus it would appear that the population of Iowa was a part of the free state movement which had peopled the central states. The foreign population did not come to Iowa until the early '50s, when the Germans, Scandinavians, Scotch, and Irish came in large numbers to take up the cheap lands which were offered to the settlers. The early settlers were for the most part democrats, with a sprinkling of whigs and abolitionists. Some of these voted for Taylor for president in 1844, nearly all of whom supported Fremont later. Thus in Brown township Ed Crow, Horace Brown, and the Butlers were democrats, while the Plummers, Yocums, Hamptons, Stanleys, and Dewees families were originally whigs, who joined the republican party in 1856. In Franklin township the members of the United Brethren church in and around Lisbon, and the Methodists around Mount Vernon were stanch abolitionists, joining the republican party when that was formed. Around Bertram a large number affiliated with the democratic party, which was true of the settlers in and around Center Point. In the northern part of the county, James Nugent, A. C. Coquillette, Joe Whitney, Peter Henderson, and many others were republicans, or joined the party later. In Maine township the Jordan families were divided in politics, some belonging to one party, others to another. These men were a sturdy lot of pioneers and did much in a political and financial way to build up the county. In Rapids township and Cedar Rapids, many of the old settlers were democrats, such as N. B. Brown, D. M. McIntosh, the Bryan boys, E. R. Derby, William Harper, the Weares, J. J. Snouffer, Hart brothers, and many others. Judge Greene was one of the most prominent democrats who joined the republican ranks in the Greeley campaign. The Weares joined the republican party during the Civil war period. Some of the prominent republicans of an early day were E. N. Bates, the Carrolls, Elys, Leaches, Higleys, J. S. and T. Z. Cook, Isaac Cook, Dr. S. D. Carpenter, Dr. E. L. Mansfield, Gabriel Carpenter. In Marion township, which was then and for many years afterwards the political center of the county, the whigs, who later became republicans, were such men as N. M. Hubbard, R. D. Stephens, Joseph Young, William Cook, William G. Thompson, James E. Bromwell, William Smythe, Robert Smythe, Robert Holmes, the Herveys, and the Daniels family. Among the democrats were such prominent men as Colonel I. M. Preston, S. H. Tryon, S. W. Durham, H. W. Gray, Dr. T. S. Bardwell, T. J. McKean, J. C. Barry, James Green, L. M. Strong, C. T. Williams, and James Brown. During the territorial days Robert Lucas was a democrat, while John Chambers was a whig, succeeded by James Clarke, another democrat. During these early territorial days Linn county cut very little figure in the affairs of the newly organized territory, as the river counties had most of the settlers and otherwise controlled political affairs in general. In the first assembly which met at Burlington, November 11, 1838, this county was represented by Charles Whittelsy in the council, and by Robert G. Roberts in the house. The district then was composed of Cedar, Johnson, Jones, and Linn counties. The second assembly met at the same place November 4, 1839, this district being represented in the council by Charles Whittelsy, and by George H. Walworth in the house. The district this year was composed of Cedar, Jones, and Linn counties. The third assembly convened at Burlington November 2, 1840, and now, for the first time, Linn county was represented in the council by a resident of the county, in the person of George Greene. In the house sat George H. Walworth and H. Van Antwerp. The fourth assembly convened at the newly selected capital at Iowa City, and in the council or upper house sat again George Greene, and in the house were Thomas Higginson and Thomas Denson. In the fifth assembly sat J. P. Cook in the council and George H. Walworth and J. C. Barry in the house, the latter being a resident of Linn county. In the sixth assembly sat J. P. Cook in the council, George H. Walworth and Robert Smythe in the house, Smythe being a resident of the county. For many years he was a prominent politician in Iowa, and sat in the lower and upper houses for many years. In the seventh assembly, which convened at Iowa City in May, 1845, sat William Abbe in the council, and Joe K. Snyder and John Taylor in the house. William Abbe was the first actual settler in the county and one of the best known persons in eastern Iowa in early days. Mr. Abbe also sat in the assembly which met at Iowa City in December, 1845. Linn county was also represented by able men in the constitutional conventions, and no doubt the members from this county did much in the adoption of our constitution. In the first constitutional convention which convened October 7, 1844, there sat as members from this county the following persons: T. J. McKean, L. M. Strong, and S. W. Durham, all democrats. This convention numbered fifty-three democrats and seventeen whigs. In the second constitutional convention, which met at the seat of government May 4, 1856, Linn and Benton counties were represented by Socrates H. Tryon, of Marion. In this convention, which was smaller than the first, the party vote stood twenty democrats and ten whigs. In the third constitutional convention, which met January 19, 1857, there sat H. W. Gray, of Marion, as a member of the convention, and Ellsworth N. Bates, of Cedar Rapids, as assistant secretary, a young man of brilliant parts. The first governor of the newly made state, Ansel Briggs, was a democrat, as was Stephen Hempstead, his successor. James W. Grimes, who had located at Burlington in 1836, was nominated for the office of governor at the whig convention in 1854, and made a memorable canvass. His well known anti-slavery views rendered him acceptable to all who were opposed to the extension of that institution. While many conservative whigs agreed with the democrats on the slavery issue, still all classes who favored free soil united in the support of Grimes, who was favorably known and had been a member of the legislature, and who had made a favorable impression upon the new settlers who had come into the state to find homes. Grimes was elected, and this was the first defeat of the democrats since Iowa was organized as a territory. In January, 1856, Governor Grimes wrote the call for the convention, which met at Iowa City on February 22d, which founded the republican party. In this convention there sat a number of Linn county persons who later became noted men in the party, and well known in the state. The first presidential vote in Iowa was in the election in 1848, when Cass, the regular democratic nominee, received 12,083 votes, Taylor, whig, 11,084 votes, and Martin Van Buren, free soil democrat, 1,126 votes. In the election of 1852, which was quite exciting all over the country, and not least in Iowa, the popular votes for president were as follows: Franklin Pierce, democrat, 17,763, Winfield Scott, whig, 15,856, John P. Hale, free democracy, 1,704 votes. This vote would indicate that the democratic party still held the balance of power in the state, but the change in old party lines was apparent. During the years up to 1856, a large number of pioneers had come into the state from Ohio, Pennsylvania, Illinois, and Michigan, as well as from the New England states, and bitter party feeling ran high. Many of the party leaders took the stump, and speeches were made in nearly all these settlements. Newspapers were established and an active campaign brought about. Politics was the topic of conversation at the country store, at the grist-mill, and at the country postoffices, and everyone felt that a change along party lines would be apparent. The vote in Iowa for president in 1856 was: John C. Fremont, republican, 43,954, James Buchanan, democrat, 36,170, Millard Fillmore, American party, 9,180. James W. Grimes, the candidate for governor on the Fremont ticket, was re-elected. In this campaign the question of slavery was the main issue, and on this ground the newly organized republican party carried the day in Iowa. Iowa from this time was lost to the democrats, and they were unable to regain the lost ground by attempting to get away from the slavery issue. During the summer and fall of 1860 the campaign surpassed even the excitable campaign of four years previous. At the fall election Lincoln received 70,409 votes, S. A. Douglas, democrat, 55,111 votes, John Bell, 17,763 votes. J. C. Breckenridge, the regular democratic nominee, who aimed to carry slavery into the territory at any cost, received in this state only 1,048. The Douglas wing of the party "aimed to throw the responsibility of the slavery question upon the supreme court or upon the territories, or anywhere else, except upon the democratic party." Douglas had many admirers in this county, and he visited, in this campaign, Marion and Cedar Rapids, where people flocked to hear him, many of whom admired him, but there were few who could support his visionary schemes and many who doubted the outcome of his dubious platform. This year the republican state ticket received on an average a plurality of 13,670 votes. In this election the state had become one of the solid republican states, and has so continued. In the state campaign of 1861 S. J. Kirkwood carried the state in an exciting campaign over William H. Merritt, the regular democratic nominee. Mr. Merritt had become a resident of this county, and hence received a large vote in his old home. Kirkwood had won over A. C. Dodge by a majority of 3,000 two years before, and was a popular candidate, a man of many strong traits of character. The Civil war was on and the people felt that they must sustain the policies of the party in power, and hence, perhaps, the popularity of the prospective candidates cut but little figure. During one of these campaigns as Perry Oxley and Ambrose Harlan were seated discussing politics at the county seat one day, Harlan in his wrath accused Oxley of being a traitor to the government. This was too much for the irate Kentucky-born democrat, and he knocked Harlan down with a savage blow aimed at the fellow's head. There was a trial for assault and battery, to which Oxley pleaded guilty, and later Harlan brought an action for damages in the district court, which damages were paid pro-rata by the democrats over the county. Col. I. M. Preston defended Oxley and the outcome of the verdict in fact made the issues for the next campaign. At commencement exercises at Mt. Vernon a general free-for-all fight occurred on account of some girls wearing copperhead pins. This matter also came into the courts, and county politics at least changed conditions, as party feelings ran high, and perhaps the ultimate motives of party politics were lost sight of, in these hand to hand contests waged near at home. [Illustration: PUBLIC AND COMMERCIAL BUILDINGS IN CEDAR RAPIDS, 1910 St. Luke's Hospital Security Savings Bank Mercy Hospital Interior Library Masonic Temple Masonic Library and Annex Second Avenue Bridge High School Public Library] During the early days Joel Leverich was a prominent political character in Linn county. He was called the "Bogus Coon," as it was claimed that he belonged to a gang of counterfeiters. However true that may he, no one knows, as he called himself a fellow who could make counterfeit money which would pass muster even in the land office. Leverich was a bright and intelligent person and wielded a great deal of influence as a sort of ward heeler before wards were organized in an early day, and it was frequently stated "that as Joel Leverich went, so went the county." Joel was not perhaps as interested in the political views of the candidates as he was in getting pay for his services and in having a promise of a pull with the officers if elected. Bill Brody also wielded more or less influence in an early day in the county, and sometimes lined up with one party and sometimes with another. It was generally true, that if Leverich and his followers were all on one side, Brody and his companions would generally be opposed, and it was very seldom that both gangs were enlisted to work for the same political party in any one campaign. At one time just preceding a county election, members of the two gangs met at the Joshua Glover saloon in Marion. All had been drinking, and it was not long until the street was full of people, there being fifteen to twenty on a side all engaged in a general free-for-all fight. No one tried to interfere, and blood flowed freely. While Bill Brody was the leader and perhaps the most active, his chum and follower, Barry Way, was the most powerful fighter, and is said to have cleaned out the entire gang and won the day. His political party was in power for a day at least. While there was much disorder, and trouble arose on account of lack of enforcement of law and order, it would be apparent that if men were elected to office by the assistance and help of men of this type it was not surprising to hear that officials could not, or would not always carry out the provisions of the law. Ambrose Harlan, well known in an early day as a person who had nerve and considerable fight in him, came out as a candidate for sheriff on a platform all his own, claiming that "he would catch horse thieves, and would even serve a warrant on Bill Brody himself, leader of the notorious gang," referred to in these pages. Harlan became an imaginary hero in the eyes of the people, and was elected by a large majority. For a long time after he had assumed the duties of his office there did not seem to be anything doing in his particular line. In fact the sheriff's office was the most deserted place at the county seat. It resembled a summer resort in winter time, and Harlan was about to resign for want of anything to do, for if there was anything Harlan loved it was a fight to a finish or a wordy contest with a political opponent. As sheriff there was nothing to do in either line, for people seemed for once to mind their own business. At last, one morning a warrant was brought to the sheriff to be served on Brody, who had been charged with grand larceny of a team of horses. Harlan's moment had come, and he prided himself on the fact that he would lodge Brody in jail before the next sun set. A few inquiries were made, and Brody was located in the Way cabin, some five or six miles east of Vinton. At Vinton Harlan organized a posse and started early next morning to catch the culprit before he would leave for the day. They surrounded the cabin, Harlan fearing that the fellows had already escaped, but he ascertained that the smoke issuing from the cabin was only an indication that Mrs. Way was getting breakfast ready. He found Bill Brody and his chum Barry Way in bed. He was not long in making his errand known, and Brody replied. "Do you want me naked or will you give me time to put on my duds?" To which Harlan replied that as it was still early and he had all day, he would wait till the fellows dressed. The men took considerable time in arranging their morning toilet, saying to one another that it might be a long time before they would get back, and that the trial court could do nothing without their presence, so there was no hurry. Harlan sat on a home-made rickety chair in one corner of the room, with a gun in his left hand and a hickory stick in the other, watching the two culprits, and recalling the old refrain, "Weep no mo' me lady," as he watched the poor mother Way walking about the room with tears in her eyes, wondering what her wayward son had been up to this time. Harlan kept special watch on Way, who was the athlete, not fearing Brody, who was a small person. As Harlan looked out at the tiny window to detect a certain noise he heard, Brody, nimble as a cat, was at his side in an instant. He wrung the hickory sapling out of the sheriff's hands and struck him a savage blow on the head so that the Linn county official was "dead to the world" for at least thirty minutes. The crowd outside were in hiding near a straw stack, and when they saw the two desperadoes come out of the cabin alone without any sheriff following, they took to their horses and rode away as fast as they could, never looking around till the town of Vinton was in sight. When the sheriff realized what had happened, he was invited to breakfast by Mrs. Way, who said it might be a long time before her boarders would return. The sheriff would not accept the invitation, but asked instead for bandages for his head. Harlan was asked on his return to the county seat, minus his prisoner, "Why didn't you take Bill when you had him?" Harlan replied, "How could I, when I had a gun in one hand and a hickory stick in the other, which he took away and rapped me over the head with, and when I came to my senses he wasn't there." It was needless to say, that at the next election no one cared to enter the race on a strictly horse thief catching platform. One of the most remarkable political contests ever waged in the county was that of N. M. Hubbard and William Smythe for congress in 1868. Hubbard had been a sort of political dictator since the organization of the republican party. He had held the office of county judge for a short time, and had been appointed attorney for the Northwestern railway, and for this reason was a powerful factor in financial as well as in political circles. Hubbard was quarrelsome, impertinent, and out-spoken, and used to say, that he "loved a nigger more than he did a democrat." In his aspirations for office he was backed by many friends and admirers, such as the Weares, Elys, Carrolls, and Higleys in Cedar Rapids, and by most of the prominent Marion men, such as the Herveys, the Daniels families, Captain Rathbun, Major Thompson, and Bob Holmes. The people of Marion were bitter against Hubbard, especially R. D. Stephens, who had been Hubbard's partner for some time, which partnership ended in a row, the last formal dissolution of the partnership being to the effect that Hubbard said to Stephens that "he would not attend his funeral," to which the partner replied, "neither will I attend yours or ever darken your threshhold in any capacity." Stephens by this time was a financial factor in the county and had many friends. It was thought that he should make the run against Hubbard, who had removed to Cedar Rapids, but the leaders of this faction of the party thought that a candidate must be selected who had been in the war, and thus the opponents of Hubbard selected William Smythe, who was a brother-in-law of Stephens, as the logical candidate to make the race. Smythe was an Irishman who had been an officer in the Civil war; was an eminent lawyer, a most affable gentleman, who had made a reputation for himself as a conservative and safe political leader. In this canvass Smythe was also backed by Robert Smythe, an older brother, who had been in the legislature, and was favorably known throughout the county. Stephens was the financial backer and the organizer of the Smythe faction. He was far-sighted, wielded considerable political and social influence, and used his money freely in this campaign to get even with Hubbard, if for no other reason. In this fight Stephens enlisted the service of a number of prominent democrats who were unfriendly to Hubbard. Everyone expected that Hubbard would win hands down, and carry Cedar Rapids and many of the county precincts. Smythe enlisted in his cause such men as Colonel Preston, Dr. Thos. Bardwell, J. H. Preston, S. W. Durham, James Brown, and many other democrats who were on the inside of this movement to dethrone the republican county boss. Smythe carried Marion township much to the surprise of the local leaders who had thought up to that time that everything was cocked and primed for Hubbard. The county went about half and half; both parties, of course, had expected a small majority. When the officers were selected and a contest came up to a show of hands, the convention stood a tie. The old court house was filled to overflowing, and many wordy contests took place outside as well as inside of the old dingy court room. The afternoon passed and neither side got ahead. Stephens was the active leader on the floor of the convention and knew more about parliamentary rules than anyone else. Still there were others in the convention on the Hubbard side who were no novices at the business of packing a convention. An agreement had been made that the winner should select his own delegates, and it was conceded that whoever carried the county would carry the district. Neither faction dared to adjourn, and so the fight was kept up on motions of one kind and another with voting now and then to ascertain if the members had changed. They all "stood pat," and it has since been suggested that this must have been the first time the word standpatter was used in a political sense. In the evening Dr. Thomas S. Bardwell moved about in the convention hall shaking hands with his professional brethren and others. He invited a stanch supporter of Hubbard from up the county, and a professional brother, into his postoffice and into a back room where he lived. They got into conversation and Bardwell knew that the man wanted a little for his stomach's sake, for he had traveled a long ways that morning and had had nothing to eat all day. Bardwell fully agreed with the country doctor that the air of a dingy court room was bad for the lungs, and that a life of that kind would certainly ruin the health of any man, however strong he might otherwise he. The country doctor took one and then another drink from the city man's private supply, and the Marion man was not one of the kind that refused even to take a drink with his country friend. The conversation moved much easier and more pleasant after the first few drinks, and Bardwell, to show that he was a good fellow, brought out a variety of liquor, such as would have made the mouth of a true Kentuckian smack in anticipation. It was not long till the country practitioner forgot all about the convention and was "dead to the world." He was placed in the doctor's bed, the doors locked, and Bardwell hurried back to the court house, sending a note to Stephens to the effect that he must put the vote at once. Stephens did not know whether Bardwell was putting up a scheme on him or not, but he was about at the end with his objections and thought he would try just another vote and risk everything on a democrat's advice. Stephens withdrew his motion then pending and called for a vote by ballot. The Hubbard faction was glad of this opportunity, and as there were no objections the seesaw affair of balloting once more began. When the votes were counted it was found that the Hubbard faction was one short. They counted and re-counted, and made the air blue with dire threats, wondering who had sold out, but no "Judas" could be found. Finally it was discovered that the country delegate aforesaid was missing. It was thought that he had gone home or had been called away on professional business, but such was not the case. The aforesaid country delegate was not made aware of the real condition of things till the next morning when he awoke in the back room of the doctor's office wondering how he had gotten such fine quarters without any assistance from either side, as far as he knew. The convention went wild over Smythe's victory and the city of Marion, regardless of party, was caught in this wave of enthusiasm, and the only topic of conversation for a long time afterwards was "how William Smythe won the fight." The newspaper which gave the best write-up of this political contest, and the paper which did more for Smythe than any other political organ in the county, was the _Linn County Signal_, edited by a nephew of S. W. Durham, by the name of Williams. The editorial writers, however, were such men as Dr. Thos. Bardwell, James Brown, S. W. Durham, Colonel I. M. Preston, and Judge J. H. Preston, who was just then beginning to learn the inside workings of politics. A tramp printer by the name of Tompkins came along some time before the convention occurred, out of money and out of work, and was employed on the paper. Tompkins looked and acted like a fool, but was in fact a genius. He could write better than the best of them, and knew shorthand as well. He reported the proceedings of this unique convention, and it is stated by all, regardless of party affiliations, that this write-up was the best of any political write-up of any convention before or since. After Smythe had been duly nominated for congress, the democrats of Linn county refused to support the republican candidate any longer, as they were only acting in the capacity of beating Hubbard. William E. Leffingwell, of Clinton, one of the silver-tongued orators of the west and an eminent man in many ways, was selected as the standard bearer of the democratic party to oppose Smythe. As Hubbard and his friends knifed Smythe on account of the action taken by Smythe's followers in the county convention, there was hope that a democrat might be elected. The county democrats challenged Smythe to a joint debate, hoping that he would refuse to debate with a person much his superior. But Smythe accepted the challenge and it was decided that there should be three joint debates in the county, at Center Point, Marion, and Cedar Rapids. The first joint debate was to be held at Center Point--a democratic stronghold--and Smythe and his followers drove over from Marion in large numbers, for they wanted to protect their candidate in case any trouble should arise. Leffingwell and his party also started from Marion, made up of the most influential democrats in Cedar Rapids and Marion. Dr. Bardwell, one of the leaders of the democracy, and who had laid out the Hubbard supporter at the time of the convention, sat in the back seat of the buggy with Leffingwell and carried the same kind of wet goods along on this evening and for the same purpose that the candidate should take something for his stomach's sake. This time Bardwell was in earnest and really wanted to instill into the candidate a little of the spirit which would brace him up to a greater effort. He did not figure that Leffingwell's only fault was his love for the bottle. When they arrived at Center Point more liquor was added, and when Leffingwell sat in the stuffy room listening to Smythe's opening arguments half an hour, the liquor took effect, and he became so drunk that he could hardly stand up, and made a rambling sort of a speech as only one under the influence of liquor could make. Smythe replied to the rambling remarks of his opponent in a most masterly way and in such a telling manner that even the democrats got disgusted with their own candidate, and the Marion contingent felt that hanging would have been too good for Doc Bardwell. This first meeting ended the joint debates with Leffingwell. Later in the fall the democrats secured another debater from southern Iowa in the person of Martin Van Buren Bennett, a rabid partisan and a fiery orator, who, perhaps, surpassed Smythe in oratory, but who failed to make any special gains for his party as he was an outsider who dwelt on past history and did not confine himself to present conditions. [Illustration: BIRDSEYE VIEW OF CEDAR RAPIDS IN 1868] The friends of Smythe were very active among the democrats within the county to obtain their support, knowing that a large number of republicans would bolt the ticket. It was told that a fellow democrat went to old man Hickey in College township, an old Irishman and a stanch democrat, wanting him to vote for Smythe on the strength that he was born in Ireland. Hickey replied, "What! ask me to vote for an Orangeman, let me tell ye, when an Irishman steals a pig he gives half of it to the priest; when an Orangeman steals a pig he takes the whole d--thing and gives the priest nathing. No, I'll vote for no Orangeman for any office, I tell ye." Smythe was elected by a large majority and served until his death in 1870. Judge Smythe was one of the ablest men in the county; he had been a delegate to the convention that nominated Lincoln for president, and in 1861 was appointed to negotiate a bond issued by the state to provide a war defense fund. He was also a colonel in the 31st Iowa Infantry, and served in the field until December, 1864. Had he lived no doubt he would have been one of the United States senators from Iowa, and might have had the coveted place so long occupied by James Harlan and William B. Allison. In the Greeley contest there was not very much activity in politics in the county, although a number who had previously affiliated with the democratic party joined the republican ranks. The Blaine campaign was one of the most bitter campaigns waged pro and con in the county. In this campaign Milo P. Smith, of Linn, was the republican candidate for congress against Ben Frederick, democrat, of Marshall county, who won out against Smith on account of wrangling within the republican ranks. John T. Hamilton, in another exciting contest for congress, won out as a democrat against Geo. R. Struble, of Tama county, in 1890. Mr. Hamilton had served in the legislature for six years previously and had demonstrated his ability as an able and conservative legislator. He had many stanch supporters in the district and especially in Linn county, his home. Mr. Hamilton was defeated for re-election in 1892 by Robert G. Cousins, of Cedar county, who held the seat continually till he was succeeded by James W. Good, of Linn county, in the election of 1908. Mr. Good was re-elected in the fall of 1910. This article was not intended to deal with present politics, but with past politics, and so the various contests which have been waged since the Bryan campaign of 1896 will be left for other historians to chronicle. The politicians of an early day in Linn county were men of force and ability, who were interested in the material welfare of the people of the state. These men always took a leading part in every political and financial issue which arose, abhoring mere party differences brought about for personal objects by selfish persons. Both the leading parties possessed efficient leaders, who were fully competent to cope with the issues under consideration from time to time. These political leaders were efficient stump speakers, strong political writers, financial backers and promoters of railroads and steamboat lines. Their knowledge of the affairs of county and state politics was unsurpassed, and as mere orators they held large gatherings spellbound by their magnetic influence. The politician of the old school was always a gentleman and would seldom descend to anything low or unprofessional in order to obtain a political victory over another. The instances cited in those pages are only the occasional outbreak of party strife, or of selfish desire for vengeance to satisfy some wrong, real or imaginary. Many of the party leaders in the county in ye olden times, regardless of party affiliations, were men of culture and education, conservative men, keen, shrewd, and capable, who battled manfully, loyally, and truthfully for the young state in its trying days in the beginning. Nothing is more instructive than to read the early laws which were passed and to meditate over the proceedings as found of three memorable constitutional conventions. These deliberations show the good sense of those who took part in debates, and while the discussions took a wide range, the members never lost sight of the constitutional limitations and of the legal status of the state to the federal government. Such men as Abbe, the Smythe brothers, E. N. Bates, Durham, Col. Preston, Judge Isbell, Strong, Gray, Kurtz, Col. Butler, Chandler Jordan, Squire Nugent, Squire Ure, Isaac Cook, Col. W. H. Merritt, Judge George Greene, Major M. A. Higley, and scores of other well known pioneers were an honor to any community and in their respective capacities wielded much influence in the county during the pioneer days. [Illustration: FATHER SVRDLIK, CEDAR RAPIDS] CHAPTER XXXVI _Cedar Rapids_ Cedar Rapids is not a new town. True, it has not been flourishing for centuries, like the old European cities, with histories which reach back several centuries, but as cities and towns in the middle west are spoken of, it has a lengthy history and one of more or less interest. Young as it is, Cedar Rapids has no definite chronicle as to who was the first actual settler. Dyer Usher claimed that he and a companion gazed upon the beauty of its banks and admired the river at the upper falls as early as 1836. Osgood Shepherd maintained that he was the first actual settler, and that he opened a tavern here in 1837 or 1838. He, at least, sold his squatter right in the embryo town, and made the first property deal involving landed rights in what later became the city. J. Wilbert Stone, also known as Bill Stone and William Stone, was here as early as any white man. He was born in the state of Rhode Island about 1803, and emigrated to Iowa Territory in the early thirties. Stone was a well educated, quiet, and refined man, who possessed all the traits of a trader. He drifted into Davenport and Rock Island, and came to Westport some time after William Abbe. No doubt he came from Rockingham up along the river looking for a place to barter with Indians, and the few white men who might come along as hunters and trappers. He conducted a small trading post at Westport some time in 1837, but whether he was the first storekeeper in the county is not known, as this honor has also been accorded to John Henry. Whether Henry bought Stone out or not is not certain, but this is true, that Stone disposed of his interests and removed ten miles by trail up to the lower rapids, at the bend in the Red Cedar river, where the large packing plant of the T. M. Sinclair Company now stands, and here laid out a squatter town, which he called Columbus. This town site is supposed to have been staked out on the east side of the river. The time must have been in 1837. He quarreled with Shepherd, who either came about the same time, or closely followed Stone. Stone, being a quiet, peaceable person, still single, was compelled to cross the river and take up a claim on the west side. Robert Ellis asserts that he found the first small hut on May 8, 1838, on what became Cedar Rapids, and that it was located on the east side near the packing plant, and was occupied by Philip Hull. Had Shepherd sold this cabin to Hull after having driven Stone across the river? That might be probable, as Shepherd tried the same dodge on Ellis a few months later when he was building a cabin on his claim on the west side of the river. In that instance Shepherd had a prospective purchaser who was willing to go into Ellis's shack, and but for the nerve and presence of mind of Ellis, Shepherd might have succeeded. From Stone's daughter, still living, it would seem that Stone was the first actual settler who came here to trade with the Indians, and the first to lay out the squatter town which later became Cedar Rapids, and that this plat or staking out was on the east and not the west side of the river, all of which would be natural as all the other squatter towns had been staked on the east side, and thus were better defended from an attack of Indians or border ruffians, who were apt to congregate more frequently on the west side of the stream. Robert Ellis walked into the town and found Hull, and later Shepherd, located in a small cabin, which he called a tavern situated on the river bank on what is now First avenue. Mr. Ellis also found at this time John Young, a Scotchman, Granger, Fisher, and another Scot by the name of Galloway. Shepherd laid claim at that time to nearly all of the land on the east side of the river and especially the land adjoining the dam site and the slough now called Cedar lake. A few hunters and trappers came now and then and remained at the Shepherd cabin for days at a time and then would depart as quietly as they had entered the crude hotel on the river bank. It has been reported that Shepherd harbored border ruffians and it has been said of him that while "he did not willingly steal, he had not scruples about harboring those who subsisted from that kind of traffic." So far as authentic records indicate, we have no written or reliable sources of information except hearsay, till Robert Ellis walked up the river and found the cabins of Hull and Shepherd on the east side of the river, which property rights were claimed by these parties as squatter owners. By this time Stone had removed to the west side of the river and had already erected a cabin. Being a single man he was not at home at all times, and thus might have been away at the time Ellis arrived. Ellis soon discovered from what Shepherd said as well as from what Stone had intimated, that these men were at outs, and the best way to keep peace was to have the river between them. Ellis had been out in the world long enough not to mix in the quarrels of other men and to keep as close-mouthed as possible about the troubles between sworn enemies. They never associated after their quarrel. The daughter of Stone claims that her father told her many times that the reason he sold out and removed to the Iowa river bottom was on account of Shepherd's attitude and that of the members of his gang toward him. These men feared that Stone would inform on them and wanted him out of the way so long as he refused to become an associate of theirs or in any way to approve of their actions. It would seem plausible that in a community where so many were law violators and enemies of law and order a man like Stone would not be tolerated and the ruffians would do all in their power to get him out of the way by intimidation or otherwise. N. B. Brown, from what we have been informed by N. E. Brown and others, must have passed through what became Cedar Rapids as early as 1839 but he did not locate here till the following year, when he first realized the full value of the falls and the feasibility of a plan to erect a suitable dam across the river which would furnish power to run saw and grist mills. Galloway, Young, Granger, O. S. Bowling, and a few others were here in the meantime, all holding down claims, but no one thought of any future city to be founded or of any valuable asset in the water power which had never been harnessed to machinery. What appealed to them was the fact that the stream could be forded at this place, that the banks had plenty of timber, and that it was a sort of way station for straggling Indian trappers and hunters. Mr. Brown was not a frontiersman but a mechanic, who was a trained miller and looked into the future and saw that the location was ideal. While he had but little money, he could see far enough ahead that here would be the logical point for mills. Mr. Brown interested George Greene, H. W. Gray, A. L. Roach, and S. H. Tryon, and they purchased from Osgood Shepherd an undivided three-fourths interest for $3,000. The other one-fourth interest was later sold by Shepherd to J. E. Sanford and Addison Daniels. Mr. Shepherd had nothing but a squatter claim to sell, but Brown and the others figured that it would be cheaper to buy him out than to make a fight on him, and so the bargain was made. From an old account book still in the possession of N. E. Brown, we cite the following: "August 4, 1841. Commenced surveying 'Rapids City.' August 7, 2-1/2 days by N. B. Brown, same, S. Durham, same, J. W. Carson, 1-1/2 days Geo. Greene, same, A. Daniels, 2-1/2 days O. Shepherd." This proves that after the squatter right was purchased from Shepherd, and the embryo town was first named by Brown the actual work of surveying was commenced in August, 1841. All of the above named persons became later well known in the county. Greene and Tryon were clerks of court about this time, Durham was the newly arrived surveyor, while Daniels became a merchant and prominent business man. Sanford was an attorney and the owner of much land in this county, but died early leaving his estate to his widow and aged father, who resided in Connecticut. It would seem that Cedar Rapids was first called Columbus, next Rapids City, and finally Cedar Rapids, taking its name from the name of the river and the rapids which are formed here by the rock foundations in the river bed. Shepherd lingered around the place till the next year, when he found that there was nothing further in his line, and that he was not interested in corner lots or in any enterprises such as appealed to Brown, David King, Greene, Sanford, Daniels, and many others. He disposed of all his remaining rights and left for Wisconsin with his family. He was later killed in a railway accident. John Young also disposed of his squatter rights to Dr. J. R. Richey and J. W. Carson. These purchasers sold again to Brown the following year. J. L. Enos, a newspaper man, has the following to say of Shepherd, writing in 1866: "The crimes committed by Shepherd and his gang were for years a constant annoyance. John Young and a man by the name of Granger were his immediate companions. The islands in the river, particularly the one above the dam, were used as places to conceal their plunder. A great many horses and much other property were stolen by them, and in many cases they succeeded in hiding their booty. It is known that this gang stole at one time six horses, getting away with four of them. Granger was later caught in Chicago and tried for passing counterfeit money. He was sent to the Alton prison for four years. Young, it is stated on reliable authority, was executed in a neighboring state, having been convicted of murder." To prove that there is more or less truth in the stories as written of Shepherd by Enos, Mr. Ellis says that shortly after he had located on his claim and while he was building a cabin so as to hold his land, Shepherd and some stranger came along one day and Shepherd insisted that this was his claim and that Ellis should vacate as soon as he could, as there would be trouble in store for a newcomer who had the cheek to jump a claim of this kind. Ellis was much surprised and could not believe that Shepherd, with whom he had stayed for a short time, would come at him with such unfounded accusations. He had heard of the trouble with Stone and knew from Hull that Shepherd was not a very good man. Hull seemed to be all right. Ellis made up his mind that in a game of bluff he would not take a back seat, and that he had not come all the way from Pennsylvania on foot for nothing. He got mad and then did not stop to count noses, but raised his ax and came towards Shepherd, saying in his most emphatic way that the claim was his and that some one would get killed before he gave it up. He said he had picked out and improved the land and by right owned it till such time as the government saw fit to throw it open for settlement. He then accused Shepherd of some of the things he had heard and offered to back it up by proof if he wanted it. He said further, "You have bluffed others out of their claims, but you can't bluff me. You get off my land or I shall be compelled to use my ax." Shepherd moved away and the stranger turned pale and was uncertain whether he should run or stand there with his hands raised. He had never been in such a place before. Never again was Ellis molested, nor did Shepherd again refer to the unpleasant incident. It was later rumored that Shepherd for a consideration was to locate the stranger on a good claim. He figured that as Ellis had already a cabin partially built this would be a good chance to get a bit of money and he reasoned that a stranger in the country would soon give in. He had not figured on the fact that Ellis was "the bravest of the brave," when it came to a question of asserting his own rights, which he knew were just. From this little episode as to the character of Shepherd as displayed toward Ellis it would seem that Shepherd might have gone at Stone in the same manner in which he tried to treat Ellis, and by force and intimidation made him give up his claim. Shepherd's course while a citizen of Linn county was not an honorable one and few, if any, of his associates speak of him except in an unfavorable light. In April, 1839, arrived Joe and John Listebarger, who erected a small log house at what is now 818 North First street west and owned by Ferdinand Uebel. A younger brother, Isaac, arrived later the same summer. William Knowles erected a house on what later became known as Mound Farm. John Stambaugh built a log house in what is now Bever Park, which later was disposed of to John G. Cole. The upper part of the west side was settled by Farnham Colby, who came shortly after Ellis had staked out his holdings. During the years 1838-39 came others, such as Thos. Gainor, Joel and James Leverich, P. W. Earle, and many others. It was in July of this year that the family of Isaac Carroll arrived and located a little to the east of what is now Cedar Rapids. A son of Isaac Carroll, the Rev. George R. Carroll, writes as follows in his _Pioneer Life_: "I cannot now recall anything of importance on the way until we reached Linn Grove, where we found a few log cabins. In conversation with one of the women who occupied one of these primitive abodes we found that her language was so different from anything we had heard, that it left a decided impression on our minds and was a source of no little amusement to us children. Some of her peculiar expressions were by-words with us for many years. She seemed very cordial and ready as everybody was in welcoming newcomers, and she was quite communicative, although her accounts were not always of the most encouraging and inspiring character to the new arrivals. "It was in the afternoon of July 4th, 1839, when we reached the county seat and the only thing to mark the spot was a bower of bushes under which our nation's birthday had been celebrated in primitive style and in which, judging from hilarious demonstrations of two or three men that we met on the way, whiskey must have played a somewhat conspicuous part. A little at one side of the town L. M. Strong had a little cabin. I do not remember of having seen either the cabin or the tenants at the time but Mr. Strong was for many years after a well known and highly honored citizen of this place. Passing on beyond Marion we crossed Indian creek about a mile north of the present crossings and where there was a beautiful crystal spring, near which was a little cabin occupied by Mr. James W. Bassett. From this point, turning in a southwesterly direction, we found our way by a dim track through the woods reaching, towards night, the little bark shanty of Ephraim T. Lewis, near where now stands the stone barn just south of the boulevard two miles west of Marion. Mr. Lewis and his son-in-law, Nathaniel G. Niece, were there and gave us a most hearty welcome and most cordial invitation to share their hospitality over night, which we gladly accepted. "The next day we passed a half mile west to the little hut of Mr. Jewell, later occupied by Barnet Lutz. Passing on sixty or eighty rods west of Mr. Jewell's through the tall grass we found Mr. A. B. Mason breaking up prairie on the higher ground just north of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railway at a point forty or fifty rods west of the boulevard crossing at Kenwood. This, I think, was the first furrow plowed between Marion and Cedar Rapids. Passing Mr. Mason, we found ourselves in a few moments on the ground which was to be our future home. At a point of the ridge near the mound, which in later years has been extensively known as Judge Greene's Mound Farm, we pitched our tent, the little brook near by affording us water, and the grove close at hand furnishing wood and poles and bushes for the erection of a bower, which for a few days were to serve us as a kitchen and dining room." In this company came also B. F. and C. C. Cook, step-sons of Isaac Carroll, and Sarah Carroll, a step-daughter. There were also the following children: Isaac W., George R., and Julia Carroll. Mr. Carroll, in his interesting recollections of pioneer days, speaks of a number of people who at this time and in the next few years resided in and around Cedar Rapids, such as William Vineyard, who married Sarah Carroll, and various members of the Lewis family, who arrived that same fall. James Ferguson and his family, the Weare family, William Stewart, A. Sines, Arvin Kennedy, Isaac and William Cook, members of the Ely families, Dr. J. W. Traer, J. F. Charles, the Daniels families, and many others came a little later. Thus within a few years from the time that Brown and others purchased the claims of Shepherd, the scene along the banks of the Red Cedar had changed from an Indian wilderness and a resort of border ruffians to a landscape bearing all the evidences of a high degree of civilization. The old Indian burial grounds became the place of a Christian cemetery, and the pole tepees covered with leaves and skins were removed to make place for commodious log houses, erected by the whites. In a study of the beginnings in Cedar Rapids it has seemed to the writer that heretofore due amount of credit for his work has not been given to N. B. Brown. His was indeed a constructive genius. He early interested himself in and in many instances began businesses that gave employment to labor, the backbone of any thrifty community. His enterprises were not always successful ones, whose are? All of them, however, were busy institutions for a time, and while they were going they gave employment to many people. It seemed to be the rule to send strangers in the city seeking employment to Nick Brown if no one else had use for their services, they being told that Mr. Brown was sure to give them something to do. And he always did as it was intimated he would do. His manufacturing industries were many and varied. He built and operated saw and flour mills, woollen and knitting factories, at one time conducting two saw mills in the city, one on each side of the Cedar. He also at one time ran a saw mill on Indian Creek, south of town. He built a starch factory at McCloud's Run, and when this failed owing to the dismissal by his foreman of the only man who knew the secrets of the manufacture he converted the mill into a distillery, thus making a market for the corn raised in the county. Some of his early account books are now in the possession of his son, N. E. Brown. They show page after page of names of employes in his various manufacturing enterprises. It is scarcely possible at this date to give a proper estimate to the value of his services to the infant city. Pioneers of the energy and public spirit manifested by Mr. Brown were indeed of great benefit to the community in which they wrought, and honor and credit ought to be extended accordingly. We are glad here to testify to the great worth of Mr. Brown along industrial lines in the pioneer days of our beautiful and prosperous Cedar Rapids. For the first few years the settlers got along as best they could. They had few if any luxuries. Dubuque and Muscatine were the nearest markets. It required from six to fourteen days to make the trip and frequently longer when the roads were bad and when fierce storms overtook the party. Robert Ellis built three flat boats in the winter of 1841 and took a cargo of wheat to Burlington, trading this for a cargo of flour which he delivered safely at New Orleans, in July of that year. He got back during the summer but did not make any money out of the enterprise and never again cared to try the experiment. Many years later he received a settlement with the Burlington firm which was hard pressed for money and could not pay for the 4,000 bushels he had delivered. So while he did not get a fortune he perhaps came out even on this hazardous trip. While it is true this daring enterprise failed to make Robert Ellis a wealthy man it did stir people up to the possibility of river traffic and that of course helped. The venture was talked over and over time and again, flat boats were built now and then, and a little grain shipped. Small steamers made Cedar Rapids in the early spring of the year, bringing a few groceries and notions, and taking away wheat, oats, pork, and a little corn. Artificial dams in the river were talked of but that was as far as it went. No one was able to have any pull with the legislatures. Robert Holmes, an old Marion resident, had a grain house at Ivanhoe, and took cargoes of grain down the river in 1844, '46 and '51; Henry Thomson also ran a few flat boats on the river as far as St. Louis. In 1858 a body of enterprising young men had built the steamer "Cedar Rapids" at Beaver, Pennsylvania, at a cost of $20,000, the stockholders being Wm. and George Greene, J. F. Ely, H. G. Angle, L. Daniels & Co., and W. W. Smith. This steamer ran during much of the spring and summer and late into the fall, and did a big business. But within two years in an accident on the Mississippi river the "Cedar Rapids" ran into another steamer, litigation ensued, and the owners lost everything they had made as well as the steamer. Thus ended the first big adventure of the Cedar Rapids spirit. In the same year another steamer, the "Black Hawk," was built to run up the river to Waterloo and for a time did fair business. This was owned by W. D. Watrous, J. J. Snouffer, W. W. Smith, J. Stanley, and several others. This steamboat was sold to the government during the war and used as a supply steamer on the Cumberland and Tennessee rivers. At one time N. B. Brown was the owner of the boat. Just as the people were demanding that another company be formed to invest in another steamer enterprise the railways came, and now these daring business men centered their efforts in developing railroads and won out, but not until after many struggles, and after many failures. The people of Linn county surveyed, planned, and talked about several lines before they could realize the benefits of any. The Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska Railway was organized in what is now Clinton on January 26, 1856, the first officers being Charles Walker, of Chicago, president, James Purdy, of Mansfield, Ohio, vice president, T. T. Davis, of Syracuse, New York, treasurer, R. H. Norton, secretary, and Milo Smith, of Clinton county, engineer. Many Cedar Rapids residents put up money and notes to have the road come through the city. Most of the necessary means were put up by eastern capitalists and especially by John I. Blair, one of the most enterprising of the early railroad promoters in America. Mr. Blair was born in New Jersey in 1802 and passed away in 1892, one of the most noted men of this country. He was at least in an early day the owner of more miles of railways than any other man in the world, and had laid out more town sites and villages in Iowa and Nebraska than any other person in the west. It was John I. Blair who first saw the opportunity of making Cedar Rapids a center on account of its progressive people, the water power, and other advantages which this practical, wide-awake railway man saw here, and which were lacking in other localities. In June, 1859, the road was completed to Cedar Rapids. Its coming was the most important event in the history of the city. It was the beginning of the end in the unique struggle for railways in Linn county, and marks an epoch in the history of the city. The road was extended west, and by 1862 the trains were running as far as Marshalltown. By 1867 the road was completed to the Missouri river. Both the Iowa and Nebraska and the Cedar Rapids and Missouri River railways have for many years been under one management and are now known as the Chicago and Northwestern Railway, which owns and operates nearly 8,000 miles of road with a capital stock of $130,121,838. [Illustration: BIRDSEYE VIEW Of CEDAR RAPIDS IN 1889] In 1865 D. W. C. Rowley began grading for the Burlington, Cedar Rapids and Northern Railway, which was organized in Cedar Rapids. A separate company, known as the Cedar Valley Construction Company, was organized to build this line to Waterloo. This company was composed of such men as Dr. J. F. Ely, president, William Greene, superintendent, D. W. C. Rowley, secretary. In December, 1866, another road was incorporated, running to Burlington south via Iowa City. The men connected with this enterprise were J. H. Gear, Burlington, president, J. E. Putnam, Burlington, secretary, directors Dr. S. D. Carpenter, of Cedar Rapids, E. Clark and Peter A. Dey, of Iowa City, and John Bird, Louisa county. This southern branch did not progress rapidly and there was more or less of a hitch with the plans, and a question as to how the road should run. The articles were changed, leaving out Iowa City, and the board increased to fifteen members, among whom may be mentioned N. B. Brown, George Greene, and Charles Weare, who were added from Linn county. George Greene was elected president and Charles Mason, vice president. By June, 1868, the two roads were united under one name, the Burlington, Cedar Rapids & Northern, Greene becoming president, and D. W. C. Rowley secretary. By January 1, 1871, trains were running between Cedar Rapids and Burlington, and early the following year they reached to St. Paul, thus making one of the first great north and south roads in Iowa. For many years C. J. Ives was president of the road till it was absorbed by the Rock Island system, when the headquarters were transferred to Chicago, the Cedar Rapids office becoming merely a division point. The Dubuque and Southwestern Railway was operated from Dubuque to Cedar Rapids in October, 1865. This was an important factor in the upbuilding of Marion and other towns along this road and in fact helped Cedar Rapids. Like all small roads, it was not a financial success, and in May, 1878, it was sold to the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway Company and new life put into it. The Milwaukee road in 1883 extended this line to Kansas City. The main line of the Milwaukee was extended to Omaha. The building of the interurban to Iowa City, a distance of twenty-eight miles, a few years ago concludes the railway building in Linn county, with the exception of the Anamosa and Northwestern, which runs along the northern part of the county; and the extension of the Illinois Central, which runs down from Manchester, connecting with the main line at that place. We are pleased to give space here to the following account of beginnings in Cedar Rapids. It is from Bailey & Hair's _Gazetteer_ for 1865: "D. W. King and T. Gainor were the first settlers of any advantage to the county. They reached here in 1839, and soon after made a permanent settlement on the west side of the river. "The first white man, however, who pitched his tent on the ground, now occupied by the Valley City, was a notorious counterfeiter and horse thief by the name of Shepherd, who took up his abode and erected his cabin on what is now Commercial street, near the mills, in the year 1838. "Thus early was this location selected as a central point for commercial operations with the surrounding country, and although the character of the operators was worse than some who have followed them in business, it nevertheless indicates their wisdom in making a good location for their enterprise. "In 1849 D. W. King established ferries for crossing the river, and continued to run them up to the time of his death, in 1854. They were located at Iowa avenue and Linn street crossings. They were self-propellers, being forced across the river by the power of the current. A wire rope or cable extended across the stream upon which a pulley was placed, and connected by ropes to the boat. The first dam across the Cedar river was commenced in 1842, and the first saw mill erected in 1843. "In March, 1843, the lands came into market. The first flouring mill was erected by N. B. Brown, in 1844-5, at a cost of $3,000. Extensive additions have been made to this mill since. It is still owned and run by Mr. Brown. In 1845, A. Ely erected the second saw mill and the following year the second flouring mill at a cost of $9,000. In 1848-9, the first woolen factory was erected by N. B. Brown. Cost, $10,000. The first steam engine was set in operation in 1855, in the machine shop of A. Hager. "The first store was owned by J. Greene in the building now standing on the northeast corner of Iowa avenue and Washington street. The second store was opened by Mr. Cleveland, and the third by Mr. Mulford. The proprietor of these stores have all left the city. Mulford's store was destroyed by fire in 1850, being the first building thus destroyed in Cedar Rapids. The second fire occurred in 1855, when the buildings on the west side of Commercial street, between Iowa avenue and Linn street, were mostly consumed. The postoffice was established in 1847, and J. Greene appointed postmaster. "The first brick building was erected in 1844, on the northwest corner of Iowa avenue and Washington street, by P. W. Earle, and is now occupied by him. The Union House, on the northwest corner of Adams and Market streets, was the first hotel. It was destroyed by fire early in 1865. The first school house was erected in 1847, and the first school taught by Nelson Felch. This structure is now occupied as a dwelling on the north side of Eagle street between Jefferson and Madison. The first white child born was the daughter of John Vardy, now removed to Texas. The first church erected is that commonly known as the 'Muddy,' and is still used as a house of worship. It is a small 'grout' building at the southeast corner of Eagle and Adams streets. The first death was that of a young man by the name of William Brookey, some time in 1843. The first frame building was built by John Vardy. "The lodge of Free Masons was established in 1850, and James Keeler, an Episcopal minister, was the first W. M. The lodge took the name of Cedar Rapids Lodge No. 25. Its name was changed in 1864 to the more euphonious and Masonic name of Crescent. "The first newspaper was established by D. O. Finch, in 1854. Three volumes only were issued. D. O. Finch, James J. Child, and James L. Enos, were successively its editors. The _Era_ was purchased in 1854 by James L. Enos, and the name changed to the _Cedar Valley Times_, by which name it still flourishes. C. M. Hollis, Esq., is the present editor. The second paper was the _Cedar Valley Farmer_, J. L. Enos, editor. The _Cedar Rapids Democrat_ was the third paper established, by W. W. Perkins & Co., in 1856. The _Voice of Iowa_ was commenced in January, 1857, by the Iowa State Teachers' Association, and J. L. Enos elected editor. This journal reached a large circulation, and did much to give form to the school system of the state. The present public school edifice was erected in 1856-7-8, at a cost of some $15,000. It has six departments, and employs seven or eight teachers. "Cedar Rapids was incorporated as a city in 1856, and Isaac Newton Whittam, Esq., was chosen the first mayor. A free bridge was constructed across the Cedar in 1855-6, but was soon carried away by the ice. As it fell, a large number were standing on the banks watching the ice as it rapidly tore the stone piers from their positions. Two sisters, daughters of Mr. Black, passed by the guard, which was stationed at the end of the bridge to keep the people from passing on, and had reached about the middle, when the frail fabric went down. Both young ladies were drowned, and the body of one was never recovered. A toll bridge was erected the following year, and though a slender structure, has thus far withstood the action of the ice, though occasionally broken down by cattle passing over it. "KINGSTON CITY "Is a place of about 350 inhabitants, situated on the west side of the Cedar river, opposite the city of Cedar Rapids. It is connected with this city by a wooden bridge, and is about one-quarter of a mile from the Cedar Rapids depot of the Chicago and Northwestern railroad. In the year 1838 Robert Ellis and O. Bowling settled on land in the vicinity, and in the year following Messrs. Isaac, John, and Joseph Lichtebarger settled where Kingston now stands. During the summer following David W. King and Thomas Gainor arrived here. The first child born was Mary Jane, daughter of T. and R. Gainor, on the 15th of May, 1840. Rosannah Gainor died on the 8th of June, 1840. This was the first death in the place. There is in the place one paper mill, one saw mill, two blacksmith shops, two groceries, and one dry goods store. There are three religious societies, Methodist Episcopal, Congregationalist, and United Presbyterian. There is also a commodious building for school purposes, and three libraries. This region of country is especially adapted to growing grain. Large quantities are annually shipped to Chicago from this place. The immense water-power will at no distant day make this a large manufacturing town." The following as to early things in Cedar Rapids is taken from a copy of the _Cedar Valley Times_, J. L. Enos, editor, in 1865: "On the 4th day of July, 1841, N. B. Brown began construction of a dam for utilization of the power. Carson, Gray and Roach soon sold their interests to Messrs. Brown and Greene, who became the sole proprietors of the water-power, and constructed the first saw mill in 1842-3. This mill is yet standing in the rear of Brown's flouring mill, which was also the first grist mill, and erected in 1843, and extensively enlarged by the present owner in 1854-5. "The first blacksmith in the place was Harrison Campbell, who opened a shop in Shepherd's old cabin in 1843. Isaac Cook, Esq., was the first lawyer, John L. Shearer the first justice, and James Lewis the first constable. The name of the first physician seems to be lost from the memory of the 'early day,' though many of his peculiar traits of character are remembered. Like some others in the profession he was disposed to blow his own trumpet, and the stories he told to the uninitiated ones were marvelous in the extreme. Once when he had returned from Muscatine he claimed to have lost forty pounds of quinine in one of the streams which put into the Cedar below the city--the water being unusually high. His credit was evidently then better than afterward, as was also his physical courage. Constable Lewis, at one time called upon him with an execution to secure a judgment, when the doctor becoming wrathy, threw off his coat for a fight. The constable being more intent on collecting the claim than emulous for notoriety as a pugilist, seized the coat and made away with it--finding a sufficient amount of money to pay the debt. Dr. S. M. Brice remained here for a few months and then removed to Center Point. Dr. E. L. Mansfield was the first physician who made a permanent location in this city, and still enjoys a large and lucrative practice. He came here in 1847 and has ever since been engaged in the noble endeavor--to heal the thousand natural ills that flesh is heir to. "The first brick building was erected in 1844, by P. W. Earle, Esq., on the west corner of Iowa avenue and Washington street. This building is still occupied by Mr. Earle, and shows but little the marks of age. A three-story brick store was erected the same year on the south corner of Iowa avenue and Commercial street. This building has since been removed to make room for the block of stores extending from Iowa avenue down the west side of Commercial street toward Eagle street. Greene's hotel, a fine-appearing brick hotel four stories high, also occupied a portion of this ground. It was erected in 1853-4 by George Greene, and was kept by various persons as a first-class hotel until it was taken down to make room for a new brick block, which was erected in 1862. "The first store proper was opened in the building now standing on the north corner of Iowa avenue and Washington street, by Joseph Greene. As early as 1842 Mr. Greene had a store in one part of a log building located on the north corner of Commercial and Sugar streets, the other end of the same building being occupied as a boarding house or hotel. "The first building erected for a hotel was built by William Dwyer in 1847, James Gunning being the first landlord. The building was destroyed by fire in January, 1865. It was known as the Union House and was located on the west corner of Market and Adams streets. "The Adventists held meetings here as early as 1842-3; a Mr. Baker being the minister. The Protestant and Episcopal Methodists also had organizations at an early day. The Presbyterians organized soon after and erected the first church edifice, known as the 'Big Muddy,' taking its name from the material of which it was composed. It is a grout building, occupying the east corner of Eagle street and Adams street. The Universalists had an organization here quite early and were 'ministered unto' by Rev. Mr. Westfall. In either 1843 or '44 a somewhat noted discussion was held between Mr. Westfall, the Universalist, and Mr. Roberts, Old School Presbyterian, at which Joseph Greene acted as umpire. The discussion continued for four days and nights. The meetings were largely attended and the combatants were sharp and excited. The conflict ended as such discussions usually do--in the victory of both--and this was regarded by nearly all as a drawn game. "The first school was kept by Miss Emily Coffman. The first school building was erected in 1846-7, by a company consisting of N. B. Brown, George Greene, Alex. Ely, and others, who sold it to the district, and had the satisfaction of being taxed to pay themselves for it. This building was on the north side of Eagle street between Jefferson and Madison. It is still standing and is occupied as a dwelling house. Nelson Felch was among the first teachers, also a Mr. Freeman, who has since been receiving instruction in a state institution located at Fort Madison. "The second saw mill was erected by Alex Ely in 1844 and the second flouring mill in 1844-5. Mr. Ely died shortly after the completion of this mill. In 1848 N. B. Brown built the first woolen factory. The first steam engine was put up here in 1855 by A. Hager, in his sash, door and blind manufactory. He had an extensive amount of machinery connected with it and employed a number of workmen. "The second store was established by Mr. Cleveland, and the third by C. K. Mulford. Mulford's store was afterward occupied as a dwelling, on the east corner of Commercial and Linn streets, and was destroyed by fire in 1850. That was the first fire in Cedar Rapids, and none occurred after it until the autumn of 1855, when most of the block on the west side of Commercial street, between Iowa avenue and Linn street, was destroyed. No precautions have been taken to prevent the spread of the destroying element, and were a fire to occur tomorrow no more means would be found of subduing it than existed twenty years ago. It would seem that a wise people would not thus neglect what may at any moment be of such vast importance. But so it is, and so it is likely to remain until a fire shall occur that will lay in ruins a large portion of our city and destroy thousands of dollars worth of property. Personal insurance can best cover a part of this loss and perhaps not one-half are provided with this protection." [Illustration: REPRODUCTION _of_ THE FIRST MAP OF CEDAR RAPIDS (Part 1)] [Illustration: REPRODUCTION _of_ THE FIRST MAP OF CEDAR RAPIDS (Part 2) The old map was made in 1859 and the only copy now in existence is the property of Mr. Lew W. Anderson. It is yellow, faded and dim and in many parts was difficult to trace. It has been used many times as evidence in court in legal contests over property rights. The reproduction shows clearly the original plat of the city including Kingston, the islands, parks, squares, blocks, additions, stations, streets, names, etc. The street names have nearly all been changed since that time.] Dr. Seymour D. Carpenter, who came to Cedar Rapids in 1849, contributed the below quoted memoirs to a _History of Crescent Lodge_, J. E. Morcombe, author, and published by the lodge in 1906. It is of value in the consideration of the history of early times in the city and county: "I wished to read law, but there was a family prejudice against the profession, and I concluded to study medicine and accordingly entered as a student the office of Drs. Boerstler & Edwards, who were among the leading physicians. There for a year I read books that were full of what are now exploded theories and practice, at the end of which time I was sent to the University of Pennsylvania, where two years after I was graduated as a doctor of medicine. Returning home in the spring of 1849, I remained but a few months and then started west 'to grow up with the country.' I again rode to Cincinnati on horseback, took steamer to St. Louis, thence by another boat up the Illinois river to Haverville. Not liking the place, I rode west and crossed the Mississippi at Quincy and went to Kirksville in Missouri. Still not pleased, I turned north and went to Ottumwa, Iowa, where I met Judge Greene, then a member of the supreme bench of Iowa. He persuaded me that Cedar Rapids was in the near future to become a metropolis, and I decided to go there. After four days' hard riding and swimming several swollen streams, I struck the town on the afternoon of the 14th of June, 1849. I crossed the river on a rope ferry operated by David King, who lived in a cabin on the west side. On the other side of the river stood the cabin once the home of a man named Shepherd, and said to have been the resort of thieves in an earlier day. I cannot say that I was very favorably impressed by the thirty or forty mostly one-story unpainted houses that were scattered about near the river. There seemed to be a great deal of sand, and the houses were so situated that there was no sign of a street. There were three two-story houses, one on the river near the foot of what is now Third avenue, called the 'Park house,' in which the Greenes had their store; one on second street in which John Coffman kept a hotel, and one on Third avenue, back of the Dows & Ely block, also a hotel, but keeper's name forgotten. I was discouraged and would have traveled further but only had about ten dollars left, and from necessity had to stop. I put up at the Coffman hotel, which, as I have said, was a two-story structure with a wing. It had been built of unseasoned oak lumber and was not plastered. The whole of the second story of the main building was in one room, and contained eight or ten beds and was the common sleeping room of the guests. The lumber had shrunk and there could be no complaint as to ventilation, however short the accommodations might be in other respects. I had hardly got settled before I was interviewed by old Joe Leverich, a noted character of Linn county of that day. He was known as the 'Bogus Coon,' because, as was alleged, he had to do with counterfeiters. He was a power in politics and was the kind of a man from which the modern 'pop' has evoluted. Joe looked me over, asked where I was from, where I was going, what my business was, etc., etc. I was somewhat indignant and tried to be sarcastic, but Joe, in terminating his interview, squelched me by remarking: 'Young man, a fellow that wears such a hat as you do may pass in this country, but I consider it d--d doubtful.' I unfortunately wore a 'plug' hat which was not the style in Iowa a half century ago. In subsequent years Joe and I became fast friends, and I became quite convinced that the shady stories told of him were the talk of enemies who were jealous of him because he was smarter than the great majority of them. I was with him when he died, and, although a free-thinker, he passed away with all the calmness of a stoic philosopher. "Within a week I made the acquaintance of all the people of the town. Among the leading persons were William and Joseph Greene, brothers of the judge, Lowell and Lawson Daniels, Homer Bishop and John Weare, all of whom were merchants. The three stores of which they were the proprietors would not compare well with the department stores of today, but all the same they were department stores, and in their miscellaneous stocks the customer could find all he wanted, from castor oil to broad-axes. Pollock & Stewart were the blacksmiths, and the carpenters and wagon-makers were also represented, but I cannot recall their names. "Dr. Mansfield took me as a partner, and in company with Judge Cook, we had a room, 10�16, in a small one-story building opposite the mill, the other part being occupied by S. L. Pollock and family. His blacksmith shop was near by. Our medicines were kept on a shelf and a store box made a table. Our bunks occupied one side and a few stools and two split-bottomed chairs made up our furniture. We took our meals at the Coffman house. Our field of practice embraced the settlers, not numerous, in the valleys of the Cedar and Iowa rivers and their tributaries. We made very long rides. I was called to see a patient two miles above the present town of Vinton, not then begun. I got lost in the night and waited for daylight under a tree on the bank of the river at the very spot where Vinton now stands. Bilious fever and ague were the prevailing diseases, all the newcomers having to undergo one or both. As patients and clients were not very numerous, we had a good deal of leisure. Judge Cook was a fine reader and we took turns at Shakespeare, a copy of which we fortunately possessed. During the summer Dr. Mansfield and myself built a story and half office on Commercial street, about the middle of the block on which the Daniels store was located. We had a mail three times a week from Dubuque and Iowa City. The Higley brothers did the service in a two-horse hack. I think Joseph Greene was postmaster. John Weare, Sr., was justice of the peace. He was a very original character, fond of company and full of interesting reminiscences extending back to the war of 1812, in which he had lost a leg. His small office was in the rear of Mrs. Ely's residence, which stood on the ground where the Dows & Ely block now is. He gave 'nicknames' to many people and places which stuck to them like burrs. The first Presbyterian or Congregational church building was begun that summer, and as the walls were built of cement, old Mr. Weare named it the 'Muddy,' which it retained to the last day of its existence. Many buildings were put up that year with a corresponding increase in population. All the people were full of hope and ambition. We began to talk of railroads. The people of Dubuque and Keokuk, the leading river towns, started a scheme for a road running through the interior and connecting them. The people along the line, at Cascade, Anamosa, Marion, Cedar Rapids, Washington and Fairfield eagerly endorsed the project, meetings were held and it was resolved to hold two delegate conventions, on the same day, one at Anamosa, the other at Fairfield. We had a rousing meeting in Cedar Rapids. There were nearly a hundred people present, and they resolved to have the railroad forthwith. From our standpoint it was the government's duty to donate land, and for eastern people to furnish the money. Delegates were chosen to both conventions. Dr. John F. Ely and myself were selected to go to Fairfield. Both conventions were to be held on the 6th of December, 1849. We left Cedar Rapids on the 3d of December and after three days' hard and cold travel reached Fairfield. Marion sent Col. I. M. Preston and Dr. Ristine. The convention met in a small school house. All the counties were represented. The Hon. C. W. Slagle, of Fairfield, then a very young man, was chosen president. I was chosen secretary. The little school house was packed, and if any doubt the courage and scope of that convention, let him look up the old file of newspapers of that day and read. Dr. Ballard, of Iowa City, Stewart Goodsel, of Brighton, Joseph Casey, of Keokuk county, and General Van Plank Van Antwerp were present and took active part. We parted for our various homes, thinking the work half done, but sad to relate, Cedar Rapids had to wait ten years longer for the locomotive. These two meetings were, as I think, the first railroad conventions held in the interior of the state. Soon opposition schemes were started for east and west lines, and our project was ignominiously called the 'Ram's Horn.' The next year was quite a stirring one. New people were coming in great numbers, but many were leaving, for the California fever had broken out. Several outfits left Cedar Rapids, and with one of them Dr. Mansfield, my partner, whose place was taken by Dr. S. C. Koontz, a cousin of mine, one well known to the old citizens. That year the first brick buildings were erected, a dwelling on Iowa avenue near Greene's opera house, and a three-story building on Commercial street, by Judge Greene, which for a long time was the show building of the town. We began to put on city airs. "At this time Martin L. Barber was mayor of the village. It was before the present city organization. Barber was an eccentric character, a millwright by trade. He was nearly as wise as Solomon, with courage to match. A 'bad man' came to the town. He hung about the saloon. It was said he drew a knife and threatened to kill a citizen. The majesty of the law was invoked. It was night. The offender took refuge in the saloon and barricaded the door. The mayor called out the 'posse commitatus' numbering two or three dozen young fellows like myself. He pounded on the door, demanding admittance in the name of the law. No response. We got a piece of timber and battered down the door. The mayor collared the 'bad man' who offered no resistance. He was hurried towards the Coffman house, where the mayor proposed to deal out justice. As we neared the hotel he tore loose from the mayor and made for the river. We in full cry in pursuit. He plunged in just below the mill. We paused at the brink. Gradually he disappeared, and was never seen afterwards. It was the first and last exhibition of the mayor's power. "In 1850 Miss Mary S. Legare, sister of the Hon. Hugh S. Legare of South Carolina, came to Cedar Rapids. She was a woman of the highest culture, who had moved much in the official circles of Washington, and had considerable wealth. With her came numerous relatives named Bryan, Storey, and McIntosh, the latter a well known lawyer of the early days. She made investments in the town and took up large tracts of land. In the spring of that year we had a very spirited election. The people were divided into two factions, the 'codfish' and the 'catfish.' For mayor the former nominated N. B. Brown, the latter Jacob Bressler. I cannot recall the issues, but only remember that we almost came to blows during the canvass. Less than one hundred votes were cast and Brown was elected. Brown was one of the original owners of the town site, and built the first mills. He was one of the prominent characters in the early history of the town, a modest, quiet, but genial man, with many friends. "This year, on the 6th of July, I did one of the few wise acts of my life. I married Sarah Weare, the daughter of John Weare, Sr. We went to housekeeping in a small one-story house, near where the old passenger depot stood. It was then the only house east of the present railroad. The next year, 1851, was a very active one for the town. Judge Greene, who had lived in Dubuque, moved to the town. The same year came S. C. Bever, who had driven in a two-horse buggy from Holmes county, Ohio, to Cedar Rapids. By this time I considered myself an old citizen, thoroughly identified with the county and town, and devoted all my leisure time to meeting strangers and exploiting the town and county. I met Mr. Bever soon after his arrival and spent several days with him riding about the country. He made large investments both in country and town. One was 160 acres about a mile from the ferry, at $5.00 per acre. I made the sale for Mr. Addison Daniels of Marion, who was so pleased with my effort that he presented me with a four-bladed penknife. Both Mr. Daniels and myself were satisfied and I have never heard that Mr. Bever regretted the purchase. That same year my father, Mr. Gabriel Carpenter, came out to see the country. After great effort on my part and many misgivings on his, he purchased of Mr. Levi Lewis 300 acres of land adjoining the town plat on the south, for which he paid $2,500. The land embraced the present cemetery. By this time Judge Greene had completed his three-story building, into which the Greene Bros. placed a large stock of goods. The most of their stock was brought up the river in a keel boat of forty or fifty tons capacity. It was rigged with a large square sail, but the principal power was men with poles, who shoved it against the current. They had loaded it with pork and sent it down the river in the spring. "In 1851 occurred the great flood. Most of the lower parts of the town were under water. The grand lodge met that year at Ft. Madison, and at the time the river was at its highest point. We were cut off from all the neighboring country by the swollen streams, but the lodge thought it must be represented and I was chosen as the delegate. N. B. Brown suggested that I should go down the river in a skiff to a point opposite Muscatine, then by land to that place, which is only ten or twelve miles distant, then by steamer to Ft. Madison. The lodge furnished the skiff. I found a companion. We embarked in the morning and so swift was the current that we reached our destination by nightfall, and I was on time for the meeting. At the meeting I renewed my acquaintance with the grand master and the grand secretary, and met many brethren who became lifelong friends. "In the spring of 1852 a steamboat came to Cedar Rapids. It was a great event, and brought in people from near and far. She brought a full cargo of freight, among which was the household effects of Mr. Bever and my father, both of whom from that time forward became citizens of the town. This year also came Mr. Daniel O. Finch with a printing press and forthwith started the _Progressive Era_, the first paper in the Cedar valley. Ezra Van Metre, a talented young lawyer from Cincinnati, Ohio, also came that year. Every one was rejoiced that we had an organ and the editor was overwhelmed with original matter. There were at least a dozen young fellows in the town, myself among the rest, who thought they 'knew it all,' and anxiously rushed into print. The paper changed hands in a year or two, and became the _Cedar Valley Times_ and continued until a few years ago. [Illustration: FEDERAL BUILDING, CEDAR RAPIDS] [Illustration: AUDITORIUM, CEDAR RAPIDS] "In the winter of 1852 I had a serious time in a professional way. A young man living at Quasqueton, Buchanan county, was riding across the prairie near that place and met a bear. The bear fled and he pursued. In crossing a strip of ice the horse fell. He was thrown and his foot stuck in the stirrup and he was dragged four miles over the snow, which was about six inches deep. In the mad flight the horse kicked and broke his right leg below the knee in two places. Finally the saddle turned, his foot was released and he was dropped on the lone prairie. The horse found his way home with saddle under his belly. This was on the evening of the 17th of December. A search was organized, but he was not found till the 21st, four days after the accident. Fortunately the weather was not as cold as it sometimes gets, but his hands and feet were badly frozen. Cedar Rapids, about thirty-five miles distant, was the nearest point where doctors could be found. I was sent for and went by the way of Marion, and took with me Dr. Thomas Bardwell, who was then a student in Dr. Ristine's office. There was a road to Center Point. There we struck across the prairie to Quasqueton, eighteen miles distant, without a house. We reached there the evening of the 23d, nearly frozen ourselves, for the weather was bitterly cold. They had got the young man thawed out, but in a most miserable condition. Mortification had set in, and there was no chance for the broken leg. Immediate amputation was the only hope, but I had no instrument but a small pocket case, and delay would be fatal. Necessity is the mother of invention. A butcher had just come to the place and had his tools. He sharpened his knives and filed his saw. A strong handkerchief was twisted, a knot made in the middle, which was placed over the main artery. It was tied tightly and a strong stick thrust under it and twisted till the circulation was shut off. Then with the butcher's tool I amputated the thigh four inches above the knee. Dr. Bardwell administered chloroform, which fortunately we had taken with us, and he encouraged me by word and deed. The young fellow, who was about 21, had never been sick a day in his life, rallied well and improved for about a week, but the other leg, which we hoped to save, began to mortify and there was nothing left but to amputate it. In the meantime we heard of a doctor about thirty miles away, in the direction of Dubuque, who had a case of instruments. I sent to borrow them. He refused to lend them but came back with the messenger and insisted, as he owned the instruments, he should perform the operation. That was not professional, but as I thought the patient had not more than one chance in ten to recover, I was not unwilling to divide the responsibility; so he amputated the other leg below the knee. During that winter I made eight trips between Cedar Rapids and Quasqueton on horseback, and the fellow recovered. He was the son of a well-to-do farmer in Harrison county, Ohio. His father came out in the spring, stole his son away without paying the doctors or the man in whose house he had been during recovery, and to carry ingratitude still further he procured a Methodist preacher to write his life, in which I was depicted as an ignorant butcher. This book he peddled about Ohio in person. I confess that when I heard he had been sent to the penitentiary for committing an aggravated rape I was not very sorry. This experience rather disgusted me with the practice of medicine in a new country. I was, however, in a way compensated, for I sent a history of the case to the New York _Tribune_, and its publication gave me quite a reputation as a fearless surgeon and thereafter I was called when surgery was required. As I have said before, I was in the habit of showing strangers about the country who wanted to buy land. In that way I became familiar with choice lots of vacant land. Greene and Weare dealt in land warrants, which they sold on a credit at three per cent per month interest. I knew of a section of land in the Iowa river bottom that I thought I should be able to sell. I borrowed the land warrants, entered the section and in less than two months had sold it for $3 per acre cash. That settled the matter. By one transaction I had made more than I had done in any year's practice. I sold out my medicines to Dr. Koontz and thenceforth till the war had nothing to do with medicine. "About 1853-4 we began to lose confidence in the 'Ram's Horn' railroad project. Congress had made grants of land to aid railroad projects and public opinion seemed to favor east and west rather than north and south lines. Roads from Chicago were approaching the Mississippi river, and a line from Rock Island to Council Bluffs was projected. The people in the tier of counties north of the projected line became stirred up and a railroad convention was called to meet in Maquoketa, Jackson county, to organize a company to build a line in their interest. Cedar Rapids sent a delegation as follows: George Greene, N. B. Brown, Daniel Lothian, I. N. Whittam, Donald McIntosh, Ezra Van Metre, and myself. Marion also sent a large delegation and the counties along the line were well represented. A company was organized to build a line from Savanna on the Mississippi river to a point on the Missouri river not named. A corps of surveyors was put in the field and for two or three years it was the favorite project of Cedar Rapids. The settlements both in town and country were increasing rapidly and we suffered greatly for lack of transportation. Judge Greene, with his usual energy and public spirit, organized a steamboat company in which the prominent citizens became stockholders. This was in the winter. The judge went to Pittsburg, contracted for a boat suitable for our river, which by spring was completed and at the opening of navigation made her first trip, well freighted with all kinds of goods for our own merchants, and those of the surrounding towns. She was kept in commission for two or three years and was a great benefit to the community. The company hired a captain and various stockholders were at different times supercargo. While H. G. Angle was acting in that capacity she collided with and sunk another boat on the Mississippi, which led to a law suit in which our company had to pay large damages, which swept away all our profits. She made her last trip under my charge, and under direction of the company I sold her to parties in St. Louis. By this time a great rivalry had grown up between our town and Marion. Cedar Rapids claimed that she was to be the commercial metropolis and therefore ought to be the political center. The question was brought to an issue by the county commissioners ordering a new court house at Marion, subject to the approval of the voters of the county. Cedar Rapids opposed the measure, believing that the building would insure the permanent location of the county seat. Then ensued a most bitter canvass. The voters were deluged with oratory. Marion put on the stump Judge Isbell, I. M. Preston, Col. Wm. Smythe, N. M. Hubbard, W. G. Thompson, and R. D. Stephens, against whom Cedar Rapids opposed Jas. J. Child, Ezra Van Metre, Donald McIntosh, A. S. Belt, E. N. Bates, I. N. Whittam, and others. Every school district was canvassed and much bitter feeling engendered. The Marion people were more adroit politicians and carried the election, but the result did not discourage our citizens, who asserted that no election could affect 'manifest destiny.' "About 1852 Major J. M. May came to Cedar Rapids from Janesville, Wisconsin. The major was a stirring man with a head full of schemes. He said that Cedar Rapids was a place of immense possibilities and only wanted enterprise to make it the great town of Iowa. He bought land at the lower part of town adjoining that owned by my father, and land on the west side adjoining the river and below that owned by Dr. King. He platted out town lots on both sides of the river, and induced my father and King to do the same, which were the first additions made to the original town. He also surveyed the island, sent a plat to the general government and took possession of it, much to the chagrin and surprise of the old settlers. Then he began to agitate the question of a free bridge. Every one wanted a free bridge but were undecided as to the location. The major induced my father to subscribe $1,500, and he gave $1,000, which with sums contributed by others in the lower end of the town, secured the location below the island at the narrowest place in the river. The bridge was completed and thrown open to the public, I think, in the late fall of 1852, and proved a great convenience. The construction was defective and when the ice broke up in the spring, the heavy cakes knocked down two of the piers, and destroyed the greater part of the bridge. All the people of the town were collected on the bank of the river watching the event, and two young women who were crossing went down with the structure and were drowned. This was the first bridge built at Cedar Rapids. The next was a bridge of boats at the foot of Iowa avenue which I believe was also swept away by ice. About this time the Rev. Williston Jones, who officiated in the 'Muddy,' and was a very good as well as energetic man, went east on some missionary effort. While there he met a gentleman named Coe, who made a donation of land adjoining the town plat for educational purposes providing the people would also contribute. A meeting was called and the terms complied with and thus Coe college was founded. I was quite honored when with others I was named as a trustee. Not long after this time the Reverend Starr became rector of the Episcopal church, and under the lead of Judge Greene and Mr. Bever, they began the erection of the first Episcopal church, and about the same time the Methodists built a brick church, so you see Cedar Rapids began to get on 'praying grounds and interceding terms.' In the winter of 1856-7 we were surprised and flattered by receiving a communication from a party of railroad men connected with the North-Western railroad, then completed to Fulton, Illinois, asking us to join them and organize a railroad company from Clinton on the west side of the Mississippi river to our town. This was a new proposition, and we had never heard of Clinton, which in point of fact was only a cornfield staked out in town lots, besides we were committed to the line that was to run west from Savanna. We consulted with the Marion people, but they would have nothing to do with it, arguing that we had already applied for the land grant for the Savanna route. After serious deliberation and with considerable misgivings, we decided to send a delegation to spy out the land and be governed by circumstances. John Weare and H. G. Angle were chosen as our representatives. It took them three days to drive to Lyons which was the nearest town to Clinton, the proposed starting point. That was the first time any of our citizens had come in contact with real capitalists, men who built railroads. There they met a party of men from Boston, from Maine, from New York, and Chicago, among whom was Charles Walker of Chicago, then president of the North-Western. Our deputations were swept from their old moorings and immediately joined hands with these men and formed a company, the 'Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska,' to build west from Clinton, by the way of Cedar Rapids to the Missouri river. Cedar Rapids was given first directors as follows: Geo. Greene, John Weare, H. G. Angle, S. C. Bever, and S. D. Carpenter, which positions we held till the road was built to Cedar Rapids. This new departure on the part of Cedar Rapids intensified the feeling of rivalry between her and Marion; a direct line between Clinton and Cedar Rapids would leave Marion off the route, besides the natural obstacles were less from Mount Vernon to the river and thence to Cedar Rapids. The Marionites denounced us as traitors to the original scheme, with a malignant intent to leave them out in the cold. We denied the 'allegation and defied the alligators.' "We said there was nothing behind the old project, but that ours was a live scheme, with experienced men with bags of money to put it through. Our deputies had pledged $200,000 from Cedar Rapids, which we proceeded to raise, $100,000 by private subscription and $100,000 by city bonds. Greene & Weare, then bankers, subscribed $10,000; George Greene, $5,000; John Weare, $5,000; N. B. Brown, $5,000; S. C. Bever, $5,000; Gabriel Carpenter, $5,000, and numerous others smaller sums to make up the amount. Then a city election was had and the $100,000 voted by an overwhelming majority. Surveys of the route were begun at once and from Mount Vernon and Cedar Rapids, two lines were seen; one by the way of Marion, and the other by the river. It was ascertained that the latter route would be shorter and cheaper by $100,000 than the former, but the company proposed to adopt the Marion route if she would subscribe $100,000, which she declined to do, and the river line was chosen. Work progressed slowly and the first year found the rails no further west than De Witt, Clinton county. Nothing had been done on the Savanna line. "Meantime the legislature for 1857-8 assembled, and we were astounded to learn that they had passed a bill giving a land grant to that company. I do not remember why we had not looked after our interests, but only know that we were taken by surprise. We thought our enterprise in great jeopardy, and resolved to compromise, if possible, with Marion. I think that Judge Isbell was then president of the Savanna company. Major May, who had favored the Marion line, for what reason I now forget, and myself from a warm personal friendship with Judge Isbell, were chosen ambassadors. We met the judge and the Marion directors of the rival line. They were courteous, but obdurate. They said we had deserted them and run after strange gods, and now that the tables were turned, they proposed to build the road straight west, crossing the river eight miles north of Cedar Rapids, and instead of their building a branch to Cedar Rapids, we if we chose might build the branch from Cedar Rapids, and thus we left them, sad and discouraged. 'Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad,' and thus it turned out with the Savanna route. The company was composed entirely of Iowa men, directors from the various county seats and towns along the line. Very soon after obtaining the grant, they got together and voted each other $25,000 apiece for services rendered in obtaining the land grant. As there were about twenty of them, the scheme was loaded by about $500,000. Then they tried to exploit the enterprise among eastern capitalists. But the hard times of 1857-8 were upon us and money was scarce both east and west. No one would take hold. In the meantime our road was slowly creeping on, and was within thirty miles of Cedar Rapids. The grading contract was let to John G. Wolf, an experienced railroad builder from the east. Most of the money to pay him had to be raised among ourselves and pay day was a most serious time. I remember upon one occasion, the cash entirely failed, but the merchants of the town agreed to honor orders for goods, Mr. Bever among the others. Mr. Bever had been a merchant in Holmes county, Ohio, and brought his stock of goods from there to Cedar Rapids. Among other things he had two or three cases of bell crowned silk hats of a very ancient date. On pay day our citizens were greatly amused to see our streets crowded with Irishmen, all wearing bell crowned hats, and as 'fire water' was plenty, before night a great many of the hats were caved in. Our Marion friends hearing of it said our company was 'busted,' our only assets consisting of bell crowned hats. But we persevered and bided our time. We called a mass meeting in the city preparatory to forming a new company to build the road west from Cedar Rapids to the Missouri river, and appointed a committee to issue a prospectus to all the counties west of us on the proposed line to meet in delegate convention at Cedar Rapids. I had the honor of being chairman of that convention and as such prepared the paper, and if you will examine the file of newspapers of that day you will find a 'Spread Eagle' document that I supposed would move the souls of our frontier friends. They responded nobly and came on the time designated, and we organized the 'Cedar Rapids & Missouri Railroad Company,' at least I believe that was the name. L. B. Crocker, of New York, was made president, with several eastern and western directors, myself among the number. Then as the company to whom the legislature had given the grant of land, had not turned a spadeful of earth, we organized a lobby embracing all our directors on the line west of us; L. B. Crocker, the president, Major Bodfish, a Maine man, and several of our Cedar Rapids directors, myself among the others. When the legislature assembled in 1859-60 we invaded the capital, and established our headquarters in an old hotel near the river, whose name I have forgotten. Major Bodfish was the commissary of the body. We had no money to expend, but determined to be hospitable. The major laid in a barrel of old rye whiskey; as it was before the war, whiskey was cheap, also several boxes of cigars. One of our strongest henchmen was J. M. Woodbury, a leading man from Marshalltown, and with him Peter Hepburn, now an honored congressman, then a very stripling, but showing evident signs of what was in him. John J. Kasson was then a young lawyer in Des Moines, and we secured him as our attorney. Our opponents were not asleep, but were on hand from Marion, east to the Mississippi river, with Platt Smith, a distinguished member of the bar at Dubuque, as their lawyer. Then the fight began, in and out of the state house. Speeches were made by our adherents in both branches, and we buttonholed and dragged to our headquarters all thirsty souls, as well as those who indulged in the milder stimulant. Our strong argument was, that our opponents had done nothing after having the grant for two years, while we had about completed eighty miles of road without help; that we only asked for the grant to apply to the line west of Cedar Rapids, while they would use it for the line from the Mississippi, and that we would be able to accommodate the people with a finished road at least two years before they could. The law makers were not in a hurry, but towards the last of the session they passed our bill, and you may be sure there was great rejoicing in Cedar Rapids. On our return the citizens gave us a grand banquet in Greene's hotel, and we felt that we had at last secured a substantial victory for our city, as in fact it was, for thenceforward Marion could no longer be our rival. The cars came to Cedar Rapids in the summer of 1859, just ten years after we had held our first railroad meeting, and we felt at last that hope had ended in fruition. An immense concourse greeted their arrival from all parts of the surrounding country. General D. N. Sprague, then mayor, welcomed the guests, and the citizens threw open hospitable doors to all comers." From 1840 to 1846 much work was going on in the thriving little town. Glass had already a small grist mill on McCloud's Run and a saw mill had been started on Indian creek which furnished lumber till the saw mill on the Cedar river was completed. The labor on the dam was a big undertaking and took much time as the enterprising adventurers were not well prepared to cope with so large an undertaking. Many settlers were coming constantly, all of them full of courage and pleased with the location, which all proclaimed could not be improved upon. There were Alexander Ely, Joseph Greene, Homer Bishop, P. W. Earle, John Vardy, D. Fiddlar, A. Eddy, George Westlake, William Dwyer, James Gunning, Charles Mulford, Isaac Cook, John Shearer, James Lewis, Dr. S. M. Brice, and many others. Churches were also organized, such as the Methodist, in 1841, by Rev. Hodges, and the Baptist the same year by Rev. G. E. Eberhart. The United Presbyterian church was organized by John Cunningham ten years later. New settlers came and other church organizations were completed and small church buildings were erected by the members. The following chatty reminiscences of pioneer times is from the _Republican_ of recent date: "'If two of us wanted to lunch together,' he said, 'we went to a saloon and sat down over some black bread and a little beer. Now you must stand up to drink your beer, and you may eat nothing.' "In the old days the city and the county politicians met here and talked over the political situation. The professional men met on equal grounds. Now it is all changed. "There were some interesting places in Cedar Rapids in those old days. In the location where Mr. Armstrong is now about to erect a fine business block there was an old German named Moritz Hoffbeck. It was a sand hill then, but there was a good cellar where Hoffbeck sold beer, gave away good lunches and entertained the crowd. His good wife also served the guests with good things to eat, cooked after her own fashion. Here congregated the best business men of the town after the day's business was over. They went home in the best of spirits, but often it was rather late when they went. "Some of the city's poets of that day composed a little poem about Moritz which ran as follows: "Moritz Hoffbeck is my name, Bavaria is my nation. Cedar Rapids I dearly love, For here I get my ration. "Another German, Sam Leunch, kept a place at Third avenue and First street, which was for many years a meeting place for farmers as well as city men. It also had a reputation for its fine lunches. "Sych's place was on the present location of the Y. M. C. A. This also was German and German dishes were one of its great attractions. "Frank Simon had a restaurant where Stark's hotel is now located. It was an eating house; also a drinking house. It was noted in five counties for being the place to get the best oysters in any style. The German fries have never been excelled. When Simon died, Ben Springer married his widow. He retired many years ago and sold the business to the Starks. "Frank Mark was a Swede who kept a saloon where Denecke's store is located, fronting on Second avenue. It was a small place but it was always full for he served eatables and kept private rooms for his city patrons who wished a quiet place in which to talk things over. "Pollack's where Severa's store is now located, was the Bohemian restaurant much sought for its good things to eat and for the imported drinks which he kept for his best friends. "Count Boshon kept a saloon down into prohibition times and ran many saloons in various places. He was known as the King of Bohemia and acted as though he might have been a count. He imported the Philip Best beer from Milwaukee and stored a car or two at a time in ice, and for this he obtained a great reputation. Count Boshon was a chancellor and knew how to secure the good will of prominent persons of the city and of the county officials. He seemed to stand in with all. It is said in his favor that while he may have violated the law in some instance he tried to keep a decent place. "The young business men would take a Saturday off and go up fishing or hunting or hire Elias Doty and his boat, the 'Climax,' and take a sail on the murky waters on the Red Cedar, sometimes up, and now and then when the water was high, down stream. Now all has changed. "In the olden times there were dances at the neighbors or other old gatherings. All were common. No dress suits were seen and there was no delay on account of lack of any introduction. "Doctors would get together and tell stories, lawyers would joke over their trials in court and in every way people were on an equality and truly happy. "Then people did not devote all their time to making money. They did not spend all the time in business. Young and old had a better time of it, for they worked and played as well. They were really content with the surroundings and with their condition in life. "In winter time people got together and had a good time, going skating or sleighing--on Christmas there were not so many gifts as now, but what was given was with the best of feeling. Another thing we have lost, and that is, the New Year's day calls. Old and young, married and single, made calls on this day every year. "It was a fine custom and it ought not to have been dropped. Now people are too busy to call on their neighbors and they seem to fear that society would not approve of it. In the olden days no questions were asked about one's grandfather." The old founders of Cedar Rapids were strong men in many ways. They were real live wires, and frequently spent money and devoted much of their time to exploit new industries. Such men as Geo. Greene, N. B. Brown, David King, S. D. Carpenter, W. B. Mack, R. C. Rock, P. W. Earle, H. G. Angle, J. E. Sanford, the Daniels family, the Ely family, the Weare family, the Bever family, and many others were men of rare intelligence, aggressive, enterprising, and wide awake, who came here to make a city at all hazards. They were true as steel to their convictions, enthusiastic in booming their town, and the "balance wheels" in time of need which kept things going. Even when some of these men lost heavily in the unfortunate steamboat ventures, in railroad exploitations, in bridges, dams, factory properties, and in other ways, they never complained, although at times it made them "men of sorrow and acquainted with grief." They never lost courage, and expected things to turn, even when they looked the darkest, and won in the end. The early pioneers were men keen to see an opportunity. They were able to look ahead, and for this reason they perhaps hung on when times were hard and when enterprises failed to materialize. It was due to the enthusiastic spirit of those leading citizens that caused the Legare and Bryan families to invest $80,000 in gold in Linn county property. It was no doubt due to the up-to-date, progressive spirit of those citizens that led S. C. Bever to bring $30,000 in gold, which was invested mostly in city property in Cedar Rapids in the early '50s. It was no doubt due to the keenness of mind of the late Judge Greene, that John T. Waterhouse in an early day came to Cedar Rapids and invested much money in choice corner lots on which he erected, for that time, modern business blocks. But outside of a few men, most of the early pioneers came to the county without any means. These acquired in the course of a few years, large holdings which have since doubled in value several times. Few, if any, who invested in real estate in Cedar Rapids and Linn county in an early day and who had foresight enough to hold on to it, ever lost anything on such investments. Values have gradually increased until corner lots which sold for $10 in the early '40s in Cedar Rapids, have now a value of from $2,000 to $10,000, and lands in and around the city which were disposed of at $5 to $10 an acre, have sold at from $250 to $500 an acre, and even higher. The settlement in Linn county was an event of more or less importance, for it was the last stand of the "free booters," and the last rush for cheap land in the Mississippi valley. The citizens came at an opportune time and took up the cheap lands, which soon rose in value. While during the panic of 1857, many of the farmers were unable to pay taxes on their farms and the value of farm produce was very low, yet they managed to get through. The panic of 1873 was not so disastrous on the farmers of Iowa, because by that time they had acquired more property and could afford to hold their stuff longer than in the panic of 1857. The land values stood still for awhile, but soon they began to move again and the farmer who had paid for an eighty-acre strip of land generally purchased another eighty or two, as he had plenty of help and the banks were willing to loan him the money. This land has more than doubled in the past twenty years, but the value of a season's crop now, as compared to forty years ago, has also more than doubled. Elias Doty, the son of an old pioneer, contributes the following items regarding Westport: "The first squatter town in Linn county was Westport, situated on the east bank of the Cedar river, near a spring three-fourths of a mile below the mouth of Indian creek. In 1845 its buildings consisted of one double log cabin, one frame dwelling, one frame storehouse, and one frame grain elevator. My father occupied the storehouse as a pottery, where he made earthenware. The elevator was owned by Robert Holmes and occupied by H. G. Higley and Lawson Daniels, who bought wheat and built flatboats to float it to the St. Louis market. Our family were the only dwellers at the town at that time. Higley and Daniels boarded with us. They built their boats bottom up and when completed turned them over. "Jacob Leabo lived a half mile below us, and Hiram Deem a half mile above us. I. W. Carroll and C. C. Cook lived at Dairy Dale, where they had started a brick kiln, which was the first in the county so far as I know. The first lime kiln was at Westport, where John Henry burned lime to plaster the houses of the town. The saw mill of the county at that time was near Bertram. It was started by my uncle, Elias Doty, who was killed at its raising in 1841. It was finished by James Briney." EARLY HOTELS IN CEDAR RAPIDS While the Shepherd Tavern was the first place where strangers could be entertained in Cedar Rapids, it was not long till several hotels were started. "It has always been a hotel town," said an old settler, "for the reason that when people came here they liked it so well that they did not care to move and they stayed at the tavern as long as money and credit held out." John Young, who held a claim near Shepherd, erected a small house on Fourth avenue close to the river, which became known as the "Astor House." This was a double log house, 18�26, and one story high, according to the testimony of Robert Ellis, George R. Carroll, and others. This building had several additions built to it during the next five years. A Mr. Verbeck, a native of Vermont, was one of the early landlords. This house was occupied by J. L. Shearer, John Weare, James Hamilton, and several other well known pioneer families. The Listebargers kept a sort of hotel near the Sinclair ice houses in 1839-40, and here Robert Ellis and several other unmarried men boarded. The Listebargers did not keep strangers, only regular boarders. Wm. Dwyer erected a real up-to-date hotel in 1847, as it was said there was a demand for such a building. It received the name of the Union House, with Jas. Gunning as the first landlord. It was located on Third avenue and Third street, near the present site of the Montrose Hotel. It was well spoken of and much patronized. The building was destroyed by fire in 1865. The American House and Greene's Hotel, both on First street, were well known places, sought by the traveling public. Greene's Hotel was for years one of the leading hotels in Iowa, a four-story building on the corner of First avenue and First street where political rallies were held and banquets were served, and where balls occurred during the winter seasons. The old Southern or Brown's Hotel was for many years one of the leading hotels. It is still operated under the name of Gorman's Hotel. The old Empire House was another hotel which in the early fifties was a place much frequented by the commercial traveler. It stood on the corner of Third avenue and Second street. Johnson's Hotel, on the west side, formerly Kingston Hotel, was also a well known place of entertainment. On the site of what is now the Cedar Rapids House there was operated for many years a popular little hotel which was always full to overflowing. One of the old clerks here used to reply to the fellow who asked if they were full, "The clerk is, but the house never, come in." Many of the pioneer travelers, who wanted to cross Dave King's ferry, came to stay over night at this place. The river traffic increased hotel trade, so did the gold craze in California, but in 1859, when the railroads reached Cedar Rapids, every other home was turned into a rooming house to accommodate the traveling public. The Grand, the Clifton, Palace Hotel, the Pullman, were for years busy places, till the Delevan, the Allison, and the Montrose were built. A city is largely known by its hotels, as the word is generally passed along by the traveling men. Cedar Rapids stands well in the state as a hotel center. In the Wolfe Directory for 1868 the following hotels are given Cedar Rapids: American House, G. E. Cheny; Chicago House, Nick Pitting; Dubuque House, Anton Christle; Eagle Hotel, R. E. Baldwin; Empire House, J. L. Peak; Valley City House, Harvey & Sherund; Kingston Hotel, William Friis; Dubuque House; National Hotel, Humphrey & Bean. [Illustration: PART OF ZOO IN BEVER PARK, CEDAR RAPIDS] [Illustration: A SCENE IN BEVER PARK, CEDAR RAPIDS] BUSINESS IN 1856 From 1850 to 1860 Cedar Rapids had a marvelous growth, despite the panic of 1857 which wiped out some of the fortunes of those who had invested heavily in wild lands and who had engaged in banking. The _Voice of Iowa_, a local newspaper, has the following to say of the wealth of the city's business enterprises: Flouring mills, four; planing mills, sash, doors and blinds, two; cooper, one; wagon and carriage factories, five; iron foundry, one; cabinet and chair factories, two; plow factories, three; boot and shoe factories, three; saddle and harness factories, three; tin, copper and sheet iron workers, four; woolen factory, one; brick yards, five; farm implement factories, two; merchant tailors, two; woodworking, two; newspapers, three; brick machine factory, one; grocery and provision stores, eight; dry goods, fifteen; clothing, five; drug stores, four; jewelers, two; hardware, four; book stores, two; book bindery, one; liquor and cigars, six; public halls, five; hotels, five; churches, four; lumber yards, four; bakery, one; banks, three; barber, one; public reading room, one. The same issue of the paper cites that the town should have a pork packing plant as well as a paper mill. It took a long time before the T. M. Sinclair Company's plant became an assured reality, which has become in time such a factor in the upbuilding of Cedar Rapids and Linn county. The following list of business firms in Cedar Rapids in 1856 is of interest: Dry Goods Stores--Shattuck & Dewey, Commercial street; L. Daniels & Co., Commercial street; C. E. Livingston, Carpenter's block, Commercial street; Partridge & Cook, Commercial street; Leach & Wood, corner of Washington and Eagle streets; Elder & McClelland, corner Iowa avenue and Commercial street. Grocery Stores--C. W. Stebbins, corner Front street and Iowa avenue, Kingston; A. C. Keyes, Carpenter's block, Commercial street; Bever & Rowley, Commercial street; J. H. Atwell, Commercial street. Clothing Stores--David Kahn, Commercial street; Bangs & Bixby, Commercial street. Hardware Stores--Rock & Camp, Commercial street; C. P. Spaethe, Commercial street; A. H. Brown & Co., Commercial street. Drug Stores--J. P. Conkey, No. 3, Commercial block; James L. Enos, No. 4, Iowa avenue. Jewelry Stores--J. T. Walker, Commercial street; L. H. Keyes, Commercial street. Book Stores--James L. Enos, No. 4, Iowa avenue. Banking Houses--Greene & Weare, Commercial street; Ward, Bryan & Co., Commercial street; W. A. Dodge, Carr & Co., Commercial street. Land and General Agency Offices--Whittam & Belt, Commercial street; Bates & Tousley, Commercial street; Carpenter, Lehman & Co., Commercial street; H. Mount & Co., Washington street. Furniture Ware Rooms--John Boyce, Iowa avenue; J. Alloway, Commercial street. Builders, Joiners, Etc.--W. D. Watrous, designer and builder, Carpenter's block; Smith & Williams, S on Madison, W on Washington street; Elihu Robbins, residence Washington street; Hyatt & Moore, shop on Commercial street. Blacksmith Shop and Plow Factory--Stephen L. Pollock, Linn street. Lumber Yard--Charles & Carroll, Commercial street. Carriage Manufacturers--Roswell Tibbetts, Benton street, West side; J. M. Chambers, Linn street. Hotels--Empire House, W. M. McMahon, corner Washington and Market streets; Greene's Hotel, Coffman & Smith, Commercial street; Rapids Hotel. Insurance Agents--S. C. Bever, Franklin and Marine; E. N. Bates, Hartford Fire; J. L. Enos, Iowa Insurance Co., Oskaloosa. Bakery and Restaurant--Alexander Clinton, Commercial street; Walter D. Thompson, No. 6 South Commercial street. Millinery--Mrs. E. A. Emery, Brown's block, Kingston; Miss Mary E. Stewart, Rapids Hotel. Physicians--S. C. Koontz, office Carpenter's block; J. H. Camburn, residence Washington street; W. D. Barclay, residence Iowa avenue; J. W. Edes, residence Washington street; Smith & Larrabee, office Commercial street; R. R. Taylor, office Carpenter's block; H. Mount, oculist, Washington street; McCauley & Pulsifer, dentists, Commercial street. Attorneys and Counsellors--James J. Child, Commercial street; Bates & Tousley, Commercial street; Henry Lehman, Commercial street; D. M. McIntosh, Commercial street. Nurseries--Central Iowa Nursery, J. B. Gate, proprietor, on west side, near city. Was established 1853. Mound Nursery, George Greene, proprietor, two miles north of the city. Planing Mill--Alexander Hager, shop 45�50 feet, two engines, one of nine and the other of twenty-four horsepower. Capital invested in plant and machinery, $10,000. Lumber Mills--Greene & Graves, located at upper end of city. Mill 40�50 feet, two stories high; engine house, 24�60 feet, one story high. Had capacity of 5,000 feet of lumber per day, with lath, shingles, etc., in proportion. This establishment also included a machine shop 35�70 feet, three stories high; foundry of brick, 30�60 feet, and a brick blacksmith and plow shop 25�35 feet. Capital invested, $25,000. J. J. Snouffer, one saw, cutting 200,000 feet of lumber during three months, ending June 30, 1856. A circular saw for plow beams, wagon felloes, etc. Saw Mill and Chair Factory--Dobbs & Dewey, capacity 10,000 feet of lumber a week. During year had turned out 8,000 chairs, 1,000 bedsteads and other articles. Fifteen hands employed. Capital, $12,000. Churches--Presbyterian (Old School), Rev. R. H. Morrow, pastor. Worships in Daniels' Hall. Subscription of $2,700 secured for a building, which with site is expected to cost $3,500. Membership, 46. Episcopal, Rev. S. Starr, rector. Church a fine structure and furnished in the neatest manner. Methodist Episcopal, destitute of pastor temporarily. More than one hundred members; largest congregation in city, more than 150 in attendance at Sabbath school. Baptist, West Side, Rev. J. Woodward, pastor. Temporary edifice to be erected present season. Membership between thirty and forty. Presbyterian (New School), Rev. L. F. Dudley, pastor. Church building small; was first to be erected in the city. Affairs in a flourishing condition. Presbyterians (Seceders), Rev. J. H. Sturgeon, pastor. Church edifice just erected and pews sold. Secret Societies--Cedar Rapids Lodge No. 25, A. F. & A. M. (organized 1850), Hiram Deem, W. M.; Isaac N. Whittam, secretary. Meets first Monday after new moon. Hope Lodge No. 201, I. O. O. F., organized 1851. Hiram Deem, N. G.; Joseph G. Davenport, secretary. Meets every Tuesday evening. Select Schools--Misses Farnham, in rooms under the Episcopal church; Miss H. Latshaw, on Washington street. Buildings Erected in Year--William Stewart, brick store, one story; R. C. Rock, brick store, three stories; J. F. Ely, two brick stores, three stories; A. Hager, machine shop, brick, three stories; Gabriel Carpenter, three stores, brick, four stories; S. C. Bever, store, brick, three stories; H. G. Angle, store, brick front, two stories; Bates & Tousley, banking house, brick, three stories; Shattuck & Dewey, two stores, three stories; P. W. Earle, store, three stories above basement; S. L. Pollock, addition to plow factory; Greene & Graves, stone machine shop, three stories; Greene & Graves, blacksmith shop and foundry; public school building, brick, three stories. Brick Dwellings--F. A. Lee, William Greene, James Bates, B. E. Baker, W. & S. Johnson, Elihu Robbins (two), M. Ohler, Ezra Havens, H. G. Angle, Watrous & Gillett, A. Whitensack. Frame Dwellings--H. Riefensthall, W. W. Smith, John Graves, Lowell Daniels, G. W. Westlake, H. L. Bryan, A. J. Reed, P. W. Reeder, W. Harvey, Henry Ward, S. A. Shattuck, D. S. Bryan, G. Dewey, Rev. Samuel Starr, Freeman Smith, ---- Jordan, J. Crabil, Mary Lucore, Mr. McDougal, Mary Clark, Mr. Coon, Mr. Seabury. As yet, however, the improvements were confined to but a small portion of the present city. Iowa (First) avenue had been used as a sand bank, at the convenience of builders, and being left in ridges and hollows was impassable to teams. Lot owners on Eagle street (Second avenue) were urged to cut out the underbrush in the street so that wagons might pass, and thus that section of the city become attractive for residences. From _Wolfe's Business Directory for 1869_ we may note a few of the business houses and professional men. Agricultural Implements--Averill & Hamilton, A. C. Churchill, Fleck & Dorwart, Higley Bros., Patterson & Co., F. J. Upton. Ammunition--J. A. Nye. Architect--S. S. Spaulding. Attorneys--Boyd & Smith, J. J. Child, Craft & Sosel, A. V. Eastman, R. H. Gilmore, H. H. Gray, Hubbard & Belt, J. W. Leslie, M. P. Mills, A. St. C. Smith, O. O. Stanchfield, I. N. Whittam. Baker--P. Seitz. Banks--City National, First National. Bankers--Carpenter, Stibbs & Co. Barbers--Brown & Bolin, W. K. Harris, Lightenberg & Reiss. Billiard Halls--F. Witousek, D. T. Williams. Blank Book Makers--J. C. Stoddard, C. Barthel, S. B. Carl, Cook & Funk, J. E. Davis, R. H. Dutton, C. Everlien, C. A. Files, J. Hough, A. S. Mershon, J. M. Nell, Delia Rudolph, L. Turner. Book and Job Printers--Ayers Bros., W. A. Ballard. Book Stores--E. R. Derby, J. G. Graves, F. G. Bennett. Boot and Shoe Dealers--E. R. Bradford, J. Gates, McClelland Bros., J. E. Morrison, P. Necomb, A. G. Plumb, O. Robinson, C. Tomasek, T. S. Wilson, J. Wolfe. Brewers--C. Magnus, owner of the Eagle Brewery, Will Williams, Cedar Rapids Brewery, owned by Joe Schneider. Carpenters--Boss & Gray, M. J. Bourne, M. Moore, Null & DeCamp, W. Richmond, S. S. Spalding, J. M. Waldt. Carpets--I. N. Isham, J. Bell & Co., P. Newcomb. Clothing--Arnold & Loucheim, Arnold & Levi, Jackson & Lincoln, Otto Co., R. B. Tomlinson, J. Wiener. Commission Merchants--H. L. Bryan, Charles & Carroll, C. H. Hall, R. L. Porter, J. J. Snouffer & Co. Dentists--E. Ebi, A. K. Miner. Drugs--G. C. Haman, J. C. May, L. Roth, A. H. Taylor, W. L. Weller, Wetherby & Bowen. Flour Mills--Aetna Mills, by J. J. Snouffer & Co., Cedar Rapids Flouring Mills, W. B. Leach & Co., Union Mills, by W. S. Cooper. Grocers--O. B. Coe, Anderson & Pettinger, Al Jacobs, P. G. Garret, Hildebrand & Lansing, A. C. Keyes, P. Keech, W. Lench, C. L. Lutz, Sam Neidig, G. Parr, F. Plucshel, P. Seitz, J. B. Spry, J. H. Stibbs, T. S. Wilson, J. J. Witwer, Wood & Wolcott. Six hotels on the east side, and several on the west side, known as Kingston. The doctors were--C. F. Bullen, J. H. Camburn, G. P. Carpenter, J. P. Coulter, J. W. Edes, Mansfield & Smith, F. McClelland, J. North, Israel Snyder, C. H. Thompson, W. Bolinger. The live real estate agents were--Carpenter, Stibbs & Co., R. H. Gilmore, St. Clair Smith, O. O. Stanchfield, West & Eastman. There were about twenty saloons operated. The wagon makers were--R. C. Hall, John Hesse, Jos. Hrbek, John Mehan, Star Wagon Co., run by Upton, Chambers & Co. Kingston also boasted of two blacksmith shops, one boarding house, three hotels, several grocers, wagon makers, lumber dealers, etc. The population of Kingston as given by this directory was 300. LINN COUNTY STATISTICS FOR 1856 General Figures--Number of dwelling houses, 2,518; number of families, 2,612; number of males, 7,911; number of females, 6,791; colored, 6; married, 5,110; widowed, 307; native voters, 2,946; naturalized voters, 236; aliens, 215; militia, 2,795; deaf and dumb, none; blind, 1; insane, 1; idiotic, 14; owners of land, 1,824; paupers, 3; total population of county, 14,792. Agricultural Statistics--Acres of land improved, 66,132; acres of land unimproved, 155,991; acres of meadow, 3,871; tons of hay, 8,551; bushels of grass seed, 306; acres spring wheat, 14,739; bushels harvested, 212,573; acres winter wheat, 249; bushels harvested, 1,532; acres oats, 5,854; bushels harvested, 180,674; acres corn, 24,251; bushels harvested, 1,025,375. Live Stock Figures--Number hogs sold, 16,905; value of hogs sold, $127,942; number of cattle sold, 3,284; value of cattle sold, $79,273. Farm Products--Pounds butter made, 153,646; pounds of wool sold, 14,143; pounds of cheese sold, 25,506; value of domestic manufactures, $7,269; value of general manufactures, $212,795. Nativity of population--Ohio, 3,758; Indiana, 1,320; Pennsylvania, 1,914; Iowa, 2,770; New York, 1,209; Maine, 111; New Hampshire, 83; Vermont, 189; Massachusetts, 188; Connecticut, 124; Rhode Island, 7; Virginia, 436; Kentucky, 242; Illinois, 453; Michigan, 87; Alabama, 1; Louisiana, 2; Mississippi, 4; North Carolina, 59; South Carolina, 23; Tennessee, 55; Missouri, 40; Georgia, 2; Maryland, 208; New Jersey, 178; Wisconsin, 51; Delaware, 10; England, 166; Ireland, 204; Wales, 4; Scotland, 72; Germany, 278; France, 11; Austria, 36; Russia, 0; Prussia, 5; Norway, 16; Sweden, 2; Holland, 2; on the ocean, 1; Canada, 161; New Brunswick, 11; Switzerland, 6; Denmark, 1; West Indies, 2; Bohemia, 139; Nova Scotia, 52; Prince Edward Island, 8; District of Columbia, 4; Poland, 1; Moravia, 6; Hungary, 5; Unknown, 1. From "Historical Sketch of the City," in the _Cedar Rapids Directory for 1870-71_, we cull the following: "During the year 1838 the first land claim was made by a certain Wm. Stone on what constituted the present site of Cedar Rapids. This was not the first claim made, however, as John Mann, Esq., had the honor of being the first settler in the county, having located at Pine Grove in the early part of the same year. "The attention of the early pioneers being drawn to the manufacturing resources of the county, the present site was early chosen as most suitable for a city, as the swift current of the river at this place would afford, in all probability, a valuable and extensive water-power. In 1841 the town was laid out, and within a short time thereafter the improvement of the water-power was commenced. The land lying along the margin of the river and commanding the water privileges was soon purchased by Messrs. N. B. Brown, George Greene, H. W. Gray, and others, who early commenced the construction of the dam and the building of those mills and manufactories which have since been the pride of the city and which have contributed so much to its permanent growth and development. * * * * * "N. B. Brown, Esq., has added an attractive feature to the city by erecting a costly and elegant hotel on North Commercial street, which, when finished, will be one of the finest west of Chicago. In addition to these, the building of the mammoth machine shops of the Burlington, Cedar Rapids and Minnesota R. R. Company is shortly contemplated. This will involve an expense of several hundred thousand dollars, for which purpose fifty thousand dollars have been appropriated to the company by this city and township. "... As to educational interests Cedar Rapids has maintained a high position among her sister cities of the state. It is generally conceded that Iowa is the banner state of the Union, regarding her system of free schools and the advantages derived therefrom. This city has no less than thirty-five thousand dollars in school buildings, including the one recently built in West Cedar Rapids. The schools are classified and graded under the latest improved system, and are presided over by an able corps of teachers, chosen with special reference to their attainments and adaptation to impart instruction. James E. Harlan has at present the entire superintendence of the schools, and by his efficiency he is maintaining the high reputation which the schools have before sustained. Over thirteen hundred pupils are in constant attendance, and the number is yearly increasing. "... The Young Men's Christian Association deserves even more than a passing notice. The rooms of the Association are in Mansfield's Block, over the postoffice, and are opened each morning and evening through the week. "... The Young Men's Library Association is also a pleasant feature of the city. The enterprise has established a choice and well selected library, consisting of historic, scientific, poetic and biographic works, chosen from the best authors in the land. The library rooms are in charge of Miss Mary Thompson, a lady of rare grace and culture, who takes delight in entertaining her guests and exhibiting the many works of interest that adorn the shelves of her library. "... The social, moral and religious elements blend here in sweet harmony, and much of the refinement and culture witnessed in eastern cities and in eastern society is equally exhibited here; hence to those wishing to settle in a place combining the advantages of church, schools and refined society, as well as a place of good business facilities will find Cedar Rapids a desirable city in which to locate. We venture the assertion that Cedar Rapids, in the future as in the past, is destined to excel, in wealth and numbers, her neighboring rivals, and evermore sit as queen in the rich valley she so beautifully adorns." The following obituary appeared in the Cedar Rapids _Gazette_ in March, 1909, and gives a sketch of a person who had passed through much of what is now the history of a thriving city, and is for that reason made part of the history of the county. Mrs. Brown was at her death the widow of one of the foremost men who ever lived in Cedar Rapids. "Susan Emery, daughter of Nathan Emery and Cornelia Broadhead, his wife, was born August 19, 1824, at Dingman's Ferry, Pike county, Pennsylvania, and died March 4, 1909, at Cedar Rapids, Iowa, thus having lived 84 years, 6 months and 15 days, a period of time much longer than the average allotted to mankind. A woman in her younger days of a noble, perhaps an imperious presence, strong in mental and physical make-up; self-reliant and unswerving in the object sought to be attained by her. Strong in likes and dislikes, no truer, more loyal friend among mankind than she. She came of a long-lived, stubborn warrior race. Through her mother, Cornelia Broadhead, she was descended from Daniel Broadhead, a Yorkshire Englishman, a captain of Grenadiers, who fought for Charles the Second during the civil wars of England, and by him was commissioned to serve under Colonel Nicholls in the expedition to the new world to wrest New Netherlands from the Dutch, that the same might become a new world kingdom for James, duke of York, brother to the king. "Captain Broadhead was made military governor of a portion of New Netherlands, with his headquarters at the old Indian town of Wiltwyck, called by the Hollanders Esophus and after the English occupation named and is still known as Kingston, in the state of New York. Captain Broadhead died in 1670. A grandson, Daniel by name, in 1733 migrated through the wilderness, down through the Jerseys to the water gap and located there. He with his sons refused to be driven out of the country and off his possessions by the savages during the Indian wars and fought for what they considered their own and won out. From this Daniel were descended three revolutionary soldiers--General Daniel Broadhead, a noted Indian fighter and close friend of George Washington; Luke Broadhead, a captain and friend of LaFayette, and Garret Broadhead, a captain. John Romeyn Broadhead, the historian, was of this family of Broadheads. From this it will be seen that Susan Brown came from no mean stock. In her younger days she was known to be generous and charitable to any worthy poor. Her giving was of the quiet and unostentatious kind, and to a considerable extent. This trait of character remained with her through her old age. She was a woman of strict integrity, spotless purity, and the world and community in which she lived was undoubtedly the gainer for her having lived in it. In 1852 she was married to her kinsman, Nicholas Broadhead Brown (a pioneer of 1840), coming immediately with her husband and sister, Mrs. Hannah E. Higley, to Cedar Rapids and has remained here continuously from that time, thus making her, with possibly one or two exceptions, at the time of her death, the oldest continuous resident of this city. In laying the foundation and the early upbuilding of this city were a number of potent and conspicuous men and women, such as George Greene, Alexander Ely, Addison Daniels, and others, but none more so than Nicholas B. Brown and his wife Susan." It is entirely proper to make some mention in these pages of Captain Joshua John Snouffer, who came to Cedar Rapids in 1852 when the city contained less than 400 people. He too had an intimate knowledge of what it meant to be a pioneer. Captain Snouffer was born in Maryland February 24, 1825, and though he was a loyal citizen of Iowa he never ceased to love his native state, nor did he ever forget its history, its traditions, and its people. He entered the Mexican war where he was wounded in the head on the field of battle on November 9, 1847. This wound troubled him all the remaining days of his life. At the time he was wounded he was first sergeant of a company of dragoons, and on several occasions had commanded a company. As a member of the firm of W. D. Watrous & Company he was closely identified with the milling industry of Cedar Rapids. He superintended the erection of "the brick mill" in 1875. With J. J. Child he was the joint author of the city's charter. He took an active part in the building of the Iowa & Nebraska Railroad, now the Northwestern. He was a prime mover in establishing the water works, and was one of those who gave the city its first street railway. At various times he was a member of the city government both as alderman and mayor. He was a skilled parliamentarian, and an honest man in every sense of the word. CEDAR RAPIDS TODAY W. I. Endicott, in _The Saturday Record_, July 10, 1909: Cedar Rapids has had a civic existence since January 15, 1849, on which date a town charter was adopted and town officers elected. In 1856, a new city charter was granted by the legislature and under that charter the affairs of the city were conducted until April 6, 1908, when the charter was abandoned and the city went under what is known as the "Commission Plan." Under the provisions of this law all ward lines and divisions were abolished and five men--a mayor and four councilmen or commissioners are elected at large. In the hands of these five men is placed all responsibility for the appointment of the entire city official staff and the management of city affairs. The new plan is working in a most satisfactory manner in Cedar Rapids and many things are being accomplished under it that were impossible of accomplishment under the old ward system. The improvements under way are all planned with a view to actual necessity and the harmonious building up of the city in all its sections. Modern business methods are in use in the conduct of the city's affairs and unwise or extravagant expenditure of the public money is not permitted. The council meets nearly every day and the citizen who has business to transact with the council is given instant hearing and attention. Under the law, the mayor is paid a salary of $2,500 and each of the councilmen $1,800 annually, and they devote full time and attention to the work of the city. The city's business is divided into departments and each man is in charge of and responsible for a certain department. The mayor is head of the department of Public Affairs and as such, exercises a general supervision over all phases of the city business. Then there are the departments of Accounts and Finances, the department of Public Safety, the department of Streets and Public Improvements, and the department of Parks and Public Property. The men elected have first to be successful in a wide open primary and then in the regular city election secure a majority of all the votes cast. In the election of 1908 there were 48 candidates for councilman and nine candidates for mayor on the primary ballot. From these names the two who received the highest number of votes for mayor and the eight who received the highest number of votes for councilman were declared the nominees and their names appeared on the ballot at the regular election, the names appearing in alphabetical order on both the primary and regular election ballots, and without any party or other designation. In 1908 the council accomplished the sale of the old city hall site and the purchase of May's Island for park and public buildings purposes. This island has an area of about six acres, and lying in the Cedar river in the very center of the city, forms an ideal place for a civic center. The city offices are now occupying temporary quarters on the island and as rapidly as possible the low places are being filled with dirt from the various excavations for business buildings, and from other sources, so that what was once a municipal disgrace, is being rapidly transformed into a place of beauty, to say nothing of forever setting at rest any possibility of divisive strife between the two sides of the river. THE CITY'S ASSETS The public improvements of the city of Cedar Rapids represent expenditures running into the millions of dollars. Few cities of like size are so thoroughly or excellently paved. On the first of January, 1909, the city had three miles of asphalt, twenty miles of brick, and five miles of macadam paving, or a total of twenty-eight miles. There are now under construction, or already completed on contracts carried over from 1908, two miles of brick and one mile of tar treated macadam, giving Cedar Rapids at the present time thirty-one miles of paving. The contracts let for 1909 will add more than five miles to that total, so the city will have approximately thirty-six miles of paving at the end of the present year. Sidewalks are practically all of cement construction and laid under city supervision. On January 1, 1909, there were more than 102 miles of walk in the city, and of this more than ninety-six miles were of cement, nearly four miles of brick or stone and only about two miles of wooden construction. The contracts let for this season will represent the construction of about eight miles of walks, giving the city a total of 110 miles of sidewalks. Cedar Rapids has two systems of sewers, sanitary and storm water. Some of the storm water sewers are of large size, being seven feet in diameter, and one--the Vinton ditch sewer, is even larger. Cedar Rapids has an excellent fire department, equipped with the best of apparatus. There are five stations--one central station and four outlying hose houses. In the matter of parks the city has made a most promising start. There are now in the city twenty-eight parks, counting large and small and not including any street parkways. Of this number Bever Park, Ellis Park, Daniels Park, May's Island Park, Riverside Park, and Whittam Park are considerable tracts, while George Greene Square, opposite the union station, with its beautiful display of flowers and rich green lawn, is one of the show spots of the city. Bever Park, the largest of the parks, in the woods to the east of the city, was the gift of James L. Bever, George W. Bever, and John B. Bever, as a memorial to their father, Sampson C. Bever, who was one of the pioneers of the city. Bever Park is flanked one side by picturesque Vernon Heights and on the other by beautiful Ridgewood, forming an almost continuous park of great extent and beauty. Daniels Park is the newest of the city parks. It is located on the Old Marion Road and has been transformed into a beautiful floral park, with well-arranged walks and driveways. Riverside Park is the close-in park, being located on the bank of the river south of Eleventh avenue, and this has been made a play park, with plenty of out-door gymnasium apparatus for the children and young people. Ellis Park, located on the river bank above the city, is one of the most beautiful and attractive of all the parks, and when adequate means of reaching it are installed, it will without question be one of the most popular parks in the city. The river with its excellent boating facilities, gives a charm to Ellis Park that is denied the other breathing places of the city. The city of Cedar Rapids is spending more than twenty thousand dollars each year on its park system, and it is money well spent. There are about two hundred acres in the park system, and a conservative value of the park grounds and improvements is well over $300,000. The Free Public Library is a most valuable asset to the city and aside from the unmeasurable good done in the dissemination of knowledge, represents a money investment of well toward $150,000. The building proper was the gift of Mr. Carnegie and cost $75,000, the grounds and other items and the contents of the library will add another $75,000 to the valuation. It is supported by a city tax and costs about $12,000 per year to operate. Its affairs are in charge of a board of trustees, appointed by the council. The city owns and maintains five bridges across the Cedar river. Of these bridges four are of steel construction and one--the Second avenue bridge--is a magnificent reinforced concrete bridge of Melan arch design. This bridge is one of the best and most attractive in the middle west. Its cost was more than $100,000. [The city contracted in 1909-10 a new concrete bridge to replace the old steel bridge on Sixteenth avenue at a cost of $80,000. It is 40 feet wide and 2,600 feet long, and was opened for traffic January, 1910. A new concrete bridge will be contracted in 1911 at Third avenue to replace one of the oldest in the city.] [Illustration: SIXTEENTH AVENUE BRIDGE, CEDAR RAPIDS] [Illustration: FIRST STREET, CORNER SECOND AVENUE, IN 1869] The city water works are owned by the city of Cedar Rapids, and are managed by three trustees appointed by the council. The plant was purchased from the water company July 1, 1903, at an agreed price of $473,000. Of this amount, $23,000 was paid in cash and the remainder was put in the form of bonds. In the past six years $158,000 of these bonds have been retired, leaving a net indebtedness against the water plant of $315,000. The net earnings of the plant from July 1, 1903, to July 1, 1908, were $79,952.30, and for the year ending July 1, 1909, were almost $25,000. In addition the city gets free hydrant rental and fire protection. A conservative inventory of the water plant will show a valuation of well over $600,000 at the present time. The water is taken from large wells on an island in the Cedar river belonging to the city and located some distance above the C. & N. W. bridge. It is filtered by the Jewell system and is forced through the mains by large pumps. There are three of these pumps in use, one of two million gallons daily capacity, one of three million gallons capacity and one of five million gallons capacity. The necessary power is supplied by two water tube boilers of 350 horsepower each, and three tubular boilers of 70 horsepower each. The filter system has a capacity of three million gallons per day, and an additional reservoir for the filter is now under construction. There are at the present time 390 fire hydrants and an excellent and satisfactory fire pressure is maintained for all fire alarms. A loop of twelve-inch mains encircles the business district and this loop is supplied by a twenty-inch main direct from the pumps, giving the business section a fire protection unexcelled by that of any city in the west. THE RAILWAYS Up to 1849 the village of Cedar Rapids had no formal organization. It was simply a township. But the legislature of 1849 granted a town charter and for the next decade the community throve apace. It was during this period of years that Cedar Rapids strove for, and secured, its first line of railway. In the fifties the railway lines to the west left the bank of the Mississippi and pushed their way out into the fertile prairies of Iowa. Among these lines was one known as the Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska, and its purpose was to construct a line of railway from Clinton, across Iowa, to some point on the Missouri river. Among Cedar Rapids men who were prominently identified with the enterprise and were on the board of directors were John Weare, Jr., William Greene, H. G. Angle and S. C. Bever. The company was organized in 1856, but it was not until June, 1859, that the line was completed from Clinton to Cedar Rapids, a distance of a little over eighty miles, and train service established between the two towns. Previous to the coming of the railroad, communication with the outside world was maintained by means of stage lines; Dubuque, Clinton, Davenport, Muscatine, Iowa City, and Waterloo being reached by that method. Freight and supplies were brought in by wagon, though in the early days there was some steamboat traffic on the Cedar river as far as Cedar Rapids. It required hard work, and plenty of it, to get that first new line of railway into Cedar Rapids. Marion, the old, substantial town and the county seat, wanted the road--and came pretty near getting it, too. The next move in railway construction work for the community was the extension of the new line west, on its way to the Missouri river, a line which is today the main artery of the Chicago & Northwestern system, forming an important part of the great highway of steel connecting the Atlantic and Pacific. The original promoters of the Chicago, Iowa and Nebraska Railway, living in Cedar Rapids, were anxious that that company should build a branch line up the Cedar valley from this point, and thus tap the rich and rapidly growing territory lying to the northwest of Cedar Rapids. But the company had no time or money with which to build side lines or branches. Its objective point was the Missouri river and the great beyond. So Judge George Greene, S. L. Dows, and other prominent public spirited men took up the task of constructing a road from Cedar Rapids to Vinton and Waterloo. Burlington capitalists and promoters joined in the work of extending the line from Cedar Rapids southeast to Burlington, and in a few years the embryo of what later became the Burlington, Cedar Rapids & Northern, the "Cedar Rapids route," with its lines radiating from Cedar Rapids to Clinton, Muscatine, Burlington, What Cheer, Iowa City, Sioux Falls, Watertown, Worthington, Forest City, Albert Lea, St. Paul, Minneapolis, and Decorah, was in existence. The shops, roundhouses and general offices of the road were located in Cedar Rapids, and everybody took pride and a personal interest in speaking of the institution as the "Home Road." The absorption of the Burlington, Cedar Rapids & Northern by the great Rock Island system, thus giving Cedar Rapids direct connections with all stations on that road, is a matter so recent as to be hardly history as yet. This change has been more in name than in reality. The shops are maintained, as in years past. An even larger army of trainmen and operative employes make Cedar Rapids their home, and the general offices for the northern district make use of the general office building constructed by the Burlington, Cedar Rapids & Northern Railway Co. Cedar Rapids' third railway enterprise was the securing of the Dubuque & Southwestern, locally known as the "Slough Shore," from the manner of its entrance into the town. This railway was built and operated by the Farleys, father and sons, of Dubuque, and for many years, with its connection with the Illinois Central at Farley, maintained the only line of direct communication between Dubuque and Cedar Rapids. In the early days some very peculiar railroading was done on the Farley line, and the incidents and happenings, if gathered together, would make an extended volume. The Dubuque and Southwestern is now a part of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul system, and over its tracks trains now run to Chicago, Omaha, Kansas City, Minneapolis, and St. Paul, as well as to the original sleepy little terminus of Farley. The last steam road to enter Cedar Rapids was the Illinois Central, a line being constructed from Manchester by the late S. L. Dows. This line opens up to the shippers and business men of Cedar Rapids direct connections with the Illinois Central, and is of peculiar value in the traffic in southern and tropical fruits and commodities which come by water to New Orleans. More recently the interurban between Cedar Rapids and Iowa City has been constructed, and with its hourly service it has won a business which makes certain the building of other and equally as promising lines in the near future. Cedar Rapids of 1909, from a railroad point of view, is the traffic pivot of the middle west. Centering here are four of the largest railway systems of the country--the Chicago & Northwestern, the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul, the Rock Island, and the Illinois Central. From Cedar Rapids direct lines radiate to Chicago, Peoria, St. Louis, Kansas City, St. Joseph, Council Bluffs, Omaha, Sioux City, Sioux Falls, Watertown, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and Milwaukee, the total mileage of the lines entering Cedar Rapids being about 35,000 miles. Direct service is maintained between Cedar Rapids and nearly 1,750 stations in Iowa, to say nothing of the thousands of stations in other and surrounding states reached by direct train service from this city. More than 225 railway and interurban trains arrive in or depart from Cedar Rapids daily. Approximately 80,000 carloads of freight are handled annually. The freight earnings are about $3,500,000 and the passenger receipts are about $1,200,000 each year. Three express companies, the American, the United States, and the Wells-Fargo, maintain offices in Cedar Rapids. Recognizing the future of Cedar Rapids as a railroad, manufacturing and distributing center, the railroads have all been expending vast sums of money in the past few years in the acquisition of property for terminal purposes. The Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul, the Illinois Central, and the Rock Island now control absolutely the entire section of the city lying between Fifth and Ninth avenues, the river and Third street, and it is only fair to presume that the four blocks between Third and Fourth streets and Fifth and Ninth avenues will also be devoted exclusively to railway purposes. South of the city, along the river bank, the Chicago & Northwestern is expending thousands of dollars in the filling in of a large section of low land and old river bed, and on this made ground new and enlarged terminals and switch yards will be built. The Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific is now engaged in the construction of its new terminals and freight depot on the blocks lying between Second and Third streets and Fifth and Ninth avenues, and when completed these terminals and depot will be ample for the accommodation of a freight business of a city of hundreds of thousands of population. In the matter of passenger travel the city is well accommodated in the two depots, both on Fourth street, one occupied by the Chicago & Northwestern and the Rock Island, and known as the Union station, and the other occupied jointly by the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul and the Illinois Central lines. Mention must also be made of the Cedar Rapids and Iowa City interurban line, which maintains an excellent hourly service between the two cities. This line of road is the pioneer in the interurban field for the city, if the line to Marion be excepted, but is proving daily more and more popular and its business is increasing in such a measure that the building of additional lines of like character is only a question of the near future. MANUFACTURING From the days of its very earliest beginnings the people of Cedar Rapids have paid especial attention to the manufacturing industry. A large part of those who settled in Cedar Rapids came from the east where manufacturing leads all other industries and it is but natural that they should embark in their new home in those lines with which they were familiar. The papers and records of the early days tell of a long line of enterprises that have come and gone. There were flour mills, woolen mills, implement works, engine factories, wagon factories, oil mills--the list is a long and interesting one to the delver into local history. With the coming of the railways, opening up markets for the manufactured products and affording means of collecting and bringing in the raw material, the manufacturing side of Cedar Rapids' activities has grown apace, until today Cedar Rapids, although not the largest of Iowa cities, leads them all in the amount of manufactured goods produced. In 1908 the total ran to nearly if not quite $22,000,000, and the output for 1909 will far exceed that great figure. There are now nearly 100 manufacturing institutions in Cedar Rapids, employing nearly 4,500 hands and paying more than $3,000,000 annually in wages. Many of our manufacturing institutions are of many years' standing. The great mill of the Quaker Oats Company, the largest milling plant in the world, was originally established years ago as an oat meal mill by George Douglas and Robert Stuart, two thrifty and persevering Scotchmen to whose industry and far-sightedness is due the fact that at least the first course of the world's breakfast (after fruit) comes from Cedar Rapids. The great packing plant of T. M. Sinclair & Co., Ltd., giving employment to 1,200 employees and sending its products to all parts of the world, has done more to advertise Cedar Rapids than any other one agency. It was established by T. M. Sinclair, a young man from Belfast, and from its modest beginning many years ago it has become a plant representing an investment of millions and an ability to supply at least a large portion of the second course of the world's breakfast. Then there is the big starch works of Douglas & Co., the largest independent starch plant in the country--a plant where corn by the train load is daily transformed into starch and gluten feed. In smaller institutions note must be made of the Anchor Mill Co. and the T. G. White Cereal Co., with their specialties in flour and wheat flakes. While on the subject of cereals, note should be taken of the big elevators and cleaning houses of the Cedar Rapids Grain Co., the Clinton Grain Co., Jackson Grain Co., and the Wells-Hord Grain Co. Without doubt, the name "Cereal City" which has been applied to Cedar Rapids is not a misnomer. In other lines Cedar Rapids leads as well as in those involving the conversion of the native products of agricultural Iowa. This city with its three great pump companies, the Cedar Rapids Pump Co., the Chandler Pump Co., and the Iowa Windmill and Pump Co., control the pump, windmill, iron pipe and plumbing supply business of the middle west. While the collateral lines covered by the Dearborn Brass Co., the Iowa Radiator Co., the Tokheim Manufacturing Co., the Vernier Manufacturing Co., the Smith-Talbott Co., and others add materially to the leadership of Cedar Rapids in these departments. The Denning Fence works places Cedar Rapids in a leading position in the fence manufacturing business. The Perfection Manufacturing Co., the Hawkeye Skirt and Garment Co., the Welch-Cook Co., and the Clark-MacDanel Co., give Cedar Rapids a high position in the business of manufacturing clothing for both men and women that is not suspected, even by some of the best posted people in the city. Then there are other lines of manufacture. The J. G. Cherry Co., with their line of dairy and creamery supplies; the Cedar Rapids Sash and Door Co., the Williams & Hunting Co., and the Disbrow Sash and Door Co., with their big wood working plants; the various furniture factories, the cement and sand-lime brick plants; the big printing plants, for printing is a most important industry in Cedar Rapids; in short, the list is endless and as this is not a directory of the manufacturing industries of Cedar Rapids, further individual mention will have to be abandoned. What is manufactured in Cedar Rapids? The list is a long and mixed one. It comprehends all kinds of breakfast foods, flour, starch, gluten feed, all kinds of packing house products, woven wire fence, candy, ice cream, pumps, iron pipe, windmills, plumbers' supplies, steam heating plants, machinery of all kinds, stone and ore crushers, hot air furnaces, cornices, bank, store and office fixtures, camp and lawn furniture, corsets, parlor furniture, mattresses, woven wire springs, undertakers' supplies, egg cases, dairy supplies, butter, concrete fence posts, sand-lime brick, prepared plaster, ice, gasoline engines, store step-ladders, hard wood specialties, electrical supplies, gasoline storage tanks and measuring pumps, manure spreaders, overalls, women's skirts, suits and jackets, shirts, photo paper, brass goods, coffee, spices, extracts, baking powder, sash, doors and blinds, steel baskets, tanks, stoves, school books, umbrellas, vinegar, pickles, wagons, carriages, omnibuses, automobiles, patent medicines, physicians' and hospital supplies, crushed stone, cigars, etc., etc. It is noteworthy that of the many industries started in Cedar Rapids within the past twenty years, a very large per cent have been financial successes, some of them notably so. Nearly all of them have been launched in modest fashion and while nowhere is it possible for all enterprises to succeed, the few failures in Cedar Rapids have all been brought about by causes purely individual in the management or because of circumstances which seemingly no one could control. Cedar Rapids has passed beyond the experimental stage as a manufacturing city. It has been demonstrated that industries can be established and operated successfully here and that goods made in Cedar Rapids will find a ready and stable sale in all parts of the world. In fact, Cedar Rapids is but just beginning her epoch of industrial prosperity and growth and she extends to all the invitation to come, see how those here are prospering, and join in the march of events which will in the years to come make Cedar Rapids one of the best known manufacturing communities in the whole United States. In this connection it is not amiss to speak of the excellent conditions which have always surrounded the labor situation in this city. The manufacturing industry must, of necessity, depend very largely on the element of labor and in many localities strikes and strife and misunderstanding and trouble generally have added to the difficulty of the local situation. There has been but little of this sort of thing in Cedar Rapids. Labor has always been well paid, well treated and well satisfied in this city, and the little differences which have come up between employer and employee have all been settled promptly and satisfactorily. There has been an absence of the grafting labor agitator and all have worked harmoniously together to build up the city and its best interests. THE STREET RAILWAYS BY E. A. SHERMAN, EDITOR SATURDAY RECORD The Marion and Cedar Rapids Improvement Company was incorporated March 8, 1879, to construct street railways on the streets of Cedar Rapids and Marion, and the highway between, known as the "Boulevard." The incorporators were Addison Daniels, J. L. Crawford, C. C. Cook, and John Meredith Davis. The officers were John Meredith Davis, president; James L. Crawford, secretary; C. C. Cook, treasurer. On March 13, 1879, the city council of Marion passed an ordinance authorizing construction of the line in the city of Marion. On May 16th, the city council of Cedar Rapids passed an ordinance granting the Marion and Cedar Rapids Improvement Company the right to construct and operate street railways on Iowa avenue, and also on alternate streets. October 13, 1879, the name of the company was changed to the Cedar Rapids and Marion Street Railway Company. John Meredith Davis resigned as president and was succeeded by W. M. Hewitt. November 8, 1879, the city of Cedar Rapids passed another ordinance granting a franchise to the Cedar Rapids and Marion Street Railway Company for lines on Iowa avenue and on alternate streets. Up to this last date the enterprise had been fathered by Milwaukee and Davenport parties, who then dropped out. Construction had already been begun and the work was continued by Marion parties, prominent among whom were Mr. E. Latham, J. L. Crawford, and J. C. Davis. Mr. Latham advanced the money necessary for construction. On January 8, 1880, Mr. Latham was made president of the company. In March of that year Judge George Greene (always foremost in any enterprise which would help Cedar Rapids) took a controlling interest in the company, and from that time forward, with the financial assistance rendered by Judge Greene, the work went rapidly on so that the line began carrying passengers between Cedar Rapids and Marion on the 3d of May, 1880, by steam motor between Twelfth street in Cedar Rapids and the terminal station in Marion, and from Twelfth street to Fourth street in Cedar Rapids in horse cars. Both Judge Greene and Mr. Latham died early in the summer of 1880, and although Mr. S. C. Bever, Mr. A. J. McKean and other prominent citizens of Cedar Rapids and Marion afterwards became interested in the enterprise, the Greene family always held a controlling interest and were foremost in management of the company up to the sale in 1890. Mr. Latham was succeeded as president by William Greene on July 15, 1880. The board of supervisors forbade the company laying its track on the boulevard, and brought suit to enjoin such construction. The Eighteenth General Assembly (1880) passed an act authorizing street railway tracks on roads 100 feet wide. So the supreme court sustained Judge Shane in refusing the injunction. Early in the spring of 1881, the line was extended across the steam railway tracks at Fourth street to the foot of Iowa avenue. Soon after that date the company were not allowed to bring the steam motors below Fifteenth street, the horse cars carrying the Marion passengers up to that point. The track between Marion and the city limits of Cedar Rapids were laid with "T" rails weighing sixteen pounds to the yard; afterwards changed to thirty-five pounds per yard. The horse car tracks were laid with flat rails weighing twenty-two to twenty-four pounds per yard, spiked on the top of wooden stringers. The first equipment consisted of two small second hand steam motors and four cars. The extensions and additions made were: In 1882, track to fair ground from First to B avenue, only operated during fairs and amusements. Line on Adams (now Third) street, First avenue to Fourteenth avenue. Opened September 7, 1882. Line from First avenue and Commercial (now First) street to Third avenue, across Third avenue bridge on Third avenue to Sixth street west; also line on Third street north from Third avenue to A avenue, and south to Seventh avenue west. These west side lines began doing business in the fall of 1882, and early in 1883 car and horse barns were built at Third avenue and Third street west. In 1884, line extended from Third street and Seventh avenue west to J. C. Young's addition at Sixth street and Fifteenth avenue west and afterwards taken up for want of business. In 1886, line from First avenue east along Fifth street to Fifth avenue, up First avenue to Tenth street, thence on Tenth street and Mount Vernon road to Oak Hill cemetery; opened for business July 4, 1886. Fair ground line taken up. New line on Sixteenth street from First to E avenue, built and put in operation November 15, 1886. As the branch lines of horse railroad within the city of Cedar Rapids paid no profit, the Marion stockholders stoutly objected to the earnings of the Marion line being used for the sole benefit of the people of Cedar Rapids. So the Cedar Rapids and Marion Railway Co., on the 13th of July, 1889, conveyed to John W. Henderson--for the sum of one dollar--all of these branch lines excepting the Sixteenth street line. Mr. Henderson on November 14, 1889, deeded the same to the Cedar Rapids Street Railway, a company organized for the purpose of operating these city lines, and for the further construction of other city lines in Cedar Rapids, of which company C. G. Greene was president, U. C. Blake, vice-president, W. J. Greene, secretary, and George Greene, treasurer. These city lines failed to earn enough to pay operating expenses and were all conveyed back to the Cedar Rapids and Marion Railway Co. on February 9, 1891. For the year ending June 30, 1884, the number of employes of the company was twenty, the annual wages $11,667.44. In 1889 the number of employes averaged twenty-eight and the annual wages $15,878.00. During the years 1886 to 1890, the west side lines had been gradually abandoned, so that on December 1, 1890, there was only remaining the one on First street and across the Third avenue bridge to Third street, and thence on Third street southwesterly to Seventh avenue. The entire equipment at that date consisted of two steam motors, two 28-foot coaches, one open trail car, 20 feet long, one baggage car, one 18-foot, six 12-foot, and eleven 10-foot horse cars, two snow plows, two flat cars and nineteen horses and mules, with the necessary harness and fixtures. In the autumn of 1890 it came to the knowledge of Mr. J. S. Ely that non-resident parties were investigating the situation with a view of acquiring the property of the Cedar Rapids and Marion Railway, together with the city lines then owned by the Cedar Rapids Street Railway. Mr. Ely believing that it would be best for the interests of the city of Cedar Rapids that control of the transportation facilities be in the hands of resident property owners, who would have a greater interest in a more extensive system and better service, than those seeking merely financial profit, obtained options on a controlling interest in the capital stock of both of the companies. After which Mr. Ely and Mr. Henry V. Ferguson organized a syndicate consisting of Messrs. A. T. Averill, James L. Bever, Chas. H. Clark, Geo. B. Douglas, Walter D. Douglas, C. J. Ives, C. Magnus, P. E. Hall, J. S. Ely, and Henry V. Ferguson, who on December 15, 1890, purchased two-thirds of the entire capital stock of the two companies (the C. R. & M. Ry. and the C. R. Street Ry.) buying out all of the old stockholders except Frances R. Greene, C. G. Greene, S. C. Bever, Geo. W. Bever, and U. C. Blake. Immediately after this change of control, the stockholders paid in money enough to clear up all the floating debt of the companies, and put them on a good financial basis. The stockholders addressed the following communication to the mayor and city council of Cedar Rapids: "To the Honorable Mayor and City Council of the City of Cedar Rapids, Iowa: "The undersigned stockholders in the Cedar Rapids and Marion Railway, and in the Cedar Rapids Street Railway Company, respectfully represent to your honorable body that they are the absolute owners of all the stock of the corporations, and all are resident tax payers in said city, largely interested in its general progress and prosperity; that it is their purpose and intention to reconstruct, improve and extend the properties now operated by the said companies and to run the cars on said lines by electric power as soon as the necessary authority and the additional rights and franchises required are granted, and on the granting of the same, we pledge ourselves to take immediate steps toward putting on electric service, and to rebuild, maintain and operate, and from time to time extend the lines in said city to the full extent that ordinary business prudence will warrant. "We, therefore, petition your honorable body to grant said corporations the necessary authority, rights and franchises to enable them to enter upon and make the changes and improvements above mentioned. "P. E. Hall, A. T. Averill, Henry V. Ferguson, C. G. Greene, Walter D. Douglas, Jno. S. Ely, Chas. H. Clark, C. J. Ives, Jas. L. Bever, G. B. Douglas, C. Magnus, F. R. Greene, Geo. W. Bever, S. C. Bever, U. C. Blake. "Dated December 31, 1890." The franchise asked for by these stockholders was for twenty-five years. Although the above application was warmly supported by the leading newspapers of Cedar Rapids, the city council refused the franchise so asked for, but instead on May 1, 1891, granted to the Thomson-Houston Electric Co. a franchise for fifty years, for lines covering substantially the same territory on the east side of the river as that served by the horse cars, and also for three miles of new lines on the west side of the river, to be afterwards located. So these gentlemen who had put up their money to save the city of Cedar Rapids from non-resident ownership of transportation lines, found their purpose frustrated and with a fair prospect of losing their entire investment. Rather than suffer this, a majority decided to acquire this new franchise at the best price obtainable, and then go ahead with construction according to its terms. After this decision Mr. Ives and Mr. Magnus retired from the enterprise and took back their money. Previously, during the negotiation for the franchise, Mr. S. C. Bever and Mr. U. C. Blake had sold out. On the organization of the new company to take over the Thomson-Houston franchise, Mrs. Frances R. Greene, C. G. Greene and Geo. W. Bever sold their interests to the remaining stockholders. Neither the Cedar Rapids and Marion Railway nor the Cedar Rapids Street Railway ever paid a dividend, so that all of the stockholders who had invested their money in these enterprises went out with entire loss of income, and most of them with considerable loss of principal. J. P. Messer was superintendent from January 1, 1881, to February 22, 1883, when he resigned and was succeeded by Wm. Elsom, who remained superintendent until after the system had been changed into an electric railway. CEDAR RAPIDS AND MARION CITY RAILWAY COMPANY The Cedar Rapids and Marion City Railway Company was organized May 14, 1891, and immediately thereafter purchased the franchise for electric railways in Cedar Rapids recently granted to the Thomson-Houston Electric Co., and also took over all the rights, property and franchises of the Cedar Rapids and Marion Railway. A franchise for twenty-five years for an electric line from the terminal point in the city of Marion to the southwesterly city limits of Marion was granted to this company at about that time. The first officers were: Jas. L. Bever, president; Walter D. Douglas, vice-president; Chas. H. Clark, treasurer; Glenn M. Averill, secretary. Within a few months Jas. L. Bever and A. T. Averill sold out and retired from the enterprise. After the reorganization resulting from this change in ownership, the officers were: P. E. Hall, president; W. D. Douglas, vice-president; Chas. H. Clark, treasurer; John S. Ely, secretary. The stockholders were: Chas. H. Clark, Geo. B. Douglas, John S. Ely, J. S. Cook, Walter D. Douglas, Henry V. Ferguson, and P. E. Hall, of Cedar Rapids, Horace Williams, of Clinton, Iowa, J. E. Ainsworth, of Council Bluffs, Iowa, now of Williamstown, Vt., David P. Kimball and L. C. Kimball, of Boston, Mass., and J. Van Deventer, of Knoxville, Tenn. No change of ownership except through division of estates of deceased stockholders has taken place up to the present time. The work of construction and reconstruction was begun at once and vigorously pushed during the season of 1891. All tracks were entirely new excepting from Sixteenth street to Marion. Those across the First avenue bridge were laid with strap rails, nailed to the bridge plank. The balance of the double track with 58 pound girder rails. All other new lines with 45 pound "T" rail. The strap rail was taken off the bridge and girder rail substituted a few years thereafter. The city lines on the east side of the river were open for business in November, 1891, the west side lines in December, 1891, and electric service begun to Marion in February, 1892. The main line mileage of the road at this date, not counting spur and sidetracks is, within the city of Cedar Rapids 12.85 miles, of which 2.28 miles is double track. From the city limits at Kenwood to Marion, 2.80 miles; total 15.65 miles. The Marion line above Twentieth street through to Marion has been entirely rebuilt with new rails, the grades cut down, the alignment changed, the track ballasted, a new steel and concrete bridge built over Indian creek; so as to make that portion of the road fully adequate for the business. Within the last three years all of the girder rail tracks east of the river have been relaid with 60 and 80 pound "T" rails and the number of ties increased fifty per cent. The service has been increased to once in fifteen minutes each way and extended to twelve o'clock at night on all the lines excepting the Marion line, where the service is once in twenty minutes during the day and up to 12:30 a. m. The power plant first installed consisted of two 125 horsepower engines connected by belts to two 75 k. w. generators. It now consists of one 400 horsepower engine belted to a 300 k. w. generator, and one 750 horsepower engine directly connected to a 450 k. w. generator. The output of power is equalized by a storage battery of 272 cells. The boilers, smoke stack, switch board, condensers and all minor machinery have been correspondingly increased and improved. [Illustration: U. B. CHURCH, LISBON Built 1855 FIRST U. B. CHURCH WEST OF MISSISSIPPI RIVER Built and Presented to Members at Lisbon in 1850 by Rev. Christian Hershey] The car barn (originally a wooden iron-clad building 80�140 feet) has been enlarged and new brick buildings erected with shop room for building car bodies and trucks, and making all necessary repairs to cars and electric equipment; so that the present storage shop and office buildings, with storage for lumber and ties, covers six full sized city lots. The company now builds its own car trucks and car bodies. For the year 1892 (first year of operation of electric lines) the average number of employes was 81, and the total wages paid $37,610.12. For the year 1908 the average number of employes was 143 and the annual wages $84,328.73. William Elsom was superintendent from the organization of the company until June, 1892, when he resigned and was succeeded by F. L. Diserens, who still holds that position. The present officers and directors are: P. E. Hall, president; Henry V. Ferguson, vice-president and secretary; John S. Ely, treasurer. The directors are P. E. Hall, John S. Ely, Henry V. Ferguson, George B. Douglas, and Edward C. Clark, all of Cedar Rapids; Walter D. Douglas, of Minneapolis, Minnesota; and David P. Kimball, of Boston, Massachusetts. THE COMMERCIAL CLUB FROM THE SATURDAY RECORD, JULY 10, 1909 The city of Cedar Rapids has had a number of commercial organizations, formed to advance the business interests of the community, in the sixty years of its existence, but all the earlier associations were of a more or less informal character, and while they did good work as long as the enthusiasm lasted, the time came when each and every one passed into history. It was not until 1897 that a permanent commercial club came into being and that organization, which is now known as the Cedar Rapids Commercial Club, has for the past twelve years played a most important part in the upbuilding of the city and the promotion of its best commercial and industrial interests. The events leading up to the organization of the Commercial Club form an interesting story, and as the editor of _The Record_ was personally identified with them, he here takes the liberty of making the facts a matter of record. In April, 1897, a meeting of the Fifth District Editorial Association was held at Excelsior Springs, Mo., and as part of the entertainment, a delegation from the Commercial Club of Kansas City, escorted the members of the Editorial Association from Excelsior Springs to Kansas City and devoted a day to showing them Kansas City from every point of view. The stock yards, the packing houses, the fire department, the newspaper offices, the parks were visited, a reception and luncheon were tendered at the Commercial Club rooms and a dinner was served at one of the leading hotels. Following the return of the party to Excelsior Springs, A. N. Palmer, president of the Cedar Rapids Business College and editor of the _American Penman_, and the editor of _The Record_ were discussing the splendid entertainment of the Kansas City boosters and what it meant to a city to have such a live organization; and it was then and there decided that Cedar Rapids ought to have such a club. The matter was talked over at length and the result was that as soon as possible after returning home, Mr. Palmer issued a letter to some 400 of the business men of the city reciting the need of such an organization in Cedar Rapids and calling a meeting for the purpose of considering its formation. That meeting was held in the assembly room of the Cedar Rapids Business College on the evening of June 8, 1897. It was decided to form the club and at a subsequent meeting, held July 2d, the club was formally organized. A. N. Palmer was chosen the first president and the editor of _The Record_ was elected temporary secretary, serving until the election of the first permanent paid secretary, Ed. R. Shaw, who assumed office July 15th. The first offices of the club were in the Granby building, the rent being a donation from Mr. E. A. Higley. Subsequently, in May, 1901, came the consolidation of the Commercial Club with the Occidental Club and the removal to the Masonic Temple, which has since been the home of the club. With the consolidation came the addition of the social feature, including reading room, billiards, and later, the inauguration of the noon-day lunch, which latter has proved to be most popular, and which has done much to bring the members in closer touch each with the other. Ever since organization the Commercial Club has been fortunate in securing as officers men who have been willing and able to give the organization their time, best thought and energy, with the result that it has been and is now a live and potent force in the community. Such men as Palmer, Anderson, Forbes, Newman, Safely, Rall, and others, have filled the presidency with credit to themselves and profit to the club and the city, and in Shaw, Lincoln, Charles, Simmons, Sessions, Shaver, Bell, and Wunderlich the Commercial Club has had secretaries who have labored faithfully to further the best interests of the organization and city. The present officers, J. F. Rall, president, and John Wunderlich, secretary, are making records in their administration and achieving results that speak for themselves. The work of the Commercial Club is so wide-spreading and presents so many aspects that it is impossible to refer to it in any detail. The idea of the club is to arrange systematic work to be done by the members, as well as by the officers, and with that in view, there are a number of committees in charge of various departments of the work, as follows: Assembly, Civic, Entertainments, Executive, House, Interurban, Legislative, Manufactures, Mercantile, Membership, Navigation on Cedar River, Public Institutions, Trade Extension, Tariff and Transportation, Special Convention, Railway Service, Statistics. These are all regular standing committees. In addition, many special committees are appointed to take up special or emergency matters. As the result of the labors and aid of the Commercial Club, many prosperous and valuable manufacturing industries have been brought to Cedar Rapids the past twelve years. Many local businesses have been encouraged to start and aided on their way to success. Many established businesses that have needed encouragement have been given it and other businesses that have found difficulties in their pathway have had those difficulties removed through the offices of the Commercial Club and its members. Conventions and public gatherings of many kinds have been induced to hold their meetings in this city through work performed by the Commercial Club. Vexatious local disputes have been adjusted, and when cities like Indianapolis have attempted to entice such organizations as the Order of Railway Conductors away from Cedar Rapids, the Commercial Club has been found stanchly and successfully contesting the removal. When it was found necessary to secure legislation amending some phases of the commission plan law to make it fully applicable to Cedar Rapids, it was the Commercial Club that went before the legislature and secured the needed amendments. It was the Commercial Club that first began the work of running trade excursions, an idea that has grown with each year. The trip of this spring, to Le Mars, via the Illinois Central and return via Sheldon, Mason City, and Calmar on the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul, occupying four days with ninety in the party, was by all odds the best and most profitable of all the series. Within the past year a new and valuable department has been created in the freight traffic bureau. The work of this department is to bring about an equitable condition in freight rates for Cedar Rapids, as compared with other cities of like location and surroundings and eliminate discriminatory freight rates as compared with other jobbing centers. In the prosecution of the work of this bureau, the Commercial Club has been most successful, for up to the present time adjustments brought about by the bureau represent a saving of about $24,000 per year to the manufacturers, jobbers and business men of the city. In addition to the work of bringing about an equalization of freight rates, an individual service is maintained for the purpose of examining freight claims against the railway companies. In this particular many claims of long standing have been satisfactorily adjusted. The Commercial Club has a present membership of 280, made up of the leading business and professional men of the city. It is a live, active organization, reflecting the best and most progressive citizenship of the community. The club apartments occupy a large portion of the fourth floor of the Masonic Temple, are commodious and comfortable, and form a gathering place for the discussion of matters which affect the business prosperity of the city. Regular meetings of the board of directors are held every Monday noon, following a lunch served in the directors' room, and at these meetings the docket for the week is cleared up. It is a significant fact that these meetings are attended by practically the entire membership of the directory and that no matter is allowed to drag for want of immediate attention. The officers and directors of the Commercial Club at the present time are: President, J. F. Rall; first vice-president, F. Junkermann; second vice-president, S. G. Armstrong; secretary, John Wunderlich; treasurer, L. W. Anderson; directors, J. W. Barry, J. S. Broeksmit, W. L. Cherry, J. M. Denning, Kent C. Ferman, J. M. Grimm, W. G. Haskell, Geo. T. Hedges, E. E. Pinney, R. I. Safely, John H. Taft. WHO PAID THE TAXES IN CEDAR RAPIDS FIFTY YEARS AGO BY THOMAS DEVENDORF Cedar Rapids has made many changes and improvements during the past half century. But perhaps no change has been so great as the change in the valuation of property. In 1858 there was a population of only about thirty-five hundred within the city limits, and in the entire county only eighteen thousand. Twenty per cent of the population then resided in Cedar Rapids. Today we claim nearly thirty-five thousand and over fifty per cent of the entire population of the county. At that time the area of the city was very much less than at present. Franklin street, now Eleventh street east, was as far as was platted. Beyond was heavily wooded and used in summers for picnic parties; to the south Carpenter's first addition had already been laid and but very few of the lots had been improved, the lower end, where the packing plant of T. M. Sinclair & Co. is located, was used as a race track, where the local horsemen competed. Kingston, on the west side of the river, was an independent municipality, having its own city government and city officers, and remained so until the year 1870, when it was annexed and became a part of the present Cedar Rapids. The assessed valuation of the city for the year 1858 was for both real estate and personal the sum of $535,912--what proportion that amount will bear to the real cash value of the property the writer is unable to state. But it is the rule generally adopted by assessors to make the value much less than the price parties would buy and sell the same property for, and on this assessment of $535,912 a levy was made of two mills on the dollar, which, if the collector was diligent and had good luck, would have produced the sum of $1,071.00, which the city officers could use to carry on the affairs of the city--pay salaries, make improvements, grade streets, build crossings, and to meet all other expenses of the city. That this sum was inadequate for the purpose is shown by the fact that the larger share of the taxes of this year were paid in what they denominated "city script," which we call city warrants, so that the city fathers had very little real cash in the city treasury. This city script was issued for work and salaries and such other expenses as were necessary and was not interest bearing, so that a party that had such script was ready to dispose of the same to the best advantage he could, and parties that had taxes to pay would gather up such script at what discount they could get and use it for the purpose of paying their taxes. The larger tax payers all paid in "city script." The city officials of that time are all dead. R. C. Rock was mayor; George Seymour, recorder; A. S. Koontz, treasurer; A. S. Belt, city attorney. J. J. Snouffer and John G. Graves were the aldermen from the first ward; D. W. Sprague and R. R. Taylor, aldermen from the second ward; Wm. Richmond and S. A. Shattuck, aldermen from the third ward. There are only eight residents of this city at the present time whose names appear on the tax list of fifty years ago; the only ones we can remember are the following: James Bird, Isaac Carroll, E. Coulter, C. Fordyce, Jos. Perigo, David Lighty, P. F. Randall, and Wesley Stephens. Some of the above paid a poll tax only. David Lighty paid tax on lot 3, block 28, original town, and has paid taxes on this same lot all the years since and owns the property today. Isaac Whittam paid the taxes on lot 5, block 13, original town. This is the corner lot on which the Montrose Hotel is located. The lot was then valued at $550, and the tax was $1.10. Isaac Carroll paid the taxes on three city lots, the total value of which was $585; also on two horses, value $150; one carriage, value $75; his tax was $1.92, paid in script. E. Coulter paid on a stock of merchandise (drugs) valued at $800. A few others who are listed on the tax books of half a century ago are known to be living, but have removed to other places. W. W. Smith, of Minneapolis, who was an active business man at that time, owned five lots on Second street, between Fifth and Sixth avenues east, on which he built a large brick building, intending to use it as a hotel. It was, however, used as a residence property, and was known as the Wadsworth Block. This property was located where the Illinois Central railroad lately erected their fine new freight depot, corner of Fifth avenue and Second street. S. D. Carpenter, now a resident of Chicago, paid the taxes on the south 280 feet of out lot 4, valued at $850, tax $1.90. This property is located on Third avenue, between Eighth and Tenth streets, and includes the homes of A. Sinclair, Rev. Burkhalter, Ed. Clark, and the late home of Robert Williams. Geo. Greene was the largest individual taxpayer of that day. He was assessed with some 70 city lots. Many of them were in the business part of town, the total assessed value of these was $28,575, and the tax was $56.40. In his list were lots 3, 4, 5, 6, block 24 original plat, property on which is now located the Allison hotel, the College Inn and the three business rooms to the west, all on First avenue. Also a lot at corner of Second avenue and Fourth street, now owned by Mr. C. Magnus; these four lots were valued at $2,200 and the tax was $4.40. He owned lots 4 and 5 block 42 assessed at $300 each. These are now the homes of Dr. Geo. Carpenter and Mike Ford. He also paid the taxes on 125 feet on First street lots now occupied by the Rudolph block, the Gazette office, Geo. C. Haman drug store and Geo. Yuill farm implements. The total value of this 125 feet was $3,600, the taxes $7.20. At that time this property was occupied by a large three story hotel called Greene's hotel, and it is said by those who were guests of the house that it was one of the best west of Chicago. The next largest taxpayer was John F. Ely, who was assessed on 38 building lots at an assessed value of $24,800 and on which he paid a tax of $51.16. Lots 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, block 14, original plat, was valued at $3,500.00, tax on same $7.00. This was his home. A comfortable, unpretentious cottage occupied the center of block, surrounded by shrubbery, flowers and many apple trees. These lots are now occupied by the large business houses of Jones & Luberger, Martin Dry Goods Co., the Dows block on the corner of Second street and Second avenue, and also Snowden's, corner of Third street and Second avenue. He also was assessed with the property now belonging to the Churchill estate, corner of First street and Second avenue, value $1,150.00, tax on same $2.30. Lot 10, block 24, original plat, now occupied by the Cedar Rapids National Bank and for many years known as the old Baptist church corner, was assessed at $700.00 and the tax was $1.40. Mr. Ely was also the owner of lots 4, 5, 8, 9, block 15, which is now the John H. Taft corner, and the store of Ludy & Taylor, all on First avenue, together with the property on which is located the "Oriel" block and part of the next lot to the west, both on Second avenue. These four lots now just in the most valuable part of the business district, were valued at $2,850.00, on which he paid the city tax of $5.70. The lot on the corner of Second avenue and Fifth street on which the Public Library is located, was one of his lots and is one that he continued to own up to the time it was condemned by the library board for the purpose of erecting the library building. This lot was assessed at $425.00, tax paid 85 cents. He was also the owner of lots 8, 9, 10, block 23, original plat. These are on First avenue between Fourth and Fifth streets. These three lots were assessed at $1,350.00, tax paid on same, $2.70. The lots 1 and 2, block 4, was also included in his district. These are on the corner of First street and Second avenue. It was regarded as valuable property by the assessor of fifty years ago, as he has these two lots assessed at $3,700.00. No other two lots in the city were rated at so high a value as these. This must have been regarded as the best business location of that day. The next Cedar Rapids tax payer who had to gather up the next largest amount of city scrip with which to pay his city tax was Mr. N. B. Brown, who was assessed with 47 city lots the total value of which was $20,750. This with some personal property, as merchandise, horses, cows and bridge stock made his total property valuation $23,290.00 and on this amount he paid a city tax of $46.58. Mr. Brown was one of the owners of the original plat of the city and many pieces of property which are now very valuable was at that time set off to him as his share of the original town plat. Lots 3 and 4, block 25, are two valuable pieces of property. These are on Second avenue between Third and Fourth streets and on which is located the Damour Grocery House, and some of the property on which the new government postoffice is erected. These two lots were assessed at $900.00 on which he paid a tax of $1.80. Mr. Brown also was the owner of lots 6, 7, 8, block 23. These were on the north side of First avenue and extended from Fourth street west to where the Grand hotel now is and included the Chicago & Northwestern freight depot, the Pullman House, the Delavan hotel and the property now owned by Mr. Lansing and used as a saloon. These three valuable lots were then assessed at $1,700.00 on which he paid the tax of $3.40. Another fine piece of property was his home, which was the entire block 38. His fine brick residence was located in the center of the block and was at that day one of the finest dwellings in this part of the state. These ten lots which were all included was valued at $3,250.00. This property has been sold and sub-divided until the only part left is the southeast corner of the block which N. E. Brown his son, now occupies with a fine modern brick dwelling, directly opposite Grace Episcopal church. He was also the owner of the property on which Gorman's hotel is located. This hotel was built by Mr. Brown and a few years after it was considered the best hotel to be found in this part of the state. The upper story was finished for an amusement place and before the building of Greene's opera house this was the only place that could be used for that purpose. Mr. Brown was largely engaged in milling at that time and owned and operated a woolen mill and also a flouring mill, the buildings of both are still standing but have not been in operation for some time. Greene, Merritt & Co. were the bankers of that period and were assessed with one city lot, corner of First street and B avenue, value $700.00, together with their bank capital $20,000. Their city tax was $41.50. The senior member of this firm was Geo. Greene, who was the largest real estate owner of that date and who has been mentioned before in this article. Mr. Merritt, the other member of the banking firm, was a brother-in-law of Mr. Greene. Messrs. Geo. Greene, Wm. Greene and Joseph Greene were brothers and together were largely instrumental in shaping the development and growth of Cedar Rapids. They had faith in its future and did not hesitate to give their money and their time to every effort made to advance, build up and beautify their home city. Wm. Greene was assessed with some twenty city lots, the value of which was $5,625.00, which with some personal property assessed to him made his total valuation $6,360 and his tax paid in city scrip $12.72. He was the owner of the east 1/2 of out lot 6 and Mr. Merritt was the owner of the west 1/2 of the same out lot. This property was assessed at $19.00, for both Mr. Greene's and Mr. Merritt's part. This out lot is situated between Fourth and Fifth avenues and Eighth and Tenth streets and is now built up with some of the finest homes in the city. A. C. Taylor, Luther A. Brewer, Mrs. N. Bourne, Henry S. Josselyn, Dr. Ruml, Wm. H. Dutton, Geo. A. Mullin, John H. Taft, and many others have homes in this out lot. Greene Brothers were assessed with eight lots, all well inside the business district, which were valued at $5,085.00; tax on same $10.17; lots 6 and 7, block 16, value $1,300.00; tax $2.60. These lots are on the corner of First avenue and Third street and are now occupied by Tony Naso on the corner for a fruit store and the balance of the lots by the "Fair Company." Mr. Daniels was another large owner of Cedar Rapids real estate, fifty years ago. The assessor for that year had him listed with 38 city lots besides four entire out lots, together they were assessed at $17,025.00, and the tax on the entire property was $34.05, all paid in the usual city script. Some of this property lying in and near the business part has become quite valuable. Lot 2, block 5, being a lot on Second street between Third and Fourth avenue, was listed by the assessor at $500.00. This piece of property was sold to John Murray some two years ago for some $12,000.00, or thereabouts. This is now occupied by the interurban railway as their depot. Another piece assessed to the same party, lot 6, block 12, corner of Third street and Fourth avenue, the rear part of this lot is being improved this present season by the Bohemian Turners. This lot was assessed at $425. Tax on same, 85 cents. Mr. Daniels was also owner of lots 8 and 9, block 14. These lots are on Third avenue between Second and Third street and are owned by Sam Armstrong and John S. Ely, the assessed value of the two lots was $1,250.00 and tax on lots $2.50. Lot 10, block 42, value $375.00. This is the corner lot on which the Methodist church is located. Lot 1, block 43, value $350.00. This is the corner on which the Christian church was built. Lawson and Lowell Daniels, under the firm name of L. Daniels & Co., were assessed with 19 city lots, value of which was $8,775.00. Merchandise, $1,000; five horses, $375.00; three carriages $150.00. The total tax was $21.40. Lot 5, block 2, is the lot on which the Masonic Temple is now located, and was valued at that time at $2,400.00. They used it then and for many years after as a store room and did a very large business. They sold about everything to be found in a well regulated country store, and were known for many miles around as reliable and enterprising merchants. They were also owners of lot 3, block 15. This is the lot on which the Reps Dry Goods Co. is located and was valued at $700.00. They were also owners of out lot 16, valued at $350.00. This is located between Third and Fourth avenue and Twelfth and Fourteenth streets, is now nearly all improved with fine homes, the new Westminster church is on this block, corner of Fourteenth street and Third avenue. Harvey Higley and his brother, Henry Higley, under the firm name of Higley & Co., were large owners of city real estate, the larger part of which was in the district now given up to business. They were owners of the lot on which the Granby Block now stands, which at that time was only valued at $700.00. They were also assessed with the property on which the Denecke Dry Goods store is now located. This was assessed at a value of $80.00. On this lot was a large livery stable of which the Higleys were the owners, and which they conducted for many years after. They were also the owners of the lot, corner of First avenue and Second street, now occupied by Oscar Solomon, and ten years after erected the store building now standing thereon. This piece of property was valued at that time at $725.00. They were also assessed with lot 3, block 2, at a valuation of $1,700.00. This is on First street and is now occupied by Kubias & Son, as a harness store. Sampson C. Bever was assessed with real estate to the value of $9,480.00, and personal property $515.00. On this assessment he paid a tax of $19.99. The most valuable piece of property held by himself that time was the homestead which was located on First avenue and between Fourth and Fifth streets. These five lots were assessed at $2,325.00; the house, which was a large brick structure, stood about where the old B., C. R. & N. Railway erected their general offices a few years since. The Milwaukee railway depot is also located on one of the lots of the Bever home property. Mr. Bever was also assessed with lot 1, block 3, original town, at a valuation of $1,875.00. This is the lot on which the banking house of the Commercial Savings Bank is located and is a property which the Bever family have paid taxes on for over a half century. A large part of Mr. Bever's property was in lands lying outside of the city limits and which the writer of this article is not able to correctly describe. Mr. Bever located in Cedar Rapids in April, 1852, and for a number of years was engaged as a merchant, after which he became interested in banking and was the head of the private banking house of S. C. Bever & Sons. This bank afterwards became the City National Bank and was the first national bank to be established in Cedar Rapids. H. G. Angle & Co. paid on a valuation of $4,700.00 real, $3,000.00 personal. They were largely interested in milling and also conducted a large store. The building in which they operated is still standing on the corner of A avenue and First street and is now occupied as a saloon. The company was assessed with twelve city lots. A. M. Mekeel was assessed with personal property only, value $6,000 and paid into the city treasury the sum of $12.00. He paid the largest tax on money of any one in Cedar Rapids except the bankers on their bank capital. Geo. Ohler, lot 8, block 11, value $375.00. He paid a tax of 29 cents. This was his home and was located on Sixth avenue and here he and Mrs. Ohler resided for over fifty years. Mr. Ohler died about four years ago and Mrs. Ohler more recently. The only member of the family remaining is Mr. Frank Ohler. S. Nyere paid on merchandise value of $100.00. Mr. Nyere was a tailor and continued in that business for many years after. He was the father of Geo. Nyere, late candidate for mayor, also of John and Louis Nyere, plumbers, all successful and pushing business men. Philip Otterbein, one city lot valued at $250.00, tax paid, 50 cents. Henry Otterbein of the west side is a son of Mr. Otterbein. S. L. Pollock was the owner of a number of city lots, the value of which was $2,340, and on which he paid a tax of $4.58. He owned lot 8. block 2, on which is located Greene's opera house, and valued at that time at $700.00. He also owned a lot on First street about opposite the auditorium valued at $375.00, and also a part of the land on which the auditorium now stands. Wm. Passmore was assessed with one business lot on First street about the middle of the block on the east side between First and Second avenues, and which was valued at $600.00. This with $535.00 of personal property, made his city tax $2.27. G. A. Reichenecker was assessed with lots 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, block 48, which were valued at $1,575 on which he paid a tax of $3.15. These five city lots are located on Second avenue between Sixth and Seventh streets, and on which are located the homes of the late Isaac Shaver and U. B. Sanders and Mrs. Lawson Daniels. Mr. Sanford, a non-resident, was assessed with out lot 5 at a value of $1,700.00. This out lot is situated between Eighth and Tenth streets, Third and Fourth avenues, and contains the homes of J. S. Frick, David Blakely, Mrs. G. Carpenter, E. E. Pinney, all on Third avenue, and L. Benedict, E. J. Carey, Mrs. L. Wallace, J. C. Pickering, R. M. Garrison, David Lighty and Jas. W. Wiley, all on Fourth avenue. This property at that time contained nothing but native timber and a luxurious crop of sand burrs. John Weare was the owner of out lot 2 and which was valued at $1,700. This property is on First avenue and between Eighth and Tenth streets, and on which is now located the homes of Col. Clark, John M. Redmond, E. E. Rothrock, Jno, B. Henderson, Henry Soutter, Chas. J. Fox, Wm. J. Greene, and a number of others. Mr. Weare paid taxes on several other lots and also some personal property. Geo. Parr paid the tax on lot 2, block 21, value $300.00. This was his home lot and on which he had a good brick house. This was on C avenue and has now been entirely taken up by the Quaker Oats mill plant. C. B. Rowley was the owner of several pieces of city property. Lots 1 and 2, block 31, which was valued at $875.00, was owned by him. The Perfection Manufacturing Company is located on lot 1. He was also the owner of lots 1 and 2, block 47, corner of Third avenue and Sixth street. The Sisters of Mercy now own lot 1 and Jos. F. Kouba resides on and owns lot 2, these two last lots were valued at $575.00. Mr. Rowley was engaged in buying grain and other farm produce. The warehouse was located on ground now occupied by the Quaker Oats plant. He was for a number of years a member of the school board of this city. S. A. Shattuck was assessed with lots 4 and 5, block 29, which were valued at $650.00. On these two lots he paid a tax of $1.30. Mr. Shattuck built his home on lot 5 over fifty years ago and here he and his wife lived until his death. Mr. Shattuck was one of the pioneer business men of Cedar Rapids. He came here in 1852, and was active in a business way until a very recent date. He was a partner of Geo. Dewey under the firm name of Shattuck & Dewey, and together they had a store on First street. Mr. Shattuck built the three store brick building now standing on First avenue between the alley and Second street and then known as the Franklin block. Frank Kilborn owns one of the store rooms today. Wm. Stewart became a taxpayer in Cedar Rapids at a very early day. He came here in 1847. Fifty years ago he was the owner of lot 9, block 16, valued at $700.00. This is on First avenue between Second and Third streets, and is now occupied by Russell Confection store. He was also owner of part of the property on which the Y. M. C. A. building is now located. Mr. Stewart was a blacksmith, plowmaker, and had a shop on A avenue. Ex-Alderman Jas. Hughes is now engaged in nearly the same business and in the same building that Mr. Stewart built and occupied fifty years ago. M. S. Starr was assessed with lot 10, block 5, valued at $750.00. This is the property on which T. J. Lowell has his hardware store. [Illustration: COE COLLEGE BUILDINGS] J. J. Snouffer was the owner of lot 6, block 3. This property was valued at that period at $1,000.00 and is the corner on which the Commercial National Bank is located, and a part of the Denecke Dry Goods store. Mr. Snouffer also owned a lot on North First street opposite the mills, which was assessed at $700.00, also personal property valued at $130.00. Mr. Snouffer came to Cedar Rapids in 1852, and was engaged in milling under the firm name of W. D. Watrous & Co. He was an alderman from the first ward for many terms and at one time mayor of the city. D. F. Sprague was assessed with lot 5, block 25, which was listed at $500.00. This is the lot on which the Muskwaki block is located, corner of Second avenue and Fourth street. Peter Snyder was the owner of lot 6, block 11, valued at $425.00. This property is on the corner of Sixth avenue and Third street. C. C. Taylor was listed with lot 6, block 32 and valued at $425.00. This is the corner of Second avenue and Fifth street and was the home of B. F. Howland for many years. It is now occupied by the new and beautiful home of the Cedar Rapids Business college. T. Wood was the owner of several pieces of Cedar Rapids property, in all amounting to $1,650.00, on which he paid a tax of $3.30. His home was on the corner of Fifth street and B avenue. He also was the owner of the lot on which the Y. M. C. A. building is located, which was valued at $900.00; also a lot, corner of Fifth avenue and Sixth street. Mr. Edwin Wood, for many years connected with the J. S. Cook Dry Goods Co., was a son of Mr. Wood. The Iowa & Nebraska Land Company were assessed with 29 city lots and all valued at $6,875.00, the tax of which was $13.75. The Iowa & Nebraska railroad, from Clinton to this place, was then being built. It was nearly completed to this point and these lots were doubtless purchased for right of way and terminal purposes, as they were all situated on or near where the road was built. The next spring, after the road was open for traffic to this point, lot 1, block 25 was assessed to unknown owner and was valued at $700. This is the lot upon which the First Presbyterian church was built many years ago and remembered by the older residents as the "Little Muddy." The new federal building is now erected on this lot. Lot 1, block 26 was also assessed to unknown owners and was valued at $575.00. This lot is on the corner of Third street and Third avenue and was used up to a very recent date by the Second Presbyterian church. Lots 3, 4 and 5, block 30 was also in the unknown list and was valued at $1,075.00 for the entire three lots. Two of these lots were bought about this time and the third one a little later for school purposes and on this ground was erected the first real substantial school building ever built in this city. In this building was grouped the high school and all the other grades from the primary up. This building was used for school purposes until demolished a few years ago to make room for the present Washington high school building. Lots 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10, block 13 were assessed to unknown owners at a value of $1,100.00. These lots are on Fourth avenue and between Second and Third streets. The new telephone exchange is located on the rear of lot 10. TEXT OF THE ACT TO INCORPORATE CEDAR RAPIDS Following is the text of the act incorporating Cedar Rapids, as passed by the legislature of the State of Iowa and approved by Ansel Briggs, Iowa's first governor, January 15, 1849: _An Act to Incorporate the Town of Cedar Rapids, in Linn County._ SECTION 1. Be it enacted by the General Assembly of the State of Iowa, that all that part of the State of Iowa included within the boundaries of the town of Cedar Rapids in Linn County, as surveyed and recorded in the recorder's office in the said County of Linn, be and the same is hereby constituted a town corporate and shall hereafter be known by the name of the town of Cedar Rapids. SEC. 2. It shall be lawful for the free male inhabitants of said town having the qualifications of electors to meet at the usual place of holding the elections in said town on the first Wednesday in April next and on the first Wednesday of April annually thereafter at such place in said town as the town council shall direct and then and there proceed to elect by ballot a mayor, recorder and three councilmen, who shall have the qualifications of electors, and reside within the corporate limits of said town, and said mayor, recorder and councilmen shall hold their offices one year, and until their successors are elected and qualified and any three of them shall be a board for the transaction of business, but a less number may adjourn from time to time until a quorum shall assemble. SEC. 3. That at the first election under this act judges and clerks shall be chosen by the electors present who shall each take an oath faithfully to discharge the duties required by this act and at all subsequent elections the mayor and any two of the councilmen shall sit as judges and the recorder, or in his absence some one of the council pro tempore shall act as clerk and at all such elections the polls shall be opened at 1:00 o'clock, p. m. and close at 5:00 o'clock p. m., of the same day, and at the close of the polls the votes shall be counted and a statement of the result proclaimed at the door by the clerk; the clerk of said elections shall thereupon make out a certificate to each of the persons so elected and the persons receiving such certificate shall, within ten days thereafter take an oath to support the constitution and the laws of the United States and of this state and faithfully discharge his duties according to the best of his abilities, which oath shall be endorsed on the back of said certificate and filed with the recorder of said town. SEC. 4. The mayor, recorder and councilmen of said town shall be a body corporate and politic with perpetual succession to be known by the name of the mayor and council of the town of Cedar Rapids, and shall be capable in law to acquire property, real, personal and mixed for the use of said town and sell and convey the same. May have a common seal and may alter the same at pleasure. May sue and be sued, plead and be impleaded, answer or be answered unto in any court of law and equity in this state; and when any suit shall be commenced against said corporation a certified copy of any writ issued against said corporation shall be left with the recorder of said town at least ten days before the return day thereof. SEC. 5. That the mayor, recorder and council, or a majority of them, of whom the mayor or the recorder shall always be one, shall have authority to make, ordain, and publish all by-laws and ordinances not inconsistent with the constitution and laws of the land as they may deem proper for the promotion of morality, interest, safety, health and cleanliness of said town and the citizens thereof; they shall have power to fill all vacancies that may happen by death or otherwise of any of the officers of their board herein named. They shall have power to appoint a treasurer, marshal and such other subordinate officers as a majority of said council may deem necessary, to prescribe their duties and require surety of their performance, to remove them at pleasure, and to establish the fees of all offices not otherwise provided for by this act. They shall have power to impose fines for the breach of their ordinances, which fines may be recovered with costs before any justice of the peace in said town by an action of debt in the name of said corporation. All fines collected in pursuance of this act shall be paid over by the officer collecting the same to the treasurer of the corporation. SEC. 6. It shall be the duty of the mayor to preside at the meetings of the town council, and it shall be the duty of the recorder to keep a true record of the by-laws and ordinances, to attend all meetings of the council and keep a fair and accurate record of their proceedings and perform such other duties as the council may from time to time require. Said recorder may under his hand and seal appoint a deputy to perform his duties when absent, for whose acts the said recorder shall be responsible. SEC. 7. That the town council shall have power to assess for corporation purposes an annual tax on all property in said town made subject to taxation by the laws of this state for state and county purposes not exceeding in any one year one per centum on the valuation thereof which value shall be ascertained by an assessor appointed by the town council for that purpose, duplicate of which shall be made out and signed by the recorder and delivered to the collector. They shall have power to equalize any injudicious assessment then made on complaint of the person aggrieved. SEC. 8. That the town marshal shall be the collector of any tax assessed by said council, and he is hereby authorized and required, by distress and sale of property, as constables on execution, to collect and pay over said tax to the treasurer within three months after the time of receiving the duplicate thereof and the treasurer's receipt shall be his voucher. The town marshal shall make personal demand of every resident charged with tax if to be found, and before sale of property for delinquent tax shall give ten days' notice in advertisement in three of the most public places in said corporation, and if the property or any lot or piece of land for which no personal property can be found shall remain unpaid for three months after the expiration of the time by this act allowed the collector for the collection of the tax shall give notice in the nearest newspaper stating the amount of such tax and the number and description of the lots on which it is due and that the same will be sold to discharge such tax unless the payment thereof be made within three months from the date of such advertisement, and if such tax be not paid within that time the town marshal, after giving twenty days' notice of the time and place of sale at the three most public places in said town shall proceed to sell at public auction so much of said lot or piece of land as will discharge said tax. SEC. 9. That if the owner of any lot sold for taxes as aforesaid shall appear at any time within two years after such sale and pay the purchase money with interest at thirty per centum per annum thereon he shall be entitled to the right of redemption. If, however, the owner or his agent shall neglect to redeem any real estate sold for taxes under the provisions of this act within the time herein specified, it shall be the duty of the mayor to make and execute a deed to the purchaser countersigned by the recorder under the seal of the corporation. Said deeds shall also be acknowledged before a justice of the peace, and when so executed and recorded in the office of recorder of deeds of Linn County, shall be deemed and taken as valid by law. SEC. 10. Twenty days before each annual election the town council shall put up in some conspicuous place within said town, an accurate account of the money received and expended by said corporation since the last annual election, with the sources from which they were derived and the objects on which they were expended, which shall be certified by the recorder. SEC. 11. The said corporation shall have power to regulate all streets, alleys, sidewalks, drains or sewers, to sink and keep in repair public wells, remove nuisances, and make other such needful regulations not incompatible with the laws of the state as shall conduce to the general interest and welfare of the inhabitants of said town. To provide for licensing, taxing and regulating auctions, retailers and taverns, theatrical and other shows of amusement, to prohibit tippling houses, gaming houses and other disorderly houses. SEC. 12. The by-laws and ordinances of said corporation shall be published in a newspaper in the county or posted up in some public place in said town fifteen days before taking effect thereof, and the certificate of the recorder upon the town records shall be sufficient evidence of the same having been done and every annual election herein authorized shall be preceded by five days' notice thereof put up in three public places in said town. SEC. 13. That the streets and alleys of said town shall constitute one road district including the several roads leading from said town for the distance of one mile from the corporation limits. SEC. 14. That the mayor or a majority of the councilmen may call a meeting of the town council whenever in his or their opinion the same may be necessary. The mayor and councilmen shall receive such compensation as shall be voted them by the inhabitants of said town in legal meeting assembled. SEC. 15. This act shall take effect from and after its publication. SMILEY H. BONHAM, Speaker of House JOHN J. SELMAN, President of the Senate Approved January 15th, 1849. ANSEL BRIGGS, Governor Secretary's Office, Iowa City, Iowa, March 27th, 1849. I hereby certify that the foregoing is a true and correct copy of the original act now on file in the said office. JOSIAH H. BONNEY, Secretary of State FIRST CITY OFFICIALS OF CEDAR RAPIDS At 1 o'clock of April 4, 1849, the citizens of Cedar Rapids met at the school house, in accordance with the requirements of the law, and proceeded to elect town officers under a charter issued by the legislature and approved January 15, 1849 (for text of this document see Laws of Iowa, 1849, p. 116). The first election was in the nature of a mass meeting. William P. Harman was made chairman and Arven Kennedy, John H. Brooks, and John G. Cole selected as judges of election. Eber L. Mansfield was clerk of election. These judges certified to choice of votes as follows: Mayor, Martin L. Barber. Councilmen, Joseph Greene, Stephen L. Pollock, and James Leverich. Recorder, Homer Kennedy. The mayor immediately took the oath of office before John L. Shearer, justice of the peace. The first meeting of the council was held May 11, 1849. Action was taken appointing Lowell Daniels treasurer of the town, to give bonds of $20. It was resolved that the municipal seal "shall consist of a raised circle nine-tenths of an inch in diameter, enclosing an equilateral triangle." The first ordinance in preamble declared, that "there exists in the town divers unwholesome cellars, dung heaps, horse stables, cow stables, barns, yards, hogpens, and other nuisances." The object of the enactment was to abate these conditions. In July, 1849, Homer Kennedy resigned as recorder and Porter W. Earle was chosen in his place. A sort of omnibus ordinance was passed October 23, 1849. This prohibited the sale of spirituous liquors, required that shows or other exhibitions should pay license of not less than one dollar nor more than ten dollars. A further section fixed penalties for disturbance of any public meeting. This ordinance was given effective publication by being "posted at G. Greene & Bro.'s store." Other ordinances, we find, were "posted on John Coffman's door." John H. Brooks, marshal of the town, was on November 8, 1849, allowed the sum of $16.73. Getting possession of so much money he immediately resigned, presumably to enjoy it without official cares. THE SECOND ELECTION The second election was held at the school house April 3, 1850. For mayor Martin L. Barber received 39 votes and Johnson Hill 27. For recorder John Palmer received 63 and Lawson Daniels 1. Stephen L. Pollock, Thomas Downing and Charles C. Cook were the successful councilmen, the defeated candidates being George H. Ely, Joseph Greene, Isaac Cook, and W. P. Harman. This new council on April 11, 1850, resolved to form a board of health, but at the next meeting this action was rescinded. In its stead an ordinance was passed for preservation of public health. Enforcement of these provisions rested with the marshal. In May an ordinance was passed permitting Harvey C. Higley to retail ardent spirits, upon giving a good and sufficient bond "to keep a good and orderly house, not permitting any gambling, drunkenness or rioting about his house or premises." Such bond Mr. Higley refused to execute, and the employment of counsel was authorized to commence suit against him for violation of ordinance. July 24 a health board was appointed consisting of Drs. J. F. Ely, S. D. Carpenter, and J. C. Traer. The marshal, under direction of the board, was to abate all nuisances. The first recorders of the city were evidently not of fixed mind or habitation. John Palmer resigned as such December 8, and S. C. Koontz was chosen to fill the vacancy. Isaac Cook was made attorney for the city in pending litigation. THE FIRST TAX LEVY The first tax levy mentioned was ordered by action of council December 16, 1850. This amounted to "one and one-half mills on the dollar of all taxable property within the corporation," and Johnson Hill was appointed assessor. Another ordinance to prevent the sale of spiritous and intoxicating liquors was passed December 16, 1850. Any quantity less than a gallon sold "without advice of a physician," rendered the seller liable to a fine of not less than five dollars nor more than twenty-five. A license fee of from one to five dollars was exacted from all peddlers, whether they were footmen with packs or sold goods from wagons. THE ELECTION OF 1851 Annual town election was again held in April, 1851. At this time Nicholas B. Brown was chosen as mayor. Benjamin Weizer, Michael Bryan, and Joseph A. Love, councilmen, and S. C. Koontz, recorder. William G. Furman was appointed marshal. The personnel of the board of health was also changed. Dr. L. Larrabee, Dr. Thomas, and Dr. John F. Ely constituting the same. No recorded meeting of council was held from June 20, 1851, to February 24 of the next year. At this latter date N. B. Brown, mayor, by advice and consent of the councilmen, "did grant license to David W. King for free navigation of the Cedar River, opposite this place, for the term of one year from the 1st day of March, 1857, by the said D. W. King paying to the recorder the sum of ten dollars." The council fixed rates of toll as follows: Horse and rider 10 cents; footmen, 5 cents; one horse and wagon, 15 cents; a wagon and two horses, 20 cents; and every additional span of horses or yoke of cattle, 20 cents. Loose cattle not exceeding five in number, he shall be allowed 5 cents per head; if more than that number, 3 cents per head. Hogs, if not exceeding twenty-five in number, shall be 2 cents per head; if more than that number the toll shall be 1 cent per head. Sheep at the rate of 1 cent per head. THE FIRST SIDEWALK ORDINANCE The first sidewalk ordinance stipulated: "The sidewalks of Commercial street shall be planked or paved, commencing at the corner of Benton and Commercial streets, northeast side, and ending at the corner of Sugar and Commercial streets. Also on the southwest side of said street, commencing at the southeast side of Rock and Brather's shop and coming up as far us Linn street. In case where planked the plank to be oak and not less than one and one-half inches in thickness, also to be placed upon a good and permanent foundation. In the front of buildings the walk to be made ten feet in width, not less than five stringers to be used. In front of lots or parts of lots not occupied by buildings it is only required that walks be made five feet in width, in which case three stringers are sufficient, but not less than three. All of which must be completed by the 1st of September, 1852." Samuel Brazelton was appointed marshal, Dr. Koontz treasurer, and Dr. S. D. Carpenter, Wm. D. Wood, and Porter W. Earle, health board. THE ELECTION OF 1853 In 1853 election was held on Wednesday, April 6. W. W. Smith was chosen mayor; S. C. Bever, Johnson Hill, and J. F. Ely, councilmen; and S. C. Koontz, recorder. Hiram Deem was appointed assessor, Isaac N. Whittam, town marshal. At this same date, May 6, 1853, John F. Ely was made committee to secure a surveyor, "Major McKean, or some other suitable person to take and establish the grades of the city of Cedar Rapids." Pratt R. Skinner was the person selected and his report and profile were presented and adopted July 6, 1853. Hiram Deem was made marshal July 23, Mr. Whittam evidently not having qualified. At this meeting a municipal tax levy of four mills was ordered. Hiram Deem, having accomplished his work as assessor, and now being marshal, was instructed to collect the taxes. He was further directed to order out men to work the roads and streets immediately. THE CEMETERIES The beginning of Oak Hill cemetery dates from an ordinance of August 23, 1853. Gabriel Carpenter had purchased 300 acres of land adjoining the city and including the site of the cemetery. The place of burial at that time was upon the ground after owned by Coe College. The ordinance enacted that "the proposition made by G. Carpenter in respect to ten acres of land for purpose of graveyard be filed and accepted. Provided, however, that if the collegiate institute will pay the aforesaid G. Carpenter for the aforementioned ten acres of land, and, further provided, that if the mayor and council hold and possess the power and right to sell and convey the lot of land now occupied by a graveyard (within the corporate limits) and can sell and convey the same to the Collegiate Institute for the sum of three hundred dollars, then the afore-mentioned proposition is accepted." The legal and other difficulties in the way were surmounted and on February 22, 1854, it was resolved to quit claim the interest of the town in the present burial ground to Smith and Carpenter, at such time as they shall lay off and deed to the corporation a block of ground in the Washington cemetery for a "potter's field," which shall contain at least three acres. It was conditioned also that Smith and Carpenter should give bond for the careful removal of all occupants of the present burial ground before making any use of the land. ELECTION OF 1854 On April 3, 1854, William W. Smith was elected mayor, William Greene, Abraham Sines, and Daniel Lothian, councilmen, and William M. Wood, recorder. The digging of sand from Iowa avenue was dignified by name of bringing to grade. This was divided into six parts, and two were let to W. W. Smith and E. Robins. These paid five dollars apiece for the privilege. The other sections remained as before and the avenue was rendered impassable. J. J. Snouffer was appointed marshal for ensuing year and R. C. Rock treasurer. The famous "hog ordinance," which was intended to keep swine from the street but failed absolutely in its purpose, was introduced June 28, 1854. ELECTION OF 1855 George Greene was elected mayor April 4, 1855. Members of the council were first styled aldermen on the tickets for this year and R. C. Rock, Joseph A. Love, and J. F. Charles were chosen. W. D. Watrous was the choice of the voters for recorder. J. H. Atwell was appointed marshal and S. D. Carpenter, treasurer. The council was organized into proper committees, indicating that more business came before the body. The bond of the treasurer had by this time increased to one thousand dollars. A city attorney was elected June 5, 1855, James J. Child being the choice of the council. The report of the finance committee showed a deficit--the city's revenues lacking $75.00 of meeting expenses. ELECTION OF 1856 Isaac Whittam was elected mayor at the April election in 1856, with Walker, Smith, and Hager, councilmen. The recorder having resigned, D. M. McIntosh was elected by the council to that office. The ferry privileges had passed at death of D. W. King in 1854 to Stephen L. Pollock and afterwards to Bowling & Gilbreath. Both of these failed to pay for license, and the recorder was instructed to collect; Joseph Hollan was appointed road supervisor. On June 14, 1856, City Attorney James J. Child was instructed to prepare an amended charter to be submitted to the next legislature. This was accepted by council, June 28, 1856. The proposition was then submitted to the voters and adopted 45 to 2. An election for city officers under this new charter was ordered to be held at the office of J. J. Child August 7, 1856. The votes cast were canvassed by the council. It was found that 204 votes were cast for mayor, of which Isaac N. Whittam received 120 and W. W. Smith 84. For recorder and assessor D. M. McIntosh led with 123; F. P. Huntington 73; E. N. Bates and S. C. Koontz one each. For treasurer and collector S. C. Koontz received 121 votes and John P. Conkey 79. Charles Weare was elected marshal by a vote of 131. In vote for aldermen in the first ward J. T. Walker was elected and J. J. Snouffer and H. G. Angle were tied. Alexander Hager and J. F. Charles were chosen to represent the second ward, and Henry S. Ward and W. D. Watrous were duly elected from the third ward. This closes the official doings under the old town. The records consulted will satisfy and settle all disputed questions as to office-holding and the statements here made are correct beyond all question. OFFICIALS OF CEDAR RAPIDS FROM 1857 TO 1910 1857 Isaac N. Whittam, mayor; F. P. Huntington, recorder; S. C. Lampson, marshal; S. C. Koontz, treasurer; E. N. Bates, city attorney. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, John G. Graves, S. D. Carpenter, J. J. Child, William Richmond, A. Whitenack. 1858 R. C. Rock, mayor; George Seymour, recorder; C. T. Kellogg, marshal; S. C. Koontz, treasurer; A. S. Belt, city attorney. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, John G. Graves, D. N. Sprague, R. R. Taylor, William Richmond, S. A. Shattuck. 1859 D. N. Sprague, mayor; George Seymour, recorder; William McMahone, marshal; S. C. Koontz, treasurer; E. N. Bates, city attorney. Aldermen, John G. Graves, T. Z. Cook, D. M. McIntosh, Charles Weare, S. A. Shattuck, G. Livensbarger. 1860 E. H. Stedman, mayor; George Seymour, recorder; Benjamin Darnell, marshal; J. S. Wattles, treasurer; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, T. Z. Cook, A. Hager, W. B. Mack, R. P. Kingman, G. Livensbarger, J. P. Coulter. 1861 Homer Bishop, mayor; M. A. Higley, recorder; Benjamin Darnell, marshal; J. S. Wattles, treasurer; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, S. C. Bever, H. E. Higley, R. P. Kingman, I. W. Carroll, J. C. Adams, George Dewey. 1862 T. Z. Cook, mayor; S. C. Koontz, recorder; J. Hogendobler, marshal; J. S. Wattles, treasurer; A. S. Belt, city attorney. Aldermen, S. C. Bever, H. E. Higley, I. W. Carroll, H. B. Stibbs, George Dewey, S. G. McClelland. 1863 Mowry Farnum, mayor; George C. Haman, recorder; A. Laurance, marshal; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; no city attorney elected. Aldermen, S. C. Bever, D. Denlinger, H. B. Stibbs, I. W. Carroll, S. G. McClelland, Thomas Slonaker. 1864 Mowry Farnum, mayor; George C. Haman, recorder; A. Laurance, marshal; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, S. C. Bever, E. H. Stedman, D. Denlinger, Joseph Hollan, S. G. McClelland, Thomas Slonaker. 1865 H. Church, mayor; George C. Haman, recorder; T. M. Parsons, marshal; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; J. J. Child, city attorney. Aldermen, S. C. Bever, E. E. Leach, D. Denlinger, Charles Weare, G. Livensbarger, J. C. Adams. 1866 A. R. West, mayor; George C. Haman, recorder; J. O. Stewart, marshal; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; J. J. Child, city attorney. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, J. Wetzel, H. B. Stibbs, N. S. Mershon, J. C. Adams, J. A. Hart. 1867 A. R. West, mayor; D. A. Bradley, recorder; A. Laurance, marshal; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, J. Wetzel, H. B. Stibbs, E. Robbins, J. A. Hart, L. Wallace. 1868 J. P. Coulter, mayor; D. A. Bradley, recorder; A. Laurance, marshal; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, J. Wetzel, A. C. Churchill, E. Robbins, E. E. Leach, William Stewart, James Albright. 1869 A. R. West, mayor; George C. Haman, recorder; A. Laurance, marshal; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; I. N. Whittam, city attorney; P. C. Lusk, chief engineer. Aldermen, A. C. Churchill, E. S. Hill, E. E. Leach, D. Denlinger, William Stewart, J. F. Charles. 1870 William B. Leach, mayor; W. B. Stewart, recorder; A. Laurance, marshal; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; M. P. Mills, city attorney; George A. Lincoln, chief engineer. Aldermen, E. S. Hill, J. J. Snouffer, E. E. Leach, E. Robbins, William Stewart, Elihu Baker. 1871 T. Z. Cook, mayor; H. J. Harvey, police judge; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; Hiel Hale, chief engineer: J. C. Stoddard, recorder; A. Laurance, marshal; R. H. Gilmore, city attorney. Aldermen. J. J. Snouffer, I. H. Shaver, E. E. Leach, C. C. Cook, William Stewart, J. L. Bever, James Bell. 1872 E. S. Hill, mayor; A. St. Clair Smith, police judge; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; George L. Stearns, chief engineer; J. C. Stoddard, recorder; Hiel Hale, marshal; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen. J. L. Bever, C. H. Clark, I. H. Shaver, C. C. Cook. W. Stewart, George Dale, G. M. Howlett, E. E. Leach. 1873 J. F. Charles, mayor; A. St. Clair Smith, police judge; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; George L. Stearns, chief engineer; J. C. Stoddard, recorder; Hiel Hale, marshal; West & Eastman, city attorneys. Aldermen, J. L. Bever, C. C. Cook, C. H. Clark, George Dale, Henry Forsythe, S. T. Wier, G. M. Howlett, W. S. Bradley. [Illustration: SINCLAIR PACKING PLANT, CEDAR RAPIDS] 1874 A. B. Hull, mayor; H. J. Harvey, police judge; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; E. S. Hill, chief engineer; J. C. Stoddard, recorder; Hiel Hale, marshal; A. D. Collier, city attorney. Aldermen, F. J. Upton, C. C. Cook, C. H. Clark, W. S. Bradley, M. P. Mills, J. H. Smith, E. L. Mansfield, C. H. Clark, George A. Lincoln, S. T. Wier. 1875 J. H. Smith, mayor; I. N. Whittam, police judge; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; Hiel Hale, chief engineer; A. G. Plum, recorder; Hiel Hale, marshal; F. C. Hormel, city attorney. Aldermen, R. Cornish, A. T. Averill, U. C. Blake, G. A. Lincoln, M. P. Mills, W. S. Bradley, S. T. Wier, C. H. Clark, F. J. Upton, E. L. Mansfield. 1876 J. H. Smith, mayor; I. N. Whittam, police judge; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; George A. Lincoln, chief engineer; A. G. Plum, recorder; Hiel Hale, marshal; F. C. Hormel, city attorney. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, U. C. Blake, E. K. Larimer. W. S. Bradley, A. Mann, O. C. L. Jones, S. T. Wier, M. P. Mills, R. Cornish, D. H. Richards. 1877 W. S. Bradley, mayor; W. B. Leach, superior judge; Benjamin Harrison, treasurer; C. W. Eaton, chief engineer; A. G. Plumb, recorder; Hiel Hale, marshal; F. C. Hormel, city attorney. Aldermen, C. Magnus, E. K. Larimer, A. R. Foote, U. C. Blake, O. C. L. Jones, D. H. Richards, J. J. Snouffer, D. T. Brown, A. Mann, Frank Witousek, D. B. Ramsdell, Samuel Miller. 1878 J. T. Hamilton, mayor; W. B. Leach, superior judge; A. G. Plumb, treasurer; C. W. Eaton, chief engineer; George A. Lincoln, recorder; H. C. Morehead, marshal; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, C. Magnus, D. T. Brown, W. W. Smith, U. C. Blake, A. R. Foote, O. C. L. Jones, H. G. Bowman, E. R. Earl, Frank Witousek, James Morton, E. L. Mansfield. 1879 O. N. Hull, mayor; W. B. Leach, superior judge; A. G. Plumb, treasurer; C. W. Eaton, chief engineer; J. C. Stoddard, recorder; Spencer Jackson, marshal; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, John Meehan, W. W. Smith, E. R. Earl, John Gates, John Dale, James Morton, A. Van Vleck, L. E. Jenkins, H. G. Bowman, J. J. Snouffer, O. C. L. Jones, E. L. Mansfield. 1880 J. H. Smith, mayor; W. B. Leach, superior judge; A. G. Plumb, treasurer; C. W. Eaton, chief engineer; J. C. Stoddard, recorder; Spencer Jackson, marshal; C. J. Deacon, city attorney. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, John Gates, John Dale, P. Mullaly, A. Van Vleck, L. E. Jenkins, William Stewart, James Morton, E. R. Earl, John Meehan, E. L. Mansfield, W. A. Fulkerson. 1881 J. H. Smith, mayor; W. B. Leach, superior judge; A. G. Plumb, treasurer; C. W. Eaton, chief engineer; J. C. Stoddard, recorder; Spencer Jackson, marshal; C. J. Deacon, city attorney. Aldermen, John Meehan, William Stewart, E. R. Earl, John Gates, J. M. Searles, E. L. Mansfield, J. R. Morin, M. P. Mills, James Morton, J. J. Snouffer, A. St. Clair Smith, W. A. Fulkerson. 1882 Charles A. Clark, mayor; W. B. Leach, superior judge; A. G. Plumb, treasurer; G. H. Murphy, chief engineer; J. C. Stoddard, recorder; Spencer Jackson, marshal; J. J. Powell, city attorney. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, John Gates, J. M. Searles, P. Martel, J. R. Morin, M. P. Mills, A. Van Vleck, T. M. Giberson, E. R. Earl, John Meehan, C. D. Van Vechten, W. A. Fulkerson. 1883 John W. Henderson, mayor; W. B. Leach, superior judge; A. G. Plumb, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; J. C. Stoddard, recorder; P. H. Francis, marshal; J. J. Powell, city attorney. Aldermen, John Meehan, P. Martel, M. P. Mills, John Gates, A. Van Vleck, James Fair, Frank Kouba, J. M. Searles, T. M. Giberson, J. J. Snouffer, C. D. Van Vechten, W. A. Fulkerson. 1884 C. W. Eaton, mayor; W. B. Leach, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; John D. Blain, recorder; P. H. Francis, marshal; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, John Gates, W. A. Fulkerson, G. M. Olmsted, Frank Kouba, J. M. Searles, A. Van Vleck, T. M. Giberson, M. P. Mills, John Meehan, C. D. Van Vechten, C. B. Kennedy. 1885 F. C. Hormel, mayor; J. T. Stoneman, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; John D. Blain, recorder; Michael Healy, marshal; A. R. West, city attorney. Aldermen, H. T. Brown, G. M. Olmsted, C. F. Earl, Joseph Moore, John Gates, A. Van Vleck, T. M. Giberson, A. H. Connor, J. W. Shapely, J. R. Morin, A. J. Mallahan, W. A. Fulkerson, A. D. Stevens, E. I. Foster, J. J. Snouffer, M. P. Mills, C. D. Van Vechten, J. F. Vondracek. 1886 C. W. Eaton, mayor; John T. Stoneman, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; John D. Blain, recorder; P. H. Francis, marshal; M. P. Smith, city attorney. Aldermen, H. T. Brown, J. R. Morin, C. F. Earl, Joseph Moore, George W. Bever, J. M. Miles, R. J. Thompson, J. F. Vondracek, A. D. Stevens, John Gates, A. J. Mallahan, M. P. Mills, J. W. Shapely, H. C. Waite, G. M. Olmsted, H. F. Sutliff, C. D. Van Vechten, A. H. Connor. 1887 C. W. Eaton, mayor; John T. Stoneman, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; John D. Blain, recorder; P. H. Francis, marshal; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, George W. Bever, J. M. Miles, R. J. Thompson, J. F. Vondracek, Frank Horak, George A. Lincoln, W. A. Fulkerson, A. Matyk, H. C. Waite, G. M. Olmsted, H. F. Sutliff, M. P. Mills, A. H. Connor, E. I. Foster, John Gates, William King, C. D. Van Vechten, W. C. Byers. 1888 P. Mullaly, mayor; John T. Stoneman, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; John D. Blain, recorder; P. H. Francis, marshal; I. N. Whittam, city attorney. Aldermen, Frank Horak, George A. Lincoln, M. P. Mills, A. Matyk, C. Magnus, J. F. Allison, F. W. Harwood, Edward Roddy, E. I. Foster, John Gates, William King, W. A. Fulkerson, W. C. Byers, H. C. Waite, G. M. Olmsted, H. V. Ferguson, R. J. Thompson, J. E. Lapham. 1889 P. Mullaly, mayor; John T. Stoneman, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; John D. Blain, recorder; P. H. Francis, marshal; I. N. Whittam, city attorney; G. A. Mitchell, city engineer. Aldermen, C. Magnus, J. F. Allison, F. W. Harwood, Edward Roddy, J. J. Snouffer, George A. Lincoln, George W. Noble, F. W. Slapnicka, H. C. Waite, G. M. Olmsted, H. V. Ferguson, R. J. Thompson, J. E. Lapham, F. A. Simmons, Warren Harman, F. J. Shefler, M. Ottmar, W. C. Byers. 1890 J. J. Snouffer, mayor; John T. Stoneman, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; John D. Blain, recorder; J. W. Hayes, marshal; N. W. McIvor, city attorney; J. D. Wardle, city engineer. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, M. O'Brien, W. Harman, A. St. Clair Smith, G. A. Lincoln, George W. Noble, F. W. Slapnicka, J. F. Allison, J. B. Henderson, Joseph Zbanek, F. A. Simmons, F. J. Shefler, M. Ottmar, W. C. Byers, J. A. Roach, T. C. Munger, A. B. Van Albada, Frank Dietz. 1891 John B. Henderson, mayor; John T. Stoneman, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; John D. Blain, recorder; J. W. Hayes, marshal; N. W. McIvor, city attorney; J. D. Wardle, city engineer. Aldermen, M. O'Brien, J. F. Allison, P. H. Francis, J. Zbanek, J. J. Snouffer, George W. Noble, F. A. Simmons, F. W. Slapnicka, J. R. Amidon, T. C. Munger, M. Ottmar, Frank Dietz, A. St. Clair Smith, F. J. Shefler, A. B. Van Albada, G. H. Spalding. 1892 John B. Henderson, mayor; John T. Stoneman, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; J. D. Blain, recorder; A. W. West, marshal; N. W. McIvor, city attorney; J. D. Wardle, city engineer. Aldermen, J. J. Snouffer, George W. Noble, F. A. Simmons, F. W. Slapnicka, M. O'Brien, Warren Harman, M. S. Jackson, J. Zbanek, J. R. Amidon, F. J. Shefler, M. Ottmar, A. F. Schindler, A. St. Clair Smith, Ed R. Shaw, L. W. Richards, J. B. Leverich. 1893 William P. Daniels, mayor; Thomas M. Giberson, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; J. D. Blain, recorder; A. R. West, marshal; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; Lewis Heins, city attorney; J. D. Wardle, city engineer; board of public works, J. L. Hardwick, chairman, C. H. Swab, W. P. Clark. Aldermen, M. O'Brien, Charles Bednar, F. H. Juckett, S. J. Maloney, J. Kozlovsky, D. F. Anderson, J. W. Gerber, F. S. Salda, F. W. Harwood, Ed. R. Shaw, L. W. Richards, J. B. Leverich, A. St. Clair Smith, J. F. Shefler, L. J. Zika, A. F. Schindler. 1894 William P. Daniels, mayor; Thomas M. Giberson, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; L. M. Ayers, chief engineer; J. D. Blain, recorder; Thomas Farmer, marshal; Lewis Heins, city attorney; J. D. Wardle, city engineer. Board of public works, Hosmer Tuttle, chairman. Aldermen, Joseph Kozlovsky, D. F. Anderson, J. W. Gerber, F. S. Salda, G. M. Schumm, George Eakle, F. H. Juckett, S. J. Maloney, F. W. Harwood, F. J. Shefler, L. J. Zika, A. F. Schindler, Charles Weare, S. L. Rudolph, W. A. Smith, J. B. Leverich. 1895 George A. Lincoln, mayor; T. M. Giberson, superior judge; J. C. Stoddard, treasurer; Thomas Farmer, marshal; J. D. Blain, recorder and assessor; William McGowan, chief engineer; Warren Harman, city attorney; E. P. Boynton, city engineer. Board of public works, Charles Weare, chairman. Aldermen, G. M. Schumm, George Yuill, John B. Turner, S. J. Maloney, Ed H. Smith, George Eakle, J. W. Gerber, Joseph Kubicek, F. W. Harwood, V. W. Johnson, James Monilaw, C. F. Hutchens, Charles Weare, S. L. Rudolph, W. A. Smith, J. B. Leverich. 1896 George A. Lincoln, mayor; Thomas M. Giberson, superior judge; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; William McGowan, Jr., chief engineer; J. D. Blain, recorder; Thomas Farmer, marshal; Warren Harman, city attorney; E. P. Boynton, city engineer. Board of public works, Charles Weare, chairman. Aldermen, Ed H. Smith, George Yuill, W. G. Haskell, S. J. Maloney, W. G. Dows, George W. Eakle, John B. Turner, Joseph Kubicek, F. W. Harwood, V. W. Johnson, James Monilaw, Henry J. Rapps, C. W. Burton, David W. King, Joseph Pitlik, C. F. Hutchens. 1897 George A. Lincoln, mayor; Thomas M. Giberson, superior judge; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; Thomas Farmer, marshal; J. D. Blain, recorder; J. L. Starman, chief engineer; W. Harman, city attorney; E. P. Boynton, city engineer. Board of public works, Charles Weare, chairman. Aldermen, W. G. Dows, George W. Eakle, W. G. Haskell, John Juza, R. N. Buck, R. D. Mills, Joseph Pitlik, S. J. Maloney, F. W. Harwood, David W. King, J. Y. Kennedy, J. B. Leverich, C. W. Burton, V. W. Johnson, J. H. Rothrock, Jr., Henry J. Rapps. 1898 John M. Redmond, mayor; T. M. Giberson, judge superior court; J. D. Blain, recorder; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; J. A. Hildebrand, assessor; Joseph Kozlovsky, marshal; John L. Starman, chief of fire department; John N. Hughes, city attorney; G. H. Merridith, city engineer. Aldermen, J. F. Allison, M. Ottmar, R. N. Buck, George T. Hedges, R. A. Wallace, Charles D. Huston, W. G. Haskell, Joseph Pitlik, F. W. Slapnicka, L. M. Rich. 1899 John M. Redmond, mayor; T. M. Giberson, judge superior court; J. D. Blain, recorder; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; J. A. Hildebrand, assessor; Joseph Kozlovsky, marshal; Joseph P. Cook, chief fire department; Henry J. Achter, auditor; John N. Hughes, city attorney; G. H. Merridith, city engineer. Aldermen, J. F. Allison, M. Ottmar, R. N. Buck, George T. Hedges, R. A. Wallace, Charles D. Huston, W. G. Haskell, J. P. Grissel, F. W. Slapnicka, L. M. Rich. 1900 John M. Redmond, mayor; James H. Rothrock, judge superior court; J. D. Blain, recorder; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; J. A. Hildebrand, assessor; Joseph Kozlovsky, marshal; Joseph P. Cook, chief fire department; Henry J. Achter, auditor; John N. Hughes, city attorney; G. H. Merridith, city engineer. Aldermen, J. F. Allison, M. Ottmar, R. N. Buck, George T. Hedges, R. A. Wallace, Charles D. Huston, W. G. Haskell, J. P. Grissel, F. W. Slapnicka, L. M. Rich. 1901 Charles D. Huston, mayor; Henry J. Achter, auditor; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; George L. Mentzer, recorder; J. A. Hildebrand, assessor; Joseph P. Cook, chief of fire department; James H. Rothrock, judge superior court; John N. Hughes, city attorney; T. F. McCauley, city engineer. Aldermen, J. F. Allison, H. Cushman, James H. Hughes, W. L. Cherry, F. E. Cerny, C. H. Chandler, Porter Hamilton, John Easker, F. W. Slapnicka, John F. Powers. 1902 Charles D. Huston, mayor; Henry J. Achter, auditor; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; George L. Mentzer, recorder; J. A. Hildebrand, assessor; Joseph Kozlovsky, marshal; James H. Rothrock, judge superior court; John N. Hughes, city attorney; T. F. McCauley, city engineer. Aldermen, J. F. Allison, H. Cushman, James H. Hughes, W. L. Cherry, F. E. Cerny, C. H. Chandler, Porter Hamilton, John Easker, F. W. Slapnicka. 1903 Charles D. Huston, mayor; Henry J. Achter, auditor; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; George L. Mentzer, recorder; J. A. Hildebrand, assessor; Joseph Kozlovsky, marshal; James H. Rothrock, judge superior court; Joseph P. Cook, chief fire department; John N. Hughes, city attorney; T. F. McCauley, city engineer. Aldermen, H. Cushman, C. O. Johnson, James H. Hughes, W. L. Cherry, George Lightner, D. A. Ross, W. C. Byers, F. W. Barta, D. Feiereisen, John F. Powers. 1904 Charles D. Huston, mayor; Henry J. Achter, auditor; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; George L. Mentzer, recorder; J. A. Hildebrand, assessor; Joseph Kozlovsky, marshal; John N. Hughes, city attorney; T. F. McCauley, city engineer; Joseph P. Cook, chief fire department; James H. Rothrock, judge superior court. Aldermen, H. Cushman, C. O. Johnson, J. H. Hughes, W. L. Cherry, George Lightner, D. A. Ross, W. C. Byers, F. W. Barta, D. Feiereisen, J. F. Powers. 1905 Charles D. Huston, mayor; Henry J. Achter, auditor; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; H. S. Keffer, recorder; J. A. Hildebrand, assessor; Joseph Kozlovsky, marshal; John N. Hughes, city attorney; T. F. McCauley, city engineer; Joseph P. Cook, chief fire department; James H. Rothrock, judge superior court. Aldermen, H. Cushman, C. O. Johnson, J. H. Hughes, W. L. Cherry, George Lightner, D. A. Ross, W. C. Byers, F. W. Barta, D. Feiereisen, J. F. Powers. 1906-7 Amos H. Connor, mayor; James B. Gourley, auditor; Thomas Devendorf, treasurer; H. S. Keffer, recorder; J. G. Crozer, marshal; Joseph P. Cook, chief fire department; James W. Good, city attorney; T. R. Warriner, city engineer. Aldermen, James H. Hughes, W. G. Rowley, George Lightner, D. A. Ross, W. C. Byers, F. W. Barta, J. K. Starman, D. Feiereisen, L. W. Anderson, Charles H. Campbell. Mayor Connor died while in office and George S. Lightner was chosen for the unexpired term. The city went under the commission plan of government in 1908, the officers being as follows: J. T. Carmody, mayor; Leslie J. Storey, clerk; C. D. Huston, H. S. Keffer, Matt J. Miles, and E. A. Sherman, councilmen; John M. Redmond, attorney; Percy P. Smith, engineer. Mayor Carmody having died, Matt J. Miles was chosen mayor and J. F. Allison councilman to succeed him. 1910 Matt J. Miles, mayor; Leslie J. Storey, clerk; W. H. Chamberlain, attorney; T. F. McCauley, engineer; H. S. Keffer, W. H. Stepanek, Henry Bennett, and Percy P. Smith, councilmen. H. S. Keffer later resigned, and A. S. Reed was chosen to fill the vacancy. CITY OF CEDAR RAPIDS AS IT WAS FIFTY YEARS AGO The following interesting account of early Cedar Rapids is taken from _Voice of Iowa_ for April, 1857, edited by James L. Enos. The article was written by Mr. Enos himself: "What constitutes the present city of Cedar Rapids, is embraced mainly by sections 21, 22, 27 and 28, in T. 83 N., R. 7 W., in the township of Rapids in Linn county. The location is one of the most delightful to be found in any of the rich valleys of the west, being on the northeast side of the Cedar river, on a plain rising above the river's bed, and reaching back nearly half a mile, with but very slight depressions or uprisings, serving to render the plat one of great convenience for building, and giving a peculiar grace to its appearance. "In the rear of this table-land a somewhat abrupt elevation, varying from 20 to 40 feet, occurs, which is covered with a luxuriant growth of native oak. Upon this are the most beautiful and romantic sites for residences, being sufficiently elevated to overlook the entire valley for miles in either direction. Back of this the depressions and elevations alternate, making this portion of the city a series of circular, undulating swells. "The city proper also extends on the west side of the river and embraces numerous other positions which are being occupied with rapidity and improved with taste, and though not embraced within the present city limits, forms of necessity a part of the Valley City. "Cedar Rapids is situated due west of Chicago, the present emporium of the west, and is the present terminus of the principal trunk railroad from that city penetrating the heart of the northwest. It is 75 miles southwest from Dubuque, 80 miles nearly west from Clinton, about the same distance from Davenport, 55 miles from Muscatine, and about 110 from Des Moines--the capital of Iowa. NATURAL ADVANTAGES "Few interior cities are blessed with more natural advantages than Cedar Rapids. The rapids in the Cedar river are the first met with after leaving the Mississippi, and no more occur of any considerable amount for many miles above. These afford one of the best water powers in the west, and with proper dams would afford power sufficient to run all machinery that will ever be required on either side of the river, even though our population should reach fifty thousand. Surrounding the town for miles is one of the richest agricultural districts in the Union, forming a part of the Cedar valley country which Professor Owen has taken as his type of perfection in fertility. There is a plentiful supply of timber for all ordinary uses--numerous groves are scattered upon the surrounding hills--giving the appearance of an enchanted garden--probably unsurpassed in richness by any region of equal extent on the American continent. "Its position in reference to other towns and cities is such as must of necessity make it a great railroad center, and several are already projected, and one under contract to this city. We shall speak more fully of this class of advantages in another portion of this article. "In point of healthfulness, it will compare favorably with any of the river towns, the diseases being chiefly of a bilious nature, and yielding readily to very simple treatment. This fact applies with very general truth to all the valleys of Iowa--while the more elevated districts are more free from malaria, they are subject to a disease of a more complex and serious character. This may seem fabulous to the casual observer, but we feel assured that the combined experience of western practitioners will bear testimony to the correctness of our statements. [Illustration: BLACK HAWK] [Illustration: A WINNEBAGO INDIAN] [Illustration: THE SLAVE DANCE OF THE SAC AND FOX] SETTLEMENT "There is always more or less of interest connected with the early days of any city, and it is not until years after that the record becomes of value. The pioneer suffers privations and trials of which future occupants can realize but little. In fact, the honor paid them is seldom equal to their merits and oftentimes they are as illy prepared to receive as others are to bestow sympathy and praise. Among the first settlers of this city were some men of the first character, and are yet with us, while others have moved farther on, to enjoy what habit has taught them to love, a frontier life, and a few have gone down to the gate of common entry, their years being full and their memories yet linger, and make us glad that we lived with, knew and loved them. Of this number we name that generous and true man, D. W. King. Esq., who departed from our midst in the autumn of 1854. "The first man, however, who pitched his tent on the ground now occupied by the Valley City, was a counterfeiter and horse thief, of no little notoriety, by the name of Shepard, who took up his abode and erected a log house on what is now Linn street, near the mills, some time in the year 1838. "D. W. King and Thomas Gainer, the first settlers of any advantage to the country, reached here in 1839 and soon after made a permanent settlement on the west side of the river. "The house of Shepard was soon found to be the home of a lawless band of outlaws, who secreted much of their plunder on the islands in the river above the city. John Young and a man named Granger were connected with Shepard in their work. They stole at one time six horses and made good their escape with four of them. Granger was afterwards convicted of passing counterfeit money in Chicago and sentenced to the Alton prison for four years. The fate of Young is not known with certainty, yet there is evidence to induce the belief that he was executed for murder, in a neighboring state, though he assumed a different name. "The privations of the first settlers were at times very great, and though such as are not uncommon in the history of pioneer life, would cause many of our amateurs at the present time to sigh for the home of their childhood and a place at the luxurious tables of their fathers. PROGRESS "In 1849 D. W. King established ferries for crossing the Cedar, and continued to run them up to the time of his death. The one doing most of the business was at the Iowa avenue crossing. As it is probable that these boats will soon, if indeed they have not already made their last voyage, a brief note of them may not be out of place in this connection. They were self-propellers, being forced across the river by the power of the current. A wire rope extended across the stream upon which a pulley was placed, and connected by means of two ropes to the boat. "The first dam across the Cedar was commenced in 1842, and the first saw mill erected in 1843, and is still running. "In March, 1843, the lands came into the market. The first flouring mill was erected in 1844-5 at a cost of $3,000, by the present owner. In 1845 A. Ely erected the second saw mill, and the second flouring mill the following year, the latter costing about $9,000. In 1848-9 the woolen factory was erected at a cost of about $8,000. The first saw mill was erected in 1850 by Greene, Legare & Co. This has a chair and bedstead factory connected and cost about $4,000. These are all propelled by water power. In 1855-6, Greene & Graves erected a steam saw mill, and containing also a variety of other machinery. The first and only mill erected on the west side of the river went into operation in the summer of 1856. The first steam engine was stationed in this city by A. Hager, in his machine shop, sash, blind, and door factory in 1855. The second by Greene & Graves, and the third by S. L. Pollock. "The first store was opened by J. Greene, in the building now occupied by the postoffice, on the northwest corner of Iowa avenue and Washington street. "The second store was opened by Mr. Cleveland, and C. R. Mulford the third. This was located on Commercial street, and was destroyed by fire in 1850, being the first building thus destroyed in Cedar Rapids. No fire occurred thereafter until late in the autumn of 1855, when most of the block embraced on the west side of Commercial street, between Iowa avenue and Linn street, was consumed. No fire has occurred since. "The postoffice was established in 1847, and J. Greene appointed postmaster. "The first brick buildings were erected in 1844, the building on the southwest corner of Iowa avenue and Commercial street, and the dwelling house on the northwest corner of Iowa avenue and Washington street. The present Union House was the first hotel. "The village of Cedar Rapids was laid out and the plat recorded in 1842. At this time, two log buildings constituted the village, and the total population was six persons. "A public school house was erected in 1846 or '47, and the first school taught by Nelson Felch. This structure is now occupied as a dwelling, on the northwest corner of Eagle and Madison streets. The first church, Presbyterian, was erected in 1850. "The first newspaper was published in 1851 by D. O. Finch, entitled the _Progressive Era_. It was continued under this name by various owners and editors until September, 1854, when it was purchased by J. L. Enos and F. A. Wilmans, and its name changed to the _Cedar Valley Times_ by which name it yet flourishes. In politics republican, it is at present published by J. G. Davenport. The second paper was established in January, 1856, under the editorial management of J. L. Enos, entitled the _Cedar Valley Farmer_, but was discontinued at the close of the first volume. The _Cedar Rapids Democrat_ was the third paper--commenced in June, 1856, by W. W. Perkins & Co. This is still published. Democratic in politics, the _Times_ and the _Democrat_ are both good papers, and appear to be well sustained. "_The Voice of Iowa_ was commenced in January, 1857, under the auspices of the Iowa Teachers' Association, Phonetic Association, etc., J. L. Enos, editor and publishing agent, assisted by a number of corresponding editors. This journal has met with more than ordinary success, the circulation passing 1,000 during the first three months and commanding nearly $1,000 in advertising patronage, thus showing that the people of Iowa are aroused to the importance of paying due attention to the education of their youth. "The foundation for a very large graded school was laid in the summer of 1856, but owing to the large amount of work contracted and the scarcity of workmen, the completion was of necessity deferred. It is designed to complete it early the coming summer, and when finished will form one of the finest educational structures in the state. "During the past two years the growth of Valley City has been equaled by few towns even in the west. It now contains many blocks that would do credit to any eastern city. [Illustration: CEDAR RAPIDS COUNTRY CLUB HOUSE] [Illustration: GEORGE GREENE SQUARE, SEMI-CENTENNIAL, 1906] [Illustration: RIVERSIDE PARK] "The present city charter was adopted in the summer of 1856, and Isaac Whittam, Esq., was elected mayor. A free bridge across the Cedar was commenced in 1855, and is now ready for crossing by teams. The chief credit of this structure is due to a few, though many stood manfully by the free bridge and aided liberally in its erection. A charter for a toll bridge was obtained about the time that the free bridge charter was procured, which gave rise to a warm controversy in which much interest was manifest. The free bridge finally triumphed, and its noble arches now span the Cedar with every appearance of remaining for many years a proud monument to the energy and liberality of those who aided in placing it there. We have already intimated that Cedar Rapids is the center of a very large and increasing trade, and though not destined to become a city of the first magnitude, is destined to rank as one of the principal interior cities of Iowa. Its railroad connections--immense water power--the fertility of the surrounding country and the energy of its people will give it rank and importance as a manufacturing city, worthy of note. "Nor is this imaginary, as the following statistics will show. Cedar Rapids now contains: 4 flouring mills, 2 door, sash and blind, and planing mills, 1 cooper and barrel factory, 5 wagon and carriage factories, 1 iron factory, 2 cabinet furniture and chair factories, 3 plow factories, 3 boot and shoe factories, 2 saddle and harness manufactories, 4 tin, copper and sheet iron establishments, 1 woolen factory, 5 brick yards, 2 agricultural implement manufactories, 3 merchant tailor establishments, 2 wood turning establishments, 3 newspapers and magazines, 1 brick machine factory, 8 grocery and provision stores, 5 clothing stores, 5 dry-goods stores, 1 millinery and fancy goods store, 6 liquor and cigar shops, 4 drug stores, 2 silversmith, clock and jewelry stores, 4 hardware stores, 3 book stores, 1 book bindery, 5 public and private halls, 5 hotels, 4 churches, 4 lumber yards, 3 banking houses, 1 public reading room, 1 shaving and hair dressing establishment. [Illustration: CEDAR RAPIDS IN 1856] "A paper mill is in contemplation, and there is room and excellent openings for other branches of business. "A hat and cap manufactory--pork packing establishment--in fact nearly every branch of manufactory not included in the above would do well. There are two nurseries contiguous to town, where nearly every kind of fruit and a large variety of ornamental trees can be procured. The Mound nursery is one of the oldest and most extensive in the country, and the proprietor furnishes orders on very liberal terms." The following letter to A. T. Hall, as to a gavel, at the meeting of carpenters of America at Des Moines, 1910, gives some interesting facts as to early days in Cedar Rapids: "Dear Sir: In reply to your request for such information as I have concerning the small mallet or gavel which you had made from a piece of the red cedar shaft, I can only say that there is but little to its history. My father, the late Nicholas Brodhead Brown, came to what is now the city of Cedar Rapids in 1839, but did not remain here at that time. He went as far north as Cedar Falls looking for a mill site, and returned to this location in 1840. After building the first manufacturing plant in Linn county for the Doty brothers, a saw mill in Bertram township, located near the mouth of Indian creek, he began in 1841 to improve the waterfall in the Cedar river at this place. He first built a temporary dam then built a saw mill, the second to be built in the county, for himself. He then began the building of the first flour mill in the county. This mill was completed and in operation either in 1843 or 1844, and from this mill came the cedar shaft from which the little mallet or gavel was made. There is no doubt in my mind about the cedar tree from which the mallet was made was cut very close to, and perhaps within the present limits of Cedar Rapids. Nicholas Brodhead Brown was in all probability the first mechanic who used edged tools, to locate in Cedar Rapids. Nor is there any doubt in my mind about his making the shaft above spoken of. It was the real shaft in the old bolting chest in the mill known as Brown's Mill. Mr. Brown by occupation was a millwright and through force of circumstances worked at that trade for some twelve or fifteen years after his arrival here. He especially did all of the millwrighting that he could do himself on this mill, working twelve and fourteen hours a day for the purpose of getting it into operation as soon as possible, as not only he himself needed its income but the country all about this locality needed a mill. "Another of the early mechanics to come to Cedar Rapids was Samuel Sherwood, also a millwright. He worked for a time on Brown's flour mill, and on the Alexander Ely flour mill, now known as the Anchor mill. This was the second mill to begin operation in Cedar Rapids. The Ely mill began operating the same year as the Brown's, but later on in the year. Another of the old-time mechanics, a user of edged tools, was Joseph Love. He was the first cabinet-maker to locate in Cedar Rapids. Another was John Vardy; he was the second cabinet-maker to locate in Cedar Rapids, and was the builder of the first house in Cedar Rapids to be constructed of sawed lumber. The house still stands--is in use and owned by the Stary family. John F. Boyce, the father of William and Frank Boyce of this city, was another early mechanic. He also was a cabinet-maker. John Patterson, an uncle of Chas. A. Calder of this city, was another. He also was a cabinet-maker. All of these men worked to a greater or less extent at the carpenter's trade. In those days there were no trade unions and consequently no limitations on the kind of work a mechanic should do. To my mind these men could be classed as carpenters as well as millwrights and cabinet-makers. I should have said that Samuel Sherwood went to Independence from this city and became the founder of the milling industry at that thriving little place. I have diverged largely from the gavel, but believe it will be interesting to yourself and your fraternity to know who the first users of edged tools were in this part of Iowa. Respectfully yours, "N. E. BROWN." HOW THE FIRST RAILROAD CAME TO CEDAR RAPIDS T. DEVENDORF IN THE SUNDAY REPUBLICAN OF JUNE 10, 1906 The population of the city in 1856 was not to exceed 1,200 to 1,500 people. There was little wealth in the community. No manufacturing enterprises had as yet located here. The principal dependence of the people was in the farming community and the bountiful harvests that Iowa never fails to produce. The one great desire and ambition of the people was for a railroad to the east on which they could transport their surplus product to an eastern market. Railroad building had not been very extensive in the west, the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska had its track built as far west as the Mississippi river and was formulating plans to bridge the river and extend the road across the fertile prairies of Iowa. Some of our pioneer citizens with shrewd business instincts and confidence in the rapid settlement and development of the state, on the completion of the railroad, became interested in this new project and advocated the granting of a loan to them provided the road should be built to or through our growing city. The subject of giving aid to this new proposed railroad was discussed largely among the people, and on the 1st day of September, 1856, the city council passed a resolution instructing the mayor to call an election of the qualified voters of Cedar Rapids to vote on the question, shall the city in its corporate capacity subscribe sixty thousand dollars to the capital stock of the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska railroad and pay for same in bonds issued by the city. Said bonds were to bear interest at the rate of ten per cent per annum, and were to mature 20 years after date at the option of the city. The election was called by Mayor Isaac Whittam and held September 22, 1856, and resulted in the very decisive vote of 111 for the proposition and only 2 against it. [Illustration: THE OLD BLAIR BUILDING, NOW THE SITE OF THE KIMBALL BUILDING] These bonds were to be issued in series as the work on the new road progressed, fifteen thousand dollars worth when the contract was let for building the road from De Witt to Cedar Rapids; the second series of fifteen thousand dollars worth when the first five miles of grading were completed in Linn county; and the balance of thirty thousand dollars worth when the grading was finished into the city of Cedar Rapids and the road in operation and cars running as far west as Mt. Vernon. On the 20th of February, 1857, Mayor Whittam in a report to the city council made a statement that he, as representative of the city, had attended the meeting of the stockholders of the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska, held on the 25th day of January, 1857, at Clinton and at that time had passed over to the railroad company the fifteen bonds of one thousand dollars each, to which they were entitled, they giving the required stock certificates for same as per agreement. The railroad company also entered into a contract with the city in which they agreed to pay interest on said bonds and all others to be issued to the railroad until such time as the road should be finished and the cars running into the city of Cedar Rapids. The mayor also complimented the men in charge of the affairs of the road as men of means, honor, and energy, and finished his report by predicting that when the road was completed it would be of great benefit and advantage to our young but growing city. But notwithstanding the financial aid and the general encouragement given by the people the road advanced westward slowly and while the grading had been nearly completed there were many other things necessary to build a railroad and which could only be had by having the ready money with which to buy such supplies. In June, 1857, another petition was presented to the city council asking that the mayor call an election of the legal voters of the city to vote on the question, shall the city issue its bonds to the amount of forty thousand dollars to aid in purchasing the iron rails to complete the road to Cedar Rapids, the city to be a subscriber to the capital stock of the road to that amount. On July 10, 1857, the mayor called the election to vote on the proposition, shall the city in its corporate capacity issue its bonds for forty thousand dollars, the money to be used to procure iron rails and for no other purpose. The election was held on July 20, 1857, and resulted as follows: For the proposition, 104 votes; against 25 votes. These bonds were to be issued in series and were to be paid one-quarter in 13 years, one-quarter in 14 years, one-quarter in 15 years, and the balance in 16 years from date. Some time after these bonds were issued and turned over to the railroad company some legal point was raised touching their validity, and this together with the fact that the financial standing of the railroad company in the east among the iron manufacturers was not first class, made it necessary that some other plan should be adopted to procure the iron rails to build the road to Cedar Rapids. Heretofore they had found it practicable to survey and locate and grade a road and pay for the same in farm products, dry goods and groceries, etc. But when it came to buying iron from the manufacturers it required the cash or a suitable collateral. But our people were ready to meet this unforeseen emergency. Six of our early and more wealthy citizens made notes of $8,000.00 each, each note being signed by each of the other gentlemen, making a joint note of each one and together amounting to the $48,000.00. These notes were to be used as collateral and to strengthen up their credit, so that the iron rails could be bought and the road completed to this city. This was purely accommodation paper and the road contracted that the interest and principal of these notes should be paid by the railroad company from the first net earnings of the company, but in the early years of the road there were no net earnings. It was only by the most economical management that the operating expenses could be met, and several years elapsed before these notes given to aid the railroad were fully paid. The gentlemen aiding in the early construction of the first railroad to Cedar Rapids were Gabriel Carpenter, George Greene, Sampson C. Bever, J. J. Snouffer, and two others whose names are not remembered. After the railroad was completed and in operation to this place little was said in regard to these city bonds. In the proceedings of the city council June 13, 1860, a resolution was passed authorizing E. H. Steadman, the mayor of the city, to represent the city at the annual meeting of the stockholders of the C., I. & N. Ry., which was to be held in Clinton at a later date. On January 25, 1861, a committee was appointed consisting of the mayor, I. N. Whittam, and Alderman G. Livensbarger who were to examine into the legal condition of the city in relation to the $100,000.00 worth of city bonds already issued for railroad purposes. What this investigating committee did, and what their conclusions were, are not matters of record. Nothing more is said in any of the proceedings of the city council in regard to this matter until May 8, 1863, when it appears from the preamble of a resolution introduced that the railroad company was calling upon the city authorities to comply with the terms of the contract entered into when the bonds were issued, which was that the city should pay the interest on such bonds after the completion of the road to this place. The road had been finished and in operation some two years and still no interest had been paid and the city made no efforts to collect any sum for such purpose. At the meeting of the council May 8, 1863, a resolution was introduced asking that a committee be appointed to investigate and report on the recorded facts bearing upon this matter of railroad bonds from its inception to this date. Aldermen McClelland, Denlinger and Slonaker were desirous of having light on the subject and voted for an investigation, but Aldermen Bever, Carroll and Stibbs voted in the negative, and this being a tie vote it was decided by the mayor, who also voted in the negative. At the council meeting held June 11, 1864, another committee to investigate was appointed who was authorized to procure legal advice in regard to the liability of the city and also meet and confer with the officers of the railroad company, and this committee consisting of Aldermen McClelland and E. H. Steadman reported back to the council that they had procured legal advice in the matter and from all data and facts collected their attorney was of the opinion that the railroad company had no legal claims against the city and that the bonds were illegal and void. In October of 1864 the same subject came up in the city council and a committee of three consisting of S. C. Bever, H. C. Angle and John Weare were appointed to confer with the railroad company and get the best terms of settlement they could, either by taking reissued stock in payment or a certain amount of money yearly in full settlement. This committee were prompt in their investigations and reported back to the council November 4, 1864. Their report was that they had a conference with the railroad company and the best compromise they could obtain was this: First. That the city surrender to the company all its claims to stock in said road. Second. The railroad company would then return to the city $90,000.00 worth of the city bonds already issued together with all coupons on the balance, leaving in the hands of the company $10,000.00 worth with all coupons cut off to date. This surrendering of bonds to in no way affect the legality of the bonds retained, the legal points to be settled later. At the meeting of the council Alderman Bever introduced a resolution covering all the points made in the report of the committee that the city surrender the stock and that the railroad company return the $90,000.00 worth of bonds, leaving outstanding and in the hands of the railroad company $10,000.00 worth of city bonds. On the yeas and nays being called the following aldermen voted yea: Bever, Denlinger, Holland and Slonaker, and in the negative, Alderman McClelland, and the resolution was declared adopted. Alderman McClelland then at once offered his resignation as alderman from the Third ward and his resignation was as promptly accepted and Wm. Richmond elected as his successor. Nothing more appears in the records of the city council bearing on this question of railroad bonds until June 29, 1866, when Alderman Adams of the Third ward introduced a resolution that a committee of one consisting of Alderman Snouffer be appointed to confer and negotiate with Horace Williams, agent of the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska railroad, for the surrender of the outstanding bonds, and he was authorized to release and exonerate the railroad company from performing certain acts they had previously agreed to do. One was the grading of Jefferson street and another was the grading of the North city park and the building a fence of oak posts around said park, both of which they had failed to do. These agreements of the railroad company the city would relinquish, provided the railroad company would return the balance of the city bonds in their hands, amounting to $10,000.00. It is presumed that Alderman Snouffer failed to make these negotiations with Horace Williams as instructed by the city council, at least there is nothing in the records to show that this committee of one ever made any report on this subject to the city council. At the meeting of the city council held May 15, 1868, another committee was appointed to investigate and try to induce the railroad company to relinquish and return these outstanding city bonds and it is fair to presume that the committee accomplished something in that direction as at a subsequent meeting held June 26, 1868, Alderman Leach moved that the city treasurer be authorized to receive the city bonds now in the possession of the Chicago & Northwestern railroad and receipt for same. This is the last record to be found in the proceedings of the city council bearing on this subject of city bonds. Going back to the time the railroad was built into Cedar Rapids it will be remembered that little value was placed on the stock. People subscribed for the stock and paid their subscriptions as called for more to encourage the building of the road than for an investment. Nearly every citizen had some few shares of the stock. They had all done their share in getting the road here according to each one's means and financial ability, and held their stock in the road. It was then that men of means with confidence in the rapid growth and advancement of this great state of Iowa began in a private way gathering up this stock of the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska R. R., buying up from the small holders their stock at prices from 25 to 35 cents on the dollar of the par value and in a few years the small holders had parted with their holdings and in 1865 there was little or no stock of the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska R. R. to be had and in the latter part of that year the road was merged into the Chicago & Northwestern system. At what price per share the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska went into the Northwestern is not positively known, but it is generally supposed that one share of the Chicago, Iowa & Nebraska R. R. was good for about three shares of the new consolidated Chicago & Northwestern. SOME OF THE EARLY BRICK HOUSES IN CEDAR RAPIDS Charles Weare used to say that there was a brick building on the Y. M. C. A. corner which was torn down many years ago, and which was supposed to be one of the first brick buildings in Cedar Rapids; it was occupied by Ingham Wood as a store building. Porter Earle erected one of the first, if not the first, brick building at the corner of First avenue and Second street where the Union Block is now standing, which was one of the most commodious buildings of its kind in the city for many years. The Michael Bryan family erected one of the first dwelling houses of brick about where N. E. Brown's home now stands in 1849 or 1850, and for many years it was one of the best equipped houses in the city and the west. This house had an open fire place in every room, and consisted of eight rooms. The house was built according to the southern style of architecture. Another member of the Bryan family erected a stone and cement house about the same time at the corner of Third avenue and Second street, which building was later occupied by the family of William Greene. D. M. McIntosh erected a one-story brick building near the present library in 1850 or 1851, which building is still standing. About the same time the father of James Snyder erected a brick dwelling which stood on South Third street near where the Vardy cottage is located. Greene's Hotel on First street was a brick structure erected between 1854 and 1855; it had an eighty feet front and ran back toward the river about eighty feet. The picture of this building shows that it was a four-story structure, although many claim that it was only a three-story building. This buildup was erected by J. J. Snouffer; for many years it was the largest and best equipped hotel in this part of the west. Part of the residence of Dr. Skinner was erected by George Berg and was one of the most complete brick structures in this city. Elihu Baker also erected a brick residence on the property now occupied by Dr. H. W. Bender about the early '50s. Sampson C. Bever erected a brick building on the premises where the Rock Island offices now stand, being a two story structure similar to the Spangler residence which was erected later across the street. In this structure Mr. Bever installed the first hot air furnace used in Cedar Rapids, and a great many of the early settlers came to inspect the house, and especially to examine the hot air furnace which was a new thing in those days. J. S. Cook in the early days erected a brick structure on the corner of A avenue and Fifth street, which was one of the fine homes for many years in this city. S. A. Shattuck built in the early '50s a brick structure on Sixth avenue and Fifth street. John Newell, during the years 1855 and 1856, erected a double brick structure at the corner of Fifth street and Seventh avenue. The old Seabury house on Eighth avenue was erected prior to 1860 and for many years was a landmark in that end of town. The Barthel house which stood where the Majestic Theatre now stands was one of the early brick veneer houses in the city and was occupied by many of the prominent families from time to time. R. C. Rock, one of the early merchants, erected a brick house in the early days on the premises where George Williams has since erected a magnificent mansion. Dr. Wilman, Dr. J. L. Enos and Dr. S. D. Carpenter erected brick houses in the early days which were landmarks along Second avenue up toward Tenth street. The Lawson Daniels brick residence was on First avenue between Second and Third streets adjoining the Thomas Building, and adjoining this was the dwelling of Dr. Thomas, a friend of J. J. Snouffer and a native of Maryland; Dr. Thomas returned to his native state in the '50s. Adjoining these brick dwellings was also another brick building erected by the old pioneer H. G. Angle and occupied by him as a residence for many years. Another substantial brick dwelling was erected by John Graves on B avenue and Fourth street, being a two-story brick building with an upper and lower porch. The old Gillette house was on the east side of Fifth street where William S. Bye now resides; it was known as the Gillette house. Mr. Gillette being the brother-in-law of the late W. D. Watrous. Another large and commodious brick dwelling house was a two-story structure erected on Fifth street between B and C avenues and near what is known now as Whittam Park. Adjoining this was the Koontz house, occupied by Dr. Koontz and his family for many years. The Tryon house was also a brick structure erected near the corner of Third avenue and Second street; Mr. Tryon was a surveyor and well known in the early days. Nearly all the brick used in the early days was made by a Mr. Geeslan who operated a brick yard near what is now known as the "Lame Johnny" place. Brick was cheap, labor was low and the cost of erecting these dwellings in that day was much lower than later. It is said that Sam Stambaugh in the early days worked as a brick mason and walked home to Bertram every night, the wages paid being about $1.00 a day, which was considered high. It is also said that during the '50s Cedar Rapids had more commodious homes than any other town of its size in Iowa. It was made up largely of a brainy, wide-awake, enterprising lot of men, such as N. B. Brown, H. G. Angle, the Greenes, Earles, Elys, Daniels, Macks, Weares, Bevers, and many others who had drifted into the town and who soon built up an enterprising little town, engaging in various ventures, not always successful, but they had Cedar Rapids before the world so that they finally landed the railroad which henceforth made the town. It is said by the late Charles Weare that "when they first started a newspaper there were no settlers in the town, but they had to use a newspaper to boom the town with." SOME STRENUOUS DAYS IN THE OLDEN TIMES FROM THE CEDAR RAPIDS REPUBLICAN, SUNDAY, JUNE 10, 1906 An ordinance creating a fire department was introduced in the council in January, 1869, and it was passed February 12, 1869. This ordinance was lengthy. It stipulated what officers should be appointed, what their duties were, how many fire companies to each engine, how many men to each company and many other details. One of the provisions of this first and original ordinance was that the fire chief should be appointed by the council. On March 12, 1869, the fire company which had already been organized but not officially recognized by the city council, presented a petition to the council, asking that P. C. Lusk be appointed as fire chief. At a subsequent meeting a vote was taken on the election of a fire chief with the following result: P. C. Lusk, who was the choice of the fire department, received four votes and J. J. Snouffer one vote. Lusk having received a majority of the votes cast was declared elected chief of the fire department. At the meeting held April 9, 1869, the chief of the fire department presented the names of the members of the first company which was styled "The Steam Fire Engine Co., No. 1." It was organized under Ordinance No. 78. Mr. Lusk reported the names of sixty members, including officers, and asked the council to confirm them, which was done. The officers of this company were as follows: Foreman--Geo. A. Lincoln. Assistant Foreman--M. T. Bell. Secretary--E. W. S. Otto. Treasurer--W. B. Stewart. Hose Captain--D. A. Dingman. Assistant Hose Captain--N. H. Martin. Engineer--W. Berkley. Stoker--H. S. Gilmore. Some of the "high privates" in this first organized fire company of Cedar Rapids were as follows: Al Jacobs, Richard Cornish, C. E. Calder, Lyman Ayers, Geo. Rhodes, Ed. Buttolph, John H. Smith, H. S. Bever, H. E. Witwer, H. Hale, Geo. Hasse, John Bryan, Walter L. Clark, L. L. Cone, Chas. L. Morehead, A. S. Mershon, Ely E. Weare, James Snyder, John Shearer, Baxter McQuinn, W. J. Wood, Richard Moorhead, Don Harris, Lowell Bressler, N. Rudolph, Ira Taft, and twenty-seven others. [Illustration: MONTROSE HOTEL, CEDAR RAPIDS] Early in April a hook and ladder company was organized and on April 16, 1869, was confirmed by the council as a part of the fire department of Cedar Rapids. The officers of the company were as follows: Foreman--S. D. Fleck. First Assistant--J. S. Dickinson. Secretary--Geo. A. Gault. Recorder and Treasurer--J. G. Krebs. Samuel A. Lilly. H. C. Morehead, James Fowler, P. C. Garrett, J. C. Adams, Samuel Spalding, J. A. Hart, Joseph Lilly, J. M. Chambers, T. Snook, J. J. Calder, G. M. Howlett, C. D. Pettibone and six others constituted the active membership of this organization. The official life of Chief Engineer Lusk was very brief and was marked by continued strife and dissension among the members of the department. He became _persona non grata_ to the council and charges were preferred against him. July 13, 1869, Alderman Hill introduced a resolution reciting that while the chief engineer could not be declared guilty of intentional fraud he was indiscreet in many things and his influence for good in the department had been so impaired that his resignation was demanded. This did the business, and on July 23 he resigned. W. B. Leach was appointed chief engineer for the remainder of the term, and peace and good feeling prevailed in the department. In March, 1870, after the inauguration of the new council of which W. B. Leach was mayor, a petition of the fire department was presented in which they asked the council to appoint Geo. A. Lincoln as chief engineer of the department. Another petition was also presented, signed by many citizens, asking that W. D. Watrous be appointed chief engineer of the department. On the 25th of March, a ballot being ordered, Geo. A. Lincoln received three votes and W. D. Watrous three votes, whereupon the mayor voted for Lincoln and declared him elected to the position of chief engineer, and on the 26th day of March he was duly qualified and took the oath of office. Shortly after Mr. Lincoln assumed the authority vested in the office of chief engineer of the fire department, an element of discord arose in the council and an effort was made to secure by legislation and diplomacy what they had failed to accomplish when the vote was taken in March. It was thought the original ordinance passed in January, 1869, was faulty and should be amended and the ordinance committee was directed to make such amendments as were necessary or to prepare an entirely new ordinance. During the summer of 1870 the committee had prepared an ordinance which was practically the same as the old one. The only radical change was in the manner of electing a chief engineer. The new ordinance placed the election of the officer with the electors after the year 1870 and a new section was added which read as follows: "No person shall be eligible to the office of chief engineer unless he be a resident of said city at least one year and shall have attained the age of twenty-five years." To understand the force of this last clause in the ordinance it will be necessary to remark that at this time Mr. Lincoln was only twenty-three years old. This ordinance, the records say, was passed July 29, 1870, but it was found necessary to amend it and it was not until ordinance No. 98 was passed on September 30, 1870, that the council felt safe in electing a new chief engineer to take the place of the one so skilfully legislated out of office. On the 15th of October, 1870, A. R. West became the chief engineer of the fire department by the vote of the council. After the election of Mr. Lincoln during the spring and summer of 1870 it was uncertain whether the city of Cedar Rapids had a fire department or not, and it was also a question as to the authority possessed by the chief. There was much discord and bitterness among some of the members of the fire organizations. The city council was far from being harmonious and rarely acted in unison in legislating for the well being of the fire department. The citizens who had labored long and earnestly in this work of procuring fire apparatus felt that they had a right to demand that this bickering and personal contention between the organized fire department and the duly elected city council should be ended, but the strife continued. Early in the administration of Mr. Lincoln as chief of the department a communication was presented to the city council in which the petitioners, after recounting their many grievances, made the claim that the election of Mr. Lincoln was unparliamentary, unfair and contrary to the wishes of the department and to a great majority of the property holders, and that while the petitioners were willing to obey all ordinances of the city and the ruling of any legally appointed officer as chief of the fire department, they did not consider themselves lawfully bound to give any heed or attention to the said Geo. A. Lincoln. That they as members of the fire department would pay no attention to the said unlawfully elected chief engineer nor to any order coming from him. This petition was signed by Sam Neidig, C. W. Eaton, G. M. Howlett, Sam Lilly, Chas. Hubbard, J. C. Adams, Thos. Snook, and fifteen others. Some time later the chief engineer made a report to the city council as the ordinance directed he should do, giving the necessary information in regard to the efficiency of the department and its probable needs for the future, but the council refused to accept it as the report of the chief engineer, making the broad claim that there was no fire department or a legally elected chief engineer and this was backed up by the opinion of the city attorney. Mr. Lincoln, not to be thwarted by the city council in refusing to listen to his report, was obliged to have it published in the city papers and some extracts are made here, showing the friendly feeling existing between him and some members of the city council. He reported that the steam engine was in good shape excepting that the grate had burned out and the committee on the fire department had refused to get it repaired. The hose was poor and not in condition to stand the pressure necessary in case of a large fire. This was owing to the committee on fire refusing to have the tower on the city hall arranged so the hose could be hung up to dry after having been used. Many small bills for supplies used by the department, and which were necessary for the running of the steamer, were hung up and not allowed, and in speaking of the cistern which the city had built he reports that one of the aldermen had the keys of the same and refused to turn them over to him and as to the amount of water in same he could make no report. After the election of Mr. A. R. West to the position of chief engineer, the old original No. 1 Fire Engine Company, or a large proportion of its members, at one of its meetings passed the following resolution: "Whereas, The city council has seen proper to persecute and finally to declare us not an organized fire company, and "Whereas, We who compose the Fire Engine Company No. 1 have since organization labored faithfully to make the department as efficient as possible and have in all cases discharged our duties as firemen, therefore "Resolved, That we turn over to the city council all the fire apparatus in our possession. That we refuse to offer our services as firemen so long as any member of the city council who has been persistent in our persecution shall remain in said council. "Resolved, That we condemn the city council in thus deliberately and intentionally using their power to cripple and destroy the efficiency of the fire department. "Resolved, That we preserve our company organization and that each and every one refuse to touch, use or handle any of the fire apparatus belonging to the city of Cedar Rapids." This old, original company, No. 1, was then a fire company to all intents and purposes, acting under the original organization, with most of the original members belonging, but they had no apparatus, no engines, nothing to use in case of fire. But this did not long remain. A subscription was started among the members of the company, and they with the aid of their friends and citizens soon had subscribed a sum sufficient to buy a substantial hand engine of a late pattern, together with 5,000 feet of new hose, a new hose cart, and also to put up a comfortable and neat engine house in which to hold their meetings and to shelter their engine and the other necessary equipment. This engine was purchased of Josiah Gates & Son, Lowell, Mass., and cost the sum of $800, which amount was paid in cash from the proceeds of the many subscriptions. It was called the E. S. Hill Independent Fire Company, in honor of E. S. Hill who was the patron saint in all their contentions with the city council, being an alderman from the First ward, and also one of the most liberal subscribers to the fund to procure the engine, he having led the subscription list with $200.00. The hose cart was procured from Quincy, Ill., where it had been previously used by that city, and cost $300.00 all complete. The hose to the amount of 500 feet cost the sum of $500.00. The material for the building of the engine house was obtained free from the local dealers and the construction was almost all done by the members of the company. After this company had procured their apparatus and were domiciled in their new building they developed into a very aggressive company of fire fighters, and it was the boast of some of its members that they could get out to a fire, extinguish the flames and be ready to return home before the steam engine company could get to the fire and be ready to work. A. R. West, who had been duly elected chief engineer of the fire department, together with John T. Hamilton, who was appointed assistant fire engineer, succeeded after much labor in bringing order out of the chaos that had so long existed in the affairs of the fire department. The steam engine, together with the hook and ladder equipment, was put into the hands of a newly organized company, most of the members of which had not been identified with any of the previous unpleasantness between the council and the fire department. For the next five years Cedar Rapids had two fire departments, the one belonging to the city and under municipal control, and the other denominated the "Independent," owning their own equipment and subject to no official orders from the city. This continued until the advent of the Cedar Rapids Water Co., who put in their system of waterworks and established hydrants in all parts of the city. MRS. ROCK'S REMINISCENCES Mrs. R. C. Rock, one of the earliest of the pioneers, is still living in a serene and vigorous old age. She is a relative of Judge Greene, and came west to Dubuque in 1849 at his request to assist him in getting out his first volume of Iowa Reports, which was printed in New York. She later came to Cedar Rapids with the judge and assisted materially in getting ready for the press and in proof reading the matter for the other volumes of his Reports. The members of the supreme court would frequently gather in Cedar Rapids in chambers to prepare their opinions and to O. K. them for publication. Mrs. Rock did much of the law copying for these judges. Their decisions were turned over to her to record and to edit for publication. She says Judge Williams was flowery in his language and it became necessary to do a good deal of trimming of his decisions so as to condense them properly before publication, as attorneys were not so much interested in the language of the court as they were in getting quickly at the meat of the decisions. Mrs. Rock did not hesitate to do a great amount of pruning, with the result that Judge Greene received many compliments over the improvements noted in his second volume as compared with the matter that appeared in the first publication. For a time Mrs. Rock did editorial work on the _Progressive Era_, which was published from the Greene Bros. building. J. O. Stewart was then "devil" in the office, and many a time brought to her the proofs of her contributions. The files of this early Linn county newspaper were burned in a fire which destroyed the publication office, so that now there are in existence but a few scattered issues. An early one was given a few years ago to the Masonic Library by Mrs. Rock who found it by accident among some of her effects. Mrs. Rock came west by boat from Buffalo to Milwaukee, and then by stage to Dubuque in 1849. The next year she removed to Cedar Rapids, coming here by stage over the Old State Road laid out from Iowa City to Dubuque by Engineer Barney of Washington, D. C. This road was a very crooked one. His son, W. J. Barney, on being twitted about its many windings replied that he believed his father was entirely sober when he staked out the route, and that its numerous windings were necessary to avoid the sloughs and swamps. Mrs. Rock well remembers some of the trips she made on the old stage from Dubuque to Cedar Rapids. It was customary to make 25 miles of the journey the first day. On one trip on arriving at the usual stopping place it was found impossible to obtain any hay for the weary horses. After a further drive of five miles a stop was made at a farm cabin, it being customary for the settlers at any place to provide entertainment for travellers. Here they found feed for the horses, but they were told there was no bread or flour in the house, the man not having returned from the distant mill with his grist. There was some milk, and at last a little flour or meal was discovered. The two were mixed and put in a pan on the stove to cook. Unfortunately it was so badly burned that it could not be eaten, and the travelers were compelled to go to bed supperless. During the night the man returned with his grist, and Mrs. Rock and party had a fairly good breakfast of saleratus biscuits and pork. One day while living in Cedar Rapids Mrs. Rock learned of the Spirit Lake massacre. She states the people here for a time had a genuine Indian scare, but nothing came of it. Mrs. Rock has distinct recollections of prairie fires here. She says they were beautiful but terrible to behold. They were especially prevalent every fall on the west side, and many a time has she seen the bright flames cover the hills that are now incorporated in the city of Cedar Rapids. Judge Greene had early planted a large orchard at Mound Farm, and once after it had borne fruit for a number of years it was threatened with destruction from a prairie fire. All Cedar Rapids went out to help fight the flames. They saved the orchard at this time, but later the trees were killed by an unusually severe winter. The ladies of Cedar Rapids were very patriotic during the war years. They made all the uniforms for the boys of Col. T. Z. Cook's company, and supplied them with generous quantities of bandages and lint. It happened that after the severe engagement at Wilson's Creek those bandages were the only ones available on the field. Mrs. Rock's brother, then 18 years old, enlisted under Colonel Cook. After the hundred days for which the company had entered the service he re-enlisted under Captain Stibbs, being wounded at Ft. Donelson. He then again entered the army under Captain Coulter, father of Ed. Coulter now living in Cedar Rapids, and was later killed in the south. Captain Coulter's company was known as the "Brindle Brigade," because it was made up of men from so many regiments that had disbanded. There were some lawless people among the earliest settlers, says Mrs. Rock, and they occasionally appropriated a horse or two, necessitating some corrective action by the community. On one occasion N. B. Brown borrowed a horse from a man whose discipline was decreed and went to Westport to secure tar for the purpose. At dusk the horse was returned to the barn. C. C. Cook seized the individual, assisted by Gainor and others. His legs were tied and he was taken to the side hill on B avenue where his clothes were removed and he was treated to a coat of tar and feathers. The following day he appeared among his fellows, and my relator states there was "not even a smell of tar about him," but the treatment proved effectual. One of the early settlers, Joe Leverich, had a fine library, was a great reader, a shrewd observer of human character, and his descendants are people of intelligence and high morality. Among those who came later were Dr. J. F. Ely and Dr. S. D. Carpenter in 1849, Judge Greene in 1850. They were men of education and attainment. Soon followed Miss Legare of Washington, D. C., the Bryans, and Stoneys from Charleston, S. C., A. S. Belt, a lawyer, son of Commodore Belt, of Maryland, the Taylors from Virginia, and many others whose character and culture gave moral and mental tone to the growing community. In religious intercourse a broad and kindly feeling characterized all, and now in 1910, the same feeling prevails. The Daniels brothers erected a store, three stories, where the Masonic Temple now stands. In 1849 the Green Brothers erected a three-story brick building diagonally across, the first floor being used for merchandizing, the second for Judge Greene's office and ware rooms. In one large room in this building Miss Calder, from New York, opened a school for girls in the fall of 1850. In a hall on the third floor, a Masonic lodge was organized the same year. Miss Calder [Mrs. Rock] drew designs for the emblems and attended to making the aprons. The first district school house was built several years previous on the lot on Second avenue and Fifth street. The Cedar Rapids Business College is now located on this site. This was used also for religious services on Sunday. Squire Abbe's daughter taught the first school, and Miss Louisa Roberts, daughter of the Congregational minister, the second. Squire Abbe was a member of the Territorial Legislature. Miss Calder's school prospered; and two other teachers were secured; one from New York for the piano, and another, Miss Parkhurst, to assist in the English branches. She was a recent graduate from Miss Sill's seminary at Rockford, Illinois. Miss Calder herself continued with some of the English grades, also with French and Drawing. Pupils were attracted from neighboring towns, Marion, Vinton, Dubuque, Muscatine, Burlington, Fairfield, etc., but after a few years, failing health caused her to relinquish it to two young ladies from Ohio, and within two years it ceased to exist. The following year Miss Calder married R. C. Rock, a hardware merchant. About the same date the Rev. Williston Jones, Presbyterian minister, opened a school for boys in his private residence, and after a few months turned it over to Mr. Blakeley, when it was transferred to the "Little Muddy" church. Mr. Blakeley's public examination was the occasion of a lampoon by Dr. S. D. Carpenter, but he was a fine man and a good teacher. Geo. E. W. Leonard was financial agent for this school. These efforts resulted in Rev. Mr. Jones securing from Daniel Coe, of Green county, New York, a gift of $1,000.00 with which was purchased eighty acres of land adjoining the town, a part of which is now occupied by Coe College and from which numerous lots were sold to aid in establishing this school. The first college building was erected by subscription of the citizens. The only surviving incorporator of the institution is Dr. Seymour D. Carpenter, now residing in Chicago, aged about eighty-four. The first religious services were Methodist, held in the district school house, and their circuit riders came every two weeks. They organized a Sunday school and insisted on a union school. The Presbyterians, New School, effected the first organization in 1847 in Mr. Vardy's shop, corner Third street and Sixth avenue. They, too, worshiped in the school house. Dr. Ely read the sermons, but their first minister, Mr. Roberts, of Marion, was a Congregationalist. He was succeeded by Rev. W. Jones, before mentioned. The first Episcopal clergyman was Rev. James Keeler, who found an occasional opening for service in the school house, but soon came to using Miss Calder's school room for regular Sunday service. WHEN LAND WAS DIRT CHEAP IN CEDAR RAPIDS Real estate investments have always been successful and profitable in Cedar Rapids, and probably will always continue to be so. As shown in other articles, the land upon which Cedar Rapids is built was originally owned by five men, Judge Greene, Nicholas Brown, Addison Daniels, Wm. Sanford, and Alexander Ely. The division of the property was made in 1849 as is shown elsewhere, and it is from that time that most of the real estate transfers were made. All the gentlemen made fortunes from their speculations. How these five gentlemen came to be possessed of all the land in the city of Cedar Rapids would make an interesting story, especially if the prices they paid for each lot could be secured. They doubtless bought up the claims for almost nothing. We get some inkling of how the lots came into their possession by a curious old document which was deposited by Mr. C. G. Greene with the curator of the museum for the semi-centennial week. The property mentioned in it is the Grand Hotel corner, and this is a copy of it: "Received, Cedar Rapids, Sept. 7, 1848, of John L. Shearer, one yoke of oxen valued at thirty-five dollars, in full for Lot 9 in block No. 23 in the town of Cedar Rapids. "Geo. Greene." But it appears that Judge Greene did not think he had a very great bargain, for only seven months later, in May of the following year, the county records show that this same lot upon which the Grand Hotel now stands, and forty feet additional, 120�150 feet in all, was sold by Judge Greene back to John L. Shearer for $75. Up to 1865 it passed through several hands, with slightly increased value, when it was sold by Henry McBride to Charles Weare for $1,100. Weare sold immediately to S. B. Fleek for $1,500, and Fleek sold it in 1871 to E. M. Greene for $9,000. In 1877 Greene sold 80�140 feet to John T. Waterhouse for $10,000, and this property which originally brought $75, could not now be purchased, if unimproved, for less than $100,000. It is now held by a syndicate. William Stewart originally owned the ground where the Cook & Laurance store used to be located. He traded an Indian pony for it in the early days, and held it until 1873, when he sold it for $7,500. The property upon which the Calder buildings now stand, 60�140 feet, was also originally owned by Judge Greene. He sold it to Alexander Ely, who sold it to Harvey Higley and Samuel Hook, and they in turn sold it, in 1850, to Frederick Miles for $82. Miles held it until 1875, when he sold it for $1,500. Mr. Calder's friends told him at the time that he was throwing his money away, but now it doesn't look that way, as the land unimproved would sell for many times that sum. Where the Golden Eagle store is now located, 60�140 feet was sold in 1848 by James M. Berry to Homer Bishop for $150. After passing through several hands the ground was purchased by P. Mullally and W. W. and M. A. Higley, who, in 1874, sold 60�140 feet of it to John T. Waterhouse for $12,300. The ground where George A. Mullin's store is located, 120�140 feet, was sold by Mary A. Ely in 1853, to D. M. McIntosh, for $350. H. G. Angle bought it in 1854 for $600. It was afterwards taken by creditors, and was held by them until 1875, when it was sold to J. T. Waterhouse for $13,000. These are cases illustrative of the wonderful growth in the value of Cedar Rapids real estate. It will of course some day find its level, and will very probably go above it, but it is quite safe to say that just now it is worth all that is paid for it. Every time a real estate transfer is made it is amusing to get an "old citizen" started, and have him bemoan his failure to invest a few dollars in a block or so twenty years ago, and hold on to it until the present time. If he had done so he would have been rich--but the trouble is he didn't do it. Thomas McGregor, who was working for a Mr. Robinson in the fifties, was offered lots where the Quaker Oats plant is now located at $10 a lot, but needed the money to keep his family on as he got only 75 cents per day. On arrival of the first steamer in Cedar Rapids lots were offered free to passengers and crew in case they wanted to locate. Many lots were given away by real estate boomers in those days to increase the population of the city. Many of these lots were later lost because the owners thought so little of their value that they let them go to tax sales. Property on Second avenue between Second and Fourth streets was then only residence property, sand hills, and the like. Now all of this has become valuable business property and is held at not less than $1,000 a front foot, and still going higher. These lots were sold less than fifty years ago at $25 a lot. Property on Third avenue was even less valuable than property on Second avenue. With the location of the station here with the hotels, bank buildings, etc., lots are now selling at fabulous prices. With the advance of prices rents have also advanced. I. C. Emery some twenty years ago had the same location which he has recently gone into, and paid at that time about one-third of the rent he pays today. Rents on the ground floor in the Kimball building, the Ely block, the Dows block, and in others of the old buildings have gradually advanced in accordance with the advance in prices of the real estate holdings, and pretty much in the same ratio. Large office buildings have been erected from time to time, and it has been said that the city would never demand such quarters. It has only been a little time till there has been a demand for more office and store buildings on a larger scale and these have been filled without any trouble. The property where is located the Denecke building was once used for a livery stable, and the property on which is located the Magnus block was occupied as a dwelling house. These properties were traded back and forth for a song. The O'Haras finally snapped them up and began improvement and were thought at the time to be crazy. Mr. Denecke then began purchasing and the same was said of him. When Mr. Magnus made his purchase of the block in 1894, during the depression, they said he would never get his money out of it. Today he has been offered more than twice what he paid and refuses to consider the offer. The corner where the Security bank is now located had been sold and re-sold, and no one thought it worth anything, and when G. F. Van Vechten purchased a few feet for a bank location many years ago the people of the town still thought it impossible that this corner would be worth so much. The bank later had to pay a handsome price in order to get ground enough to make the improvements desired, and would have made money by having bought much earlier. The Taft building was purchased by the late Judge Hubbard some ten years ago at $55,000, and is now worth twice that sum. However old settlers say that for years real estate in Cedar Rapids did not move and it was a drug on the market, and the rents were not in ratio with the values. For years town lots were peddled about the town and traded for stocks of goods, for old horses, and other personal property, and it was always thought that the person who obtained the real estate got the poor end of the bargain. William Stone, Osgood Shepherd, Thomas Gainer, David King, H. G. Angle, and others of the early settlers did not know what a mine they possessed had they only hung on long enough. Stone settled on the Iowa river and later left for Wisconsin, and Shepherd soon followed, all thinking he had made a good thing by selling his squatter rights to Brown and his friends. Dr. E. L. Mansfield arrived in Cedar Rapids in 1847, going overland to California in 1850. He traded the west one-half of the block between Third and Second avenues west, and between First and Second streets for a rifle, which was considered a high price in those days. On this lot Dr. Mansfield erected a large dwelling house and lived there for many years. He purchased the lot on which the Whelihan drug store now stands for $600, and the lot adjoining many years later for $10,000, at what was then considered a very high price. Thus the property of 140 feet fronting on Second street and 120 feet fronting on Second avenue were purchased for less than $12,000, property which is now some of the most valuable in Cedar Rapids. Dr. Mansfield also held part of the property which was later purchased by the Cedar Rapids Savings Bank, and was held by him up to the time of his death. This had been purchased at an early day at low prices, when it was nothing but the cheapest kind of renting property. A. C. Taylor, holder of much valuable real estate in Cedar Rapids, first owned the property where the First Christian church now stands. He also purchased the property on First avenue near the Union block. Mr. Taylor is the second oldest merchant in Cedar Rapids, and has not moved more than a block from the time he came here to locate in part of the postoffice on the alley where the Masonic Temple now stands. In speaking of rents, Mr. Taylor says that he has been surprised at the way rents have gone up year by year. Osgood Shepherd, of whom it is said that he jumped Wilbert Stone's claim, held this claim till 1847, when he disposed of his squatter interest in what became Cedar Rapids to N. B. Brown, George Greene, H. W. Gray, A. L. Roach, and S. H. Tryon for the sum of $3,000. FIRST DECORATION DAY CELEBRATION IN CEDAR RAPIDS FROM THE CEDAR RAPIDS REPUBLICAN, SUNDAY, JUNE 3, 1906 When was the first Decoration Day celebration in Cedar Rapids? That is a question which many might find it hard to answer, and the story of the preparations for that day and of the day itself is so interesting that it is well worth a place here. There were comparatively few graves to decorate on that occasion. Not many of those who fought in the war had passed over the great divide in the year 1873, more than thirty years ago. Men whose heads are silvered and their steps trembling were then young and they marched firmly to the cemetery to take part in the exercises on that first Decoration Day. Since that time many of them have been laid beneath the sod and their comrades have done for them what they helped to do for others. The day was made memorable by an eloquent and beautiful address by the late Judge Hubbard, a man who always loved the flag and the men who fought for it. Patriotism was one of the subjects that always lay nearest his heart. [Illustration: S. C. BEVER] [Illustration: THOMAS GAINER] [Illustration: E. D. WALN An Early Settler] [Illustration: REV. ELIAS SKINNER] The first meeting to arrange for the Decoration Day exercises was held May 8, 1873. The Cedar Rapids _Daily Republican_ of the following morning has the following interesting account of the meeting: "The meeting called for the purpose of taking measures to suitably observe Decoration Day, took place at the City Hall last night. "It was called to order by A. D. Collier, Esq., upon whose motion J. H. B. Otto was elected president of the meeting. "On motion of Hiel Hale, A. N. Neidig was chosen secretary. "On motion of Mr. Collier, a committee of five was appointed to recommend names to the meeting for the various committees to be appointed to make preparations for that day. "The following persons were selected as said committee: "A. D. Collier, Geo. A. Lincoln, D. A. Dingman, P. H. Francis, Hiel Hale. "After some time spent in deliberation the committee reported the following names to be placed upon the several standing committees. They also reported names of persons as officers of the day, the whole report being adopted: "President of the day, Capt. Wm. B. Leach. "Chief marshal, Col. T. Z. Cook, with power to choose his own assistants. "Finance committee, J. F. Charles, Capt. Otto, George Wynn. "Committee on grounds, Ed. Thompson, Ed. Buttolph, J. I. Calder. "Flowers, L. M. Ayers, Geo. A. Lincoln, Geo. H. Rhodes, R. A. Austin, George Hesse. "Decorating graves, P. H. Francis, Hiel Hale, C. H. Sterneman, Dr. Bliss, Jos. Stoddard, with privilege to choose five ladies to fill the committee. "Invitation, Capt. W. W. Smith, S. Neidig, Dr. Skinner. "Speakers, A. D. Collier, D. A. Dingman, W. B. Leach. "Printing, A. H. Neidig, Dr. F. S. McClelland, Dr. Camburn. "Music, C. Ferguson, Mr. Baxter and Dr. Bliss. "On general arrangements, W. B. Leach, J. F. Charles, Ed. Thompson, L. M. Ayers, P. H. Francis, W. W. Smith, A. D. Collier, A. H. Neidig, and C. Ferguson. "On motion of Capt. Wm. B. Leach, Captain Otto, as the last commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, was instructed to call a meeting of the soldiers and sailors of this vicinity to have them meet and consult with regard to the part they shall take in the observance of the day. "On motion adjourned." The program of that first Decoration Day was as follows: "The following programme will be observed on Decoration Day: "President of the day--Col. W. B. Leach. "Chief Marshal--Col. T. Z. Cook. "Assistant Marshals--Capt. W. S. Bradley, Geo. W. Wynn, A. D. Collier. "Chaplain--Rev. A. B. Kindig. "Orators--Rev. Col. S. H. Henderson, Hon. Col. N. M. Hubbard. "At ten o'clock a. m. the procession will form on the corner of Iowa avenue and Commercial street in wagons, and headed by the band, will proceed to the cemetery on the west side, where the graves will be decorated, and after which an oration will be delivered by Col. S. H. Henderson. "At two o'clock the procession will form on Iowa avenue, the right resting on Commercial street. "The following will be the order. "Music. "1. Grand Army of Republic. "2. Independent Fire Company. "3. Bohemia Society. "4. Hook and Ladder Company. "5. Odd Fellows. "6. Fire Company Steamer. "7. Citizens on foot. "8. Carriages. "Line of march will be down Commercial street to Eagle, up Eagle to Madison, down Madison to Greene street, thence to Oak Hill Cemetery, where the graves will be decorated, after which an oration will be delivered by Hon. Col. N. M. Hubbard. "All soldiers and citizens in the vicinity are cordially requested to be present, and assist in paying respect to our honored dead. "Soldiers will leave the number of their regiment at the _Times_ office and they will be furnished with a badge to wear on the occasion." Following is the account of the exercises of that day with the text of the address delivered by Judge Hubbard. It is taken from the _Daily Republican_ of May 31, 1873: "Decoration Day has come and gone. It brought with it the noble thought to honor the heroic dead of our land, and left thousands of green graves strewn with choicest flowers of spring. This kindly and befitting token of love and honor was placed on every soldier's grave, to show how green and fresh in our hearts are the memories of their noble deeds. This day is one of mixed sorrow and pleasure--sad for the heavy sacrifices that had to be made, but happy to keep green the sacred memories of those who fell for their country's good. "The soldiers and sailors, who have died to save the nation's life, will never be forgotten so long as flowers are strewn upon the quiet graves beneath whose verdant mounds those gallant hearts lie stilled forever. "It is the sum of mortal glory for posterity to gather around the tombs of fallen heroes, as around holy shrines, and pour out their libations in songs, prayers and in fitting words of praise on their noble lives and gallant deeds. "The day opened yesterday morning with a rain storm, which continued more or less until about ten o'clock. It looked discouraging indeed, and many hearts felt sad at the uninviting prospect. "At eleven o'clock a few persons gathered on the west side and proceeded to the cemetery on that side of the river, and spent a short time in decorating the graves of a few soldiers that lie buried there. Rev. S. H. Henderson spoke a few moments on the importance of the occasion when the company dispersed and returned to their homes. "By noon the clouds had cleared away and the sun shone forth beautifully. At half past 2 o'clock Washington street in the vicinity of the City Hall was crowded with a large number of people who were listening to the fine strains of music that the Ferguson band were discoursing. About three o'clock the procession began to move, and in pretty much the same order as has already been published in the _Republican_. Between seventy-five and a hundred carriages, buggies, and wagons were in the procession, preceded by many footmen; also a number were on horseback. It was one of the most brilliant occasions of the kind that was ever witnessed in Cedar Rapids. "We are unable to go into the particulars, as we have not the space today to record them. "The number on the cemetery grounds has been estimated by many at two thousand people, and some have raised the estimate a thousand more. The following graves were decorated: "John Harrison, Henry N. Graves and Carter Berkley, 6th Iowa Cavalry, Co. K; Henry Fleck, 40th Ind. Inft.; John Hall, 31st Iowa; Amos Fergeson, Band, 15th Iowa Inft.; James Morehead, Sr., Co. I, 37th Iowa Inft.; James Morehead, Jr., Co. K, 9th Iowa Inft.; Judson L. Boughton, Co. D, 12th Iowa Inft.; Parker Ayres, Co. D, 12th Iowa Inft,; Robert Mallahan, Co. A, 37th Iowa Inft.; James Hammersley, 31st Vt. Int., J. R. C.; Henry Berger, Minn., Minn.; Geo. Wells, 141st Penn. V. Inft,; Edward W. Calder, Co. D, 12th Iowa Inft.; Lt. Joseph Hollan, 20th Inft.; Benj. Shaw, 20th Inft.; Donald Lothian, 31st Inft. West side--David Martin, 24th Inft,; Ebenezer Martin, 12th Inft,; John Dean, 20th Inft.; Donaldson,--. After these interesting decoration ceremonies were over, the people gathered around the stand that had been erected for the purpose, where the following programme was carried out: "Music by the Band. "Music by the Glee Club, 'Praise of the Soldier.' "Prayer by Rev. A. B. Kendig. "Music, 'Star Spangled Banner,' by the Glee Club. "Oration by Col. N. M. Hubbard. "Music by the Band. "Music, 'America' Sung by the Glee Club and Audience. "Benediction by Rev. A. B. Kendig. "JUDGE HUBBARD'S ADDRESS "Judge Hubbard's address was so fine that we reproduce it entire. He spoke as follows: "My Countrymen, and Comrades of the Army of the Union: "Courage and bravery always challenge admiration, but when combined with exalted patriotism, they command the affection and gratitude of mankind. "The highest earthly care of man is to preserve as long as possible this life, and therefore the greatest human sacrifice is to give this life for one's country. "History is full of examples of this sacrifice in all time, and yet its frequency has never lessened the appreciation of it. "Patriotism--love of country, makes a great nation possible. Without it men would live isolated, or in mere tribes, and powerless. "The intellectual development of man shows him at once how weak and insignificant he is alone, and he seeks, by a combination of great numbers, to attain not only great power, but even immortality. We all know that our own lives are short, but the life of a nation may be so long, that we are apt to make delusion that it may be immortal, real. "The natural love and anxiety we have for our children, who are to live after us, extend to and embrace the country and the government in which they are to live. "Hence, we may be said to have two lives, an individual and a national one; and the latter commands the former in proportion to its increased span. We value everything somewhat in proportion to its power to last. "The study and contemplation of the national life, of which we are a part is always a matter of interest and solicitude. "On every hand men are seemingly wholly engaged in devising and planning for their individual prosperity and happiness, and silently but surely national prosperity and greatness follow these individual efforts. It is only when the nation stands in immediate peril, that we become aware how much greater our anxiety is for it, than even for ourselves. "You who can recall the thrill of horror, of anxiety, and of grim determination that came over you when the news first came that Sumter was fired upon, and the Stars and Stripes were shot away, can tell, but I can not describe what boundless sacrifices the national life is capable of calling forth. "How quick we found what a pride and what an interest we had in the magnitude, power, and prosperity of our country, and how firmly we were attached to its beneficent government. "The history of modern civilization in Europe has shown a constant struggle for many years for what they call the balance of power. "Five leading nations, speaking five different languages, and having different modes of thought and life, have watched and emulated each other, and each at times has had the reputation of being the most powerful. Fifty years ago France was foremost, today Prussia is the first power in Europe. These changes may be traced almost indefinitely. "In all the past, the national life, the national pride has grown with the growth of civilization. "It would be impossible that a nation should become great or powerful without a national self-love that wrought glowing pictures of its manifest destiny. "We find ourselves possessed of a country whose productive extent is far greater than all Europe, with its 300 million population, put together. "Beginning a little less than a hundred years ago with a population of three million, it has doubled every twenty-five years, if we shall reach forty-eight million in 1875, which scarcely admits of a doubt. The whole emigration added is less than six million. "At the same rate of increase for the next one hundred years our population will reach the enormous figures of seven hundred and sixty-eight millions. But suppose we shall touch the resistance, namely the lack of territory to supply so great a population with food; yet we may safely estimate reaching five hundred million, and the population equally distributed will then be about equal in density to the present population of Massachusetts. "I have neither time nor is it necessary to describe the variety of climate embracing the tropic and the temperate zones, nor the vastness, nor the fertility, nor the mineral and coal resources of our country. "Thus far nothing is problematical, but the people of future America are a study. "We know how sturdy and enduring the Anglo-Saxon is, how volatile yet tenacious is the Frenchman, how sober, solid and unwavering is the German, and how hardy and everlasting are the people who inhabit with the Polar bear. These are American now, but the Ethiopian and the Asiatic are to be added. The Star of Empire from the East and from the West have met upon the American continent. I believe the original Anglo-Saxon trunk will sustain all these grafts and that a nation will come of us by the cross of all civilized people that will be as superior to any of them, as the grafted fruit is superior to that of the seeding. Future America will be fitly symbolized by the Lion and the Polar Bear, surmounted by the American Eagle. "With one country, one language, one hope, one aspiration, bent sublimely upon achieving the highest intelligence, virtue, and culture that man can ideal, diffused through a population of five hundred million people, inhabiting one-quarter of the habitable earth with a republican government, is a spectacle that the world has never yet seen, but is to see through us and our children. "And but for these sacred graves, which we, and all the people throughout the land, have come today to crown with wreaths of flowers, no such hope, no such picture of the future of our country would be possible. "The future destiny of the American absolutely demanded that the fundamental idea of the Declaration of Independence should be made true, and that Liberty (in fact, as in name) should be proclaimed throughout all the land to all the inhabitants thereof, and also, that the United States should be one and inseparable forever. "Need I tell you how bravely and how well the army of the Union settled these questions? The men who lie silent beneath our feet and their comrades, have taught the South, and Great Britain, and the world, that the belt of country usually known as the North is the heart and power of the Republic. It is the strong arm that pushes the car of civilization in the new world. It is the second Defender of the faith of our Forefathers. It has fought the good fight, and many of its bravest sons have gone to their reward. "The Republic is emancipated, impartial suffrage and equality before the law established, and the work of regeneration is left for us and our posterity. "During all the long struggle which literally ridged the country with graves like these, there was everywhere present, through the ranks of the grand army, an abiding faith in the future greatness of their country, and in the final triumph. No soldier ever despaired of the Republic. "We come today to crown their valor by decorating their graves. What great eulogy can we pronounce upon them? "These silent graves are more eloquent than the tongues of the living. Their deeds commemorate their fame and their names do live after them. "As we meet year after year to perform this ceremony of love and gratitude to our fallen comrades, new graves will be added and new obligations will rest upon us, until the last soldier of the Army of the Union is laid to rest. "When that day comes, let us trust that the national life and prosperity that has cost so much to maintain and defend, will be inestimably dear to our children, and that they may fully realize all the hopes and aspirations of our forefathers and the second Defenders of the faith. If we shall not be disappointed in this, the 30th day of May will be as sacred as the 4th of July. "But new trials and new perils await us. Poverty is the home of virtue, and riches the abode of vice. The Republic has passed the age of poverty, and is approaching the age of wealth--always the sure accumulation of generations. Rome withstood all her enemies from without and within, but the corruption following in the train of her conquests overcame her. "If Heaven permits departed heroes still to know and watch over our beloved country, what anxious prayers are being made now, lest the blessing which the hand of their forefathers have left shall be wasted by the political dissension, frauds, corruptions, and wealth of coming generations! It is not fitting that I should name here and now what you all know so well and deplore. But may I not ask that we consecrate ourselves anew over these sacred graves, and resolve that our remaining days shall add something to the purity, patriotism, and lustre of our country that has been vouchsafed to us through the blood of these martyrs of liberty. "But whatever of adversity or misfortune may be in store for us as a nation, the fault in no way rests upon these graves. Their services and their fame are secure. "And today also the graves of the Confederate dead are decorated and strewn with flowers. It is a deserved tribute to their valor and patriotism. They had been educated to believe that the South alone was the nation. We believed and knew that the nation was from ocean to ocean and from the gulf to the lakes. But it was half slave and half free. "Today it is all free, and fifty years hence, if our hopes of the future of the Republic are realized, the South and North will rejoice in a common joy, that 'Union and Liberty' have been so signally preserved to them and their posterity forever. "And while we wreath flowers for these graves, let us not forget to return thanks and give honor to the brave seamen who guarded our coasts, and let the 'Father of Waters go unvexed to the sea.' "And the widow and orphan of the soldier and sailor, let them be remembered with blessings, with charity and with thanks. All they have left them for their great sacrifice is their country and its gratitude. Let these be generous and unsparing. "And still again let us not forget the brave men and women who fed and clothed all, who nursed and cared for the sick and wounded, who cheered and encouraged all with patriotic deeds and words. And finally, and above all, let us thank God who gave us the victory, whereby it has become possible that the Stars and Stripes float over an unbroken emancipated Republic, strong enough to maintain its existence against all foes, and yet without power to abridge the liberties of the humblest citizen." FIRST LOCAL LABOR UNION ORGANIZED IN THE CITY FROM CEDAR RAPIDS REPUBLICAN, JUNE, 1906 It was in 1882 that an agitation was instituted in the city of New York, in which all the great labor organizations of the United States took part, and out of which grew the setting apart of Labor Day as a day of recognition of the cause of labor. It was not until 1887, however, that the germ thus planted gave fruit. On February 21, 1887, the state of Oregon passed a law setting aside the first Saturday in June for the observance of the cause of labor, and six years later the first Monday in September was chosen by the same state. That day has been observed ever since. The second state to legalize the holiday was New Jersey, and in May of the following year New York passed a similar law, Colorado and Massachusetts soon followed. In 1890 many of the other states passed acts recognizing the day. West Virginia and North Carolina were far behind the rest in this regard and did not legalize the day until 1899. The first great labor demonstration was held in New York city in 1882 and the parade which took place on that day is still remembered as an event of unusual magnitude. All the labor organizations of the city were in line and with their splendid floats, banners, etc., they made an imposing spectacle. The following year it was determined to repeat, if possible, the parade of 1882, which had come to be termed "The Labor Day Parade." This time the date was changed to the first Monday in September and when in 1884 the discussion of a repetition of the occasion came up, George B. Floyd offered a resolution in the Central Labor Union convention to the effect that the first Monday in September be declared Labor Day. The resolution was unanimously adopted and at the next session of the legislature a bill was introduced declaring Labor Day a legal holiday. There was considerable objection to the measure, however, and it was not until 1887 that a majority in its favor could be rallied together. With the day recognized by the legislature of New York and two other states a concerted effort was made to secure action by the various labor organizations throughout the country, and in a few years the majority of the states had declared in its favor. Curiously enough the original Labor Day was just after the organization of the first local in this city, which the "old residents" say is Typographical Union No. 192. There may be some objection to this claim on the part of some of the present members of the typographical union. The charter of the Typographical Union local is now hanging in the K. P. hall, and it is dated December 26, 1881. Unless challenged the members of the Typographical Union will claim the honor of being the first organization of union labor in the city of Cedar Rapids. The charter bears the names of the following charter members: C. M. Hopkins, George S. Bradley, Harry Ingalls, J. D. Canan, L. C. Hay, L. B. Kramer, J. H. Enos. If the memory of Sam Snouffer is correct the local was organized among the employees of the _Republican_ office and it was a local of newspaper printers only. Sam says that he was a job printer at the time and the boys on the cases who organized the local didn't at first allow job printers to hold membership in their organizations. He says that the local was organized for a fight and it had it at frequent intervals during the early part of its history. But it grew and flourished and today the Typographical Union Local in Cedar Rapids is recognized as a conservative, yet aggressive body of men, with the courage to ask for its rights and the level headedness to get those rights without trouble. THE STORY OF A MOUNTAIN HOWITZER During the war when the boys were about to return home they sought to carry back mementoes of the long struggle. Company E of the Twelfth Iowa as a trophy of the war picked up a mountain howitzer which had been captured by the rebels and re-captured by the United States troops. Some members of Company D of the Twelfth Iowa then, by some means known only to the soldier boys, unlawfully laid claim to the cannon and Homer Morehead, one of the old Cedar Rapids boys, was able to get the cannon as far as Davenport, the city council of Cedar Rapids providing means to get it to Cedar Rapids. The cannon, a two hundred pounder, was used freely by every organization for a number of years whenever any celebration took place. During the Grant campaign, in October of that year, the republicans had a blow-out and the cannon was used; in this celebration the cannon was slightly damaged and was hauled down to John Mehan's for repairs. While there some person, or persons, saw fit to take it in the night time and nothing was heard of it for many years. A note was tacked up to the wall where the cannon had been left for repairs to the effect that it would be returned and shot off when a democratic president was inaugurated. The soldier boys and many of the prominent citizens of Cedar Rapids were very much stirred up over this affair and publicly accused a number of prominent Cedar Rapids democratic citizens of stealing the cannon, but no one, at least who was publicly accused, admitted having anything to do with it. The incident was nearly forgotten when Cleveland was elected, the first democratic president since the Civil war. One morning as Harry Brown was walking down the street John Mehan called to him to come over and see what he had found. There, sure enough, was the same old mountain howitzer cleaned up and in first class repair, with a note tied to it that it was returned as agreed and would be ready for action in due time. This affair stirred up the republican camp once more and threats were made that this cannon would never be shot off to celebrate a democratic victory, and it never was. It now remains as a relic in the old postoffice building, and many are the citizens of Linn county who have inspected this little cannon and have heard the story told by the old settlers. Not until a short time ago was it definitely known who removed the cannon from the Mehan shop in 1868. A Center Point person had been accused of having something to do with it; how true this is no one knows. It is thought that two young men in the employ of N. B. Brown, a stanch democrat, took the cannon and placed it in the stable owned by O. P. Emery which stood on the ground where the Denecke building now stands. Mr. Emery no doubt knew of the whereabouts of the cannon, and when he removed up on Second avenue a heavy box was moved by workmen supposed to contain tools. When Mr. Emery removed to the home of his son-in-law, John B. Henderson, on First avenue, the same heavy box was once more moved. Mrs. John B. Henderson noticed that her father, after the election of Cleveland, spent several days in the barn working steadily polishing up some iron, but she never inquired what he was doing or what he wanted to accomplish. A short time before his death O. P. Emery admitted to his daughter that while he did not remove the cannon he knew of its whereabouts and had some of his intimate friends restore it to the Mehan shop after Cleveland's election as it had been agreed in the letter or note left the night of the capture of the cannon when no one was around to watch this much prized treasure. A FORTUNATE TUMBLE Linn county during the Civil war had its share of so-called "copperheads," as well as a goodly number of loyal sympathizers known as "fire eaters." During this period of our country's history many unfortunate affairs occurred of which all parties ever afterwards were ashamed. In a state where the majority was strong in favor of the war measure it behooved those who were against this measure not to say too much. Frequently innocent people had to suffer for the acts of some one who talked openly and above board, not only against the president but against those who were instrumental in sending troops to the front. Democrats in the north were classed by the republicans as follows: Those who went to the front as loyal democrats, and those who stayed at home as "copperheads," although they may have been otherwise law-abiding citizens. On the morning that news was received of the assassination of Lincoln Cedar Rapids became a town of turmoil and strife. Never in the history of the town had excitement run so high. The question of another war was discussed in saloons and on street corners, and during the entire day this strife was kept up. Towards evening a story got started that Bill Harper, a well-known anti-war democrat and a person who had frequently when intoxicated said some pretty mean things of the republicans in general, said "that he was glad that Lincoln got killed; that he should have been shot four years ago." The story spread like a western wild fire, and in less than an hour it was all over town. A crowd got together and it was not long till a self-appointed committee was organized for the sole purpose of hanging Bill Harper to a rafter or a sour apple tree at sight and without trial. A good sized rope was procured and the yelling crowd, headed by the late I. N. Whittam and others, made for the store room kept by Brown & Harper, on what is now North First street. That Harper was a well-known and outspoken so-called "copperhead" was universally known and no question arose in the minds of the mob as to the truth or falsity of the charge. A few in the party uttered remarks that there might be a mistake and that there ought to be some investigation to bear out the facts before the rope was applied, but the majority ruled and these faint-hearted fellows were laughed to scorn. N. B. Brown, who had heard of the trouble and who was a partner of Harper, got into the store building, mounted a barrel and talked to the crowd, claiming that Harper could not have said the words with which he was charged, for he had not been in town for several days. Squire Knowles, a republican and a believer in fair play, tried to persuade the mob to disperse, but his plea found little favor with a mob who insisted on a hanging. Then Bill Darr, a neighbor of Harper, also a republican, had to come to the front and tell what he knew about Harper. He said that Harper had been at home near Bertram and had been sick in bed for several days, and that he had been to his house and called on him the day before and he was certain that Harper knew nothing of what had taken place at the national capital. Darr was not treated any better than the others and was called "traitor" and all sorts of names because he wanted to save his neighbor's life if possible. [Illustration: A. BOWMAN] [Illustration: E. M. CROW] [Illustration: J. M. MAY] Many of the crowd had been drinking heavily and insisted that something be done, and if they could not do any better they ought to fire the building and burn up the whole thing, while Brown insisted that most of the property was his and that he would vouch for his partner's honor and reputation as far as that charge went. Whittam by this time had gotten over the blood curdling period of his leadership and was willing to turn the job over to other hands, but no one seemed willing to come to his rescue, and there was no opportunity to put a motion for an adjournment till the violence and the temper of the mob would somewhat abate. Brown wanted to hold the mob as long as possible, having in the meantime sent messengers to notify Harper of what might happen. He realized that the infuriated mob at that stage of the game might hang an innocent man. Just at this point of the delicate proceedings, the crowd yelling like warlike Indians, and threatening to hang any "copperhead" and to burn the building provided Harper was not brought into the room, a fourteen year old boy, long, lank and lean, who had also crowded into the building wanting to see what was going on, and to get more air, climbed on top of a hogshead which stood in one corner of the room. As he was gazing out over the crowd others tried to get on to the same hogshead, pushing and pulling, when suddenly the end gave way and the boy fell into a mass of lard and dye stuff up to his neck. The stench acted like morphine upon the infuriated mob. Someone called for the rope to pull the boy out and then a general laugh broke out and when the boy ran down through the crowd, dripping with lard and lye, making for the river, the panic became general and they all followed his movements and forgot all about Bill Harper or the words he was supposed to have uttered. The boy who thus saved the day and perhaps a life or two is no other than O. C. Carpenter, for many years one of the best known constables in Rapids township. Carpenter still insists that he saved the day, although the ordeal he had to pass through was somewhat harsh. The lye burned his legs and spoiled a suit of clothes, and he got a good thrashing at home, in the bargain. The Greek boy of old fell on his sword, but the modern Linn county boy fell into a soap barrel and by that side-stepping cast honors on himself and on members of his family for all time to come. Bill Harper never uttered the words of which he was accused, and never knew that Lincoln had been assassinated until the evening of the day when the infuriated mob was hunting him with a rope, wishing to put an end to his earthly existence. This shows how dangerous it is to stir up the mob spirit at any time. It always leads to disgraceful acts, from which a community suffers for a long time afterwards. HERE'S AN INTERESTING BIT OF ANCIENT HISTORY In running through the files of the early years of the Cedar Rapids Daily _Republican_, the following interesting historical contribution, from the pen of the late Sampson C. Bever, was found: "Editor Cedar Rapids _Republican_: "I notice in the last 'Daily Republican,' in referring to the City National Bank of this city, in connection with the death of the Hon. Oakes Ames, the following: "'The death of Mr. Ames recalls to mind the successful aid given S. C. Bever, Esq., in getting the charter of the City National Bank. The First National had already been established and as Cedar Rapids had a population of only 2,000 people at the time the comptroller of currency declined to establish another bank here, but by the assistance of Mr. Ames the charter was finally obtained.' "The facts in the case are these: The City National Bank received its certificate of authority and had commenced successful business some time before the application for charter or certificate of the First National Bank was granted. "It is true an application for a City National Bank, with a capital of $50,000, was first made, and it was provided by the law of congress, creating National banks, that no charter for less than $100,000 should be granted, unless it should receive the approval of the Secretary of the Treasury. Mr. Ames being in Washington at the time this application was made, and being a warm friend of mine, he kindly offered to give me his influence, and wrote a strong letter to Mr. Chase, then Secretary of the Treasury, urging him to sanction my application for $50,000, but before presenting this letter I was urged by Mr. McCullough, then comptroller of the currency, that as there was no other national bank organized in Cedar Rapids, and the population was about 4,000, I should by all means make my application for $100,000, to which I finally agreed. And as greenbacks and government bonds were at my command, I had no further need for 'successful aid' from anyone, being well known to Mr. McCullough, the comptroller of the currency. But I none the less highly appreciated the kindness tendered me by my friend Mr. Ames. "I make this explanation, not so much on my own account, as that of others, who so well understand all the circumstances. "S. C. BEVER." The _Republican_ of that date, May 12, 1873, also printed the following remarks: "The statement that was made in the columns of the _Republican_ on Saturday, concerning Oakes Ames and the City National Bank, is one of those unfortunate kind of errors that often creep into a daily newspaper. The statement, as it appeared in print, was precisely as it was handed us by one of our prominent citizens, and we took it for granted, of course, that it was correct. Since Mr. Bever's communication has been handed us, we have made a personal examination into the matter, and have discovered an important fact which, it is due the City National Bank, should be published. We find in the report of the comptroller of the currency, that the City National Bank stands upon record as number 483, and the First National Bank as 500, which goes to show that the former was organized some time before the latter. Of course neither bank has any interest in this matter further than to be placed before the public correctly, and we have it to regret that the statement appeared in our columns on Saturday in the form in which it did." CHAPTER XXXVII _Beginnings of Churches and the Fraternities in Cedar Rapids_ The following accurate account of the beginnings of the churches and the fraternities in the city of Cedar Rapids, written by the late James L. Enos in the early '60s, will have a double interest. It not only gives the story of the beginnings of the various institutions, but also comments upon their condition and prospects at the time the article was written. Methodist Episcopal--This society was organized in 1844, by Rev. Isaac Searles with nine members. As early as 1841 meetings were held by a Rev. Hodges, but no society was organized. In 1845 the Rev. Alexander Bushnell organized the first Methodist Sabbath school. Hodges, Searles and Bushnell were the first three Methodist ministers who preached in Cedar Rapids. Rev. Elias Skinner [still living at Waterloo] was the first pastor who permanently or wholly occupied his time with the church. During his appointment here the church was in a prosperous condition. Since that time, from a variety of causes, the interest of the church has fallen off and its former popularity seems to have departed. The present number of members is 90; number attending the Sabbath schools on both sides of the river, about 130. Rev. Mr. Miller is the present pastor. The church edifice was erected in 1854. First Presbyterian--This society was organized July 9, 1847, with seven members, of whom Mrs. Mary Ely is the only surviving member. Bennet Rogers preached here and at Marion on alternate Sabbaths for a time. Rev. Williston Jones was the first regular pastor. He continued his labors with this society until July, 1856, when he removed to Iowa Falls. Rev. L. F. Dudley was the second pastor and J. W. Atherton followed in 1859. James Knox is the present pastor. I have not been able to learn the present number of members attending the Sabbath school. The church edifice was erected in 1850 and was the first of the kind in the city. United Presbyterian (Seceders)--This church is located on the west side of the river; it was organized in 1851 with eight members. Rev. J. B. Forsythe was the first pastor, Rev. H. Sturgeon the second, and Rev. J. L. Fulton the third and present pastor. The church now numbers fifty members and is in a flourishing condition. Sixty pupils attend the Sabbath school. The church edifice is a plain brick, erected in 1859. Second Presbyterian (Old School)--This society was organized May 27, 1855, with twenty members. Rev. R. H. Morrow, a most exemplary and worthy man, was the pastor. By his admirable qualities he won the regard of all with whom he came in contact. D. H. Mitchell was the second pastor. Following the expiration of his labors the pulpit was temporarily occupied by I. N. Reed, a thoroughly Old School divine. J. B. McBridge came next, and S. W. Miller is present pastor. The church now numbers some sixty members, and the Sabbath school has 80 to 120 enrolled. The church edifice is a neat but unpretending structure on the east side of Adams street, between Market and Sugar streets. It has a bell weighing 800 pounds and is furnished with a cottage organ. The pastor's salary is $1,000 a year, and the church is free from debt. Catholic--This church commenced holding meetings in Cedar Rapids in 1853. Rev. Fr. Hannah officiated here at monthly intervals until 1857, in which year the church was formally organized. Mass was celebrated by Rev. Fr. Emmons this same year in the home of Alexander Hager. When first services were held, 1853, there were but three adherents to the faith in town. The church edifice, 24�50 feet, located at the south corner of Jackson and Market streets, was erected in 1857-8. Rev. Emmons served three years and was succeeded by Rev. Fr. Gillespie, and he by Rev. Uhlenbrock. The fifth and present priest of this parish is Rev. Fr. Cannon. The congregation now has about 300 members, most of whom live in the surrounding country. Last year (1863) a mission was conducted by Rev. Father Weniger. Episcopal--The organization of this church took place in 1851, with but ten members. James Keeler was the first rector, then followed Revs. C. C. Townsend, Samuel Goodale, Samuel Starr, William Fulton and C. S. Percival, the present pastor. The corner stone of this church was laid by Bishop Kemper in 1851, and was consecrated in 1856. It now has about 80 members and the Sabbath school over 100 attendants. The church building is situated on the south side of Linn street, between Madison and Monroe streets. The exterior is not yet completed according to original designs. Baptist--The present church was organized by Rev. W. Eberhart, the first settled pastor, June 3, 1860, with a membership of twenty-eight. He continued in charge until November, 1861, resigning to take chaplaincy in the Twelfth Iowa Infantry Volunteers. Rev. N. F. Ravlin followed and remained with the church until April of this year (1864). The society is at present without a pastor. The congregation now numbers nearly 140 and the Sabbath school has about 100 attendants. The society has no church edifice but has purchased a lot on Eagle street and will build soon. In addition to these there are scattering members of other religious denominations, among which are Universalists, Christians, Lutherans, New Jerusalem adherents, Spiritualists, and perhaps some others are represented. None of the church edifices are of the first class. In fact each society is too feeble to erect a church creditable to the city. We might hope for a more perfect Christian union and with that would come the ability to sustain a sufficient number of churches, without the necessity of appealing for foreign aid to enable them to drag along an existence of doubtful value. ESTABLISHMENT OF LODGES Masonic--The Masonic lodge was instituted in November, 1850, by a warrant of dispensation from Grand Master McCord, and its charter was issued June 4, 1851, being the twenty-fifth lodge of that fraternity organized in Iowa. George Greene was the first Worshipful Master; John Vardy, Senior Warden; Isaac Cook, Junior Warden; Thomas Downing, Treasurer; N. B. Brown, Secretary; Stephen L. Pollock, Senior Deacon; J. H. Kelsey, Junior Deacon, and Samuel Hook, Tyler. Seymour D. Carpenter was the first person made a Mason in this lodge. The following have been Masters to this date: James Keeler, Thomas Downing, John Vardy, Hiram Deem, S. L. Pollock, Jacob H. Camburn, and James L. Enos. James C. Adams is the present Master. The lodge numbers about 75 members and has the reputation of being one of the best working bodies of Masonry in the state. It was first organized as Cedar Rapids lodge, but has changed its name, being now known as Crescent lodge No. 25. Odd Fellows--A lodge of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows was instituted December 28, 1850, about a month after the Masonic lodge was organized. It was known as Hope lodge No. 30. It continued its existence until some time during 1860, when it became defunct. The original charter members were George Greene, John F. Ely, Absalom Sines, Joseph Greene and John H. Kelsey. Those who have been honored with election to office of Noble Grand in this lodge are: George Greene, Absalom Sines, John P. Ely, W. W. Smith, Joseph Greene, F. A. Wilmans, L. H. Keyes, Homer Bishop, D. M. McIntosh, Hiram Deem, Charles Weare, Samuel Milligan, George Livensbarger and C. Fordyce. At one time the lodge was in a flourishing condition, but through some unfortunate circumstances it declined, and finally surrendered its charter. Various minor orders (Good Templars, Sons of Temperance, etc.) have had a temporary existence in the city from time to time, but none of these now have a local being. LATER SKETCH OF THE CEDAR RAPIDS CHURCHES The following extracts are from an address on Church Day delivered by Rev. C. W. Maggart, D. D., during the semi-centennial celebration in Cedar Rapids, June, 1906: Without doubt the first church organization was the St. Paul's Methodist Episcopal. The Rev. John Hodges preached here as early as 1840, but it was not until 1841 that the "class" was organized with twelve people, one of whom, Mrs. John Listebarger, is yet living and with us today. This church was organized in the log cabin of Mr. and Mrs. J. Listebarger on the west side of the river near the west end of the B avenue bridge. Service was later continued in the first building in town, in which lived Thomas Sharp. At the time of the incorporation of Cedar Rapids this church had 148 members and their own little brick church, built in 1854, and located where the union station now stands. This church has had thirty-six pastors. Its present church was built in 1873 and is valued at $30,000.00. The number of members is 669. The second church organized was the First Presbyterian, on July 12, 1847, with nine members, with the Rev. Williston Jones as the first regular pastor. The first church building to be erected in the town was the "Little Muddy" church, which was on the postoffice site, 26�40 feet, and cost $1,200.00. It was dedicated January 12, 1851. Fifty years ago this church had sixty-seven members. Prior to the organization of this church a union Sunday school was held in the first frame building in the town, in the cabinet shop of John Vardy. This church has had five pastors, was built in 1869, and has property valued at $70,000. It has 477 members. The Grace Episcopal church was the third church organized in the town. The organization took place in the school house in the summer of 1850. The first rector was the Rev. James Keeler. These services were later held in Tisdale's carriage factory. The upper floor was sometimes used for grain storage, and as it would drop through the cracks it would attract the attention of the porkers, which would frequently disturb the meetings with responses not found in the litany. At other times the upper story was inhabited and frequently the service would be carried on to the music of the nurse and cradle above. A great interest was taken in this church when Mr. S. C. Bever and family arrived from the east with a 750-pound bell. But a still greater interest was manifested when Judge Greene presented the church with a melodeon. In 1856 this church had thirty-six members. Today it has 505 members, has property valued at $100,000.00, and has been served by thirteen rectors. The fourth church organized was the United Presbyterian, on April 19, 1851, with eleven members; and the first pastor was the Rev. Hugh Sturgeon. This is the oldest church now in existence on the west side of the river. Fifty years ago they had about fifty members. Today they have 225 members, property valued at $20,000.00 and have been served by six pastors. The fifth church was the Second Presbyterian, now Westminster, which was known as the old school Presbyterian church and was organized May 27, 1855, with twenty members. Its first minister was the Rev. R. H. Morrow. Their first building was located on the east side of Adams street, between Market and Sugar, and the principal thing mentioned by former church historians was that they had a bell weighing 800 pounds and their music was led by a cottage organ. Fifty years ago they reported fifty members. They report today 500 members, with a property valued at $60,000.00, and have been served by twelve pastors. Their present church was built in 1905. It seems that the First U. B. church was organized in 1855 in the Dairy Dale district, which was probably then in the country. Rev. McWilliams was the pastor. They had thirty-five members at the time the city was incorporated. This church, however, later, went down for some years and was afterwards reorganized. They have today 260 members, church property valued at $25,000.00 and have been served by fifteen pastors. Their present church was erected in 1879. The Baptist and Congregational denominations had organizations on the west side prior to 1856 but both were too weak to live. During the first decade of the city's history two more churches were started, viz., the Roman Catholic and First Baptist. Fathers Hanna and Emmons of Iowa City held services for some time before organization and they only had three adherents. This shows pluck and faith and devotion to their own church. The church was organized in 1857 and Father Gillespie was the first regular pastor. This church has had five pastors. Their present church was built in 1870 and is valued at $40,000.00. They report 1,500 members. The First Baptist church was organized in Franklin hall, above Kilborn's gallery, on June 3, 1860, with twenty-seven members. Rev. A. G. Eberhart was the first pastor. They purchased a lot on Eagle street, where their first church was built. Their present church was built in 1894 and is valued at $50,000.00. They have had fifteen pastors and have now 365 members. The next decade four or five organizations came into existence. The first Lutheran services were held in the winter of 1855-56 and an organization was formally effected in the First Presbyterian church, on March 3, 1856, with about twenty-two members, under Rev. H. F. Ealy, minister, who walked from Iowa City to preach to the scattered Lutherans. Services were irregularly held by Revs. H. F. Ealy, Solomon Ritz, of Tipton, and J. G. Schaffer, of Lisbon, until 1868, when the organization was re-formed in the home of J. A. Hart, 211 Fifth avenue, with thirty members under the Rev. Cephas Baird as regular pastor. The first church was built on the lot now occupied by the Cedar Rapids Savings bank, Third avenue and Third street, but this congregation refused to permanently locate there on such an expensive lot, which was then worth $300.00. This church has now 368 members and has been served by eight pastors. The present church was erected in 1881 and is valued at $20,000.00. A new church costing $35,000.00 is now in course of erection on the corner of Third avenue and Tenth street. It will be occupied early in 1911. The Universalist society was organized in 1869 and the first pastor was the Rev. W. C. Brooks. For nearly seven years their services were held in a hall. Their present church was built in 1875 and has been served by eight pastors. They have approximately 100 members and property valued at $16,000.00. The Bethel African Methodist Episcopal church was organized in 1870, and the first pastor was the Rev. J. W. Lewis. They have had sixteen pastors and have now seventy-nine members. Their church was built in 1874 and is valued at $5,000.00. In 1874 St. Wenceslaus church was organized and its first pastor was the Rev. Francis Chmelar. They began with a church family of sixty. They have now 1,200 members, a church property erected in 1904 valued at $50,000.00, and have been served by five pastors. On July 1, 1874, the Second United Presbyterian church was organized with the Rev. W. J. McCallister as minister. It continued in existence for about twenty-four years and its property is being used today by Sunshine Mission. The First Christian church was organized August 1, 1875, with thirty-four charter members. Its first pastor was the Rev. N. A. McConnell. Since the organization there have been eight pastors. The present church was built in 1882 and its value is placed at $15,000.00, although the original cost was $22,000.00. They have a membership of 350. The Second United Brethren church was organized in January, 1876, under the Rev. Father Bookwalter, and did good work for a number of years, but has ceased to exist. The German Evangelical church was organized April 30, 1877, and its first pastor was the Rev. C. C. Pfund. They have had twelve pastors and have now sixty members. Their church was built in 1888 and they have property valued at $12,000.00. The Free Methodist church was organized in 1877 and they have had eighteen pastors. The first pastor was Rev. W. C. Thompson. Their church was built in 1878, is valued at $4,000.00, and they have forty-seven members. The First Congregational church was organized on May 13, 1879, and its first pastor was the Rev. A. T. Reed. They have had seven pastors and have now 350 members. Their present church was built in 1889 and their property valuation is placed at $35,000.00. The Zion Evangelical church came into being February, 1880, through the work of Rev. Ilion. The Rev. J. E. Stauffacher was the first regular pastor. They have had nine pastors and have now 175 members. Their church was built in 1905 and is valued at $23,000.00. The German Lutheran church was organized August 24, 1884, with twenty charter members. Revs. Studt from Luzerne and Aron from Atkins, Iowa, preached for nearly one year on alternate Sundays when the Rev. J. Denckmann, its present pastor, became the first regular pastor. They have a membership of 350 and a church property valued at $10,000.00. The Swedish Lutheran church was organized November 8, 1885, and its first pastor was the Rev. C. E. Cesander. They have had six pastors and have now fifty-four communicants. The present church was built in 1891 and they have property valued at $10,000.00. St. Patrick's church was organized April 18, 1886, with twenty-eight members. The Rev. T. F. Richardson was the first pastor. This church has had but three pastors. Its present church was erected in 1892 and the value of their property is $50,000.00. They report at present 1,000 members. In the decade 1886-1896 the first church organization was that of Trinity Methodist Episcopal in 1887, with the Rev. Frank P. Shaffer as first pastor. The present church was built in 1890, and the value of all property held by this society is estimated at $20,000.00. They have 450 members and have been served by seven pastors. Sinclair Memorial Presbyterian church was a growth out of a Sunday school fostered by Mr. T. M. Sinclair. Its organization was effected October 14, 1887, and its first pastor was the Rev. Alfred K. Bates. They have had four pastors and now enroll 215 members. Their present church was built in 1902, the gift of Mrs. T. M. Sinclair, and is valued at $30,000.00. The Bohemian Presbyterian church was organized in 1889. Its first and only pastor was and is the Rev. V. Hlavaty. They have now 257 members. Their church was built in 1889 and is valued at $5,000.00. The Calvary Baptist church was organized on September 5, 1890, and its first pastor was the Rev. E. F. Perry. It has been served by four pastors, and has a membership now of 165. The present church was erected in 1891 and is valued at $5,000.00. The John Hus Methodist Episcopal church was organized May 15, 1892, and its first pastor was the Rev. John Tauchen. The church has had three pastors and has now seventy members. They have property valued at $7,000.00 and their present church was built in 1897. The Bethany Congregation church came into being in 1893 and its first pastor was the Rev. E. M. Vittum. They now enroll 106 members and have had six pastors. Their present church is valued at $3,000.00. The Central Park Presbyterian church was organized May 4, 1893. Its first pastor was the Rev. R. A. Van der Las. They have now 205 members and have had three ministers. Their present church was built in 1904 and is valued at $20,000.00. The Danish Lutheran church was organized in 1893. They have forty-eight members, have had six pastors and have property valued at $4,000.00. The Danish Baptist church was organized April 1, 1895, and its first pastor was the Rev. A. Charlsen. They have had six pastors and have now 17 members. Their church was built in 1899 and is valued at $700.00. The first church organized in the last decade was the Second Christian church which grew out of a Bible school organized in 1901 and has a membership of 125 and has been served by three pastors. They have property valued at $5,000.00. The Olivet Presbyterian church came into existence on May 15, 1904. Its first and only pastor is the Rev. C. F. Ensign. They have today 160 members, a church property erected in 1904, and valued at $8,000.00. The Dunker church has been in existence for several years, but was not formerly organized until 1905 under the present pastor, Dr. S. B. Miller. They have been served by five pastors, have a church property valued at $4,000.00 and have thirty members. The Reformed church came into formal existence March 29, 1906. The pastor is the Rev. Frank S. Bromer. Services were held for about a year before this organization by the Rev. Rohrbach. They have now twenty-nine members and are building a new church. The present value of their property is estimated to be $2,900.00. At the completion of this new church their property will be worth $6,300.00. Fifty years ago this town had about 1,500 people. Of these 386 were members of the six churches, one in four. Today, with a population of 30,000, the thirty-three churches report 10,286 members. With five and one-half times as many churches and five times as many ministers we have twenty-seven times as many members. The city has twenty times its former population, and the churches have twenty-seven times their former membership. The total value of the church property today, exclusive of schools and outside property, is above $750,000. All of this goes to show that the churches are very much alive and are among the most progressive institutions in the city. Two hundred and forty ministers have served these churches since the beginning of their history. RECAPITULATION Members The Catholics report today 3,700 Presbyterians 1,814 Methodists 1,315 Lutherans 820 Baptists 547 Episcopalians 505 Christians 475 Congregationalists 466 United Brethren 260 United Presbyterian 225 Universalist 100 Dunkers 30 Reformed 29 ------ Total 10,286 [Illustration: FATHER LOWRY] CHAPTER XXXVIII _Catholicism in Linn County_ BY REV. P. J. FLYNN All honor to those pioneer clerics and laity for the work they accomplished under trying and difficult circumstances. In the pioneer days no musical sound of silvery bell, from lofty steeple or tall minaret called them on the Sabbath morn, no swelling peal of organ or trained choir entertained or invited the worshipers in those early days, there were no Godly ministers to bury the old and instruct the young, no books, or papers to read and to gather wisdom from their pages, to strengthen the weak and enlighten the dull. No need to be scandalized if in some instances, we find men grow weak under such trying circumstances. No wonder that pioneer conditions among miners and others, were such as to indicate little fear of God or little regard for men. Little do we know, in this age of ease and facility, of the difficulties and dangers, offered in those days to priest and people. The effort of the writer of the following pages will be to chronicle facts, well established and authentic, relative to the church in Linn county, rather than to draw on imagination or to give color to his assertions from a rhetorical viewpoint. It is the scope of history to chronicle events relating to the past, for present and future use. There is no assertion made in these pages that has not been investigated and truthfully established, in most cases by those who were eye and ear witnesses to the events referred to. In order to understand how difficult it is to obtain correct information about the early days in a new country it is both educational and interesting to engage in such research. One would not imagine that information concerning things and conditions of less than fifty years ago would be so difficult to obtain. Yet the fact remains, and this fact is in itself a strong argument in favor of works like the present. It is hardly credible that the early settlers could accomplish what they did under circumstances as they were in those days. What strength of character and determination of purpose these early settlers showed in the face of difficulty and danger is truly admirable. What noble ideals they had, and how earnestly and well they strove for their attainment. The present prosperity is due in no small degree to their untiring efforts in laying the foundation of present advantages. Posterity may well hold their names in benediction, and the heart may with pride and reverence swell with admiration for the hardy pioneer whose heritage is now enjoyed. The present moral standards of the people, the numerous schools and churches and the general intelligence have been builded on the foundations laid by our ancestors and are monuments and tributes to their character, influence and enthusiasm. When Linn county was but a mission district from Iowa City, meetings were held whenever and wherever the priest found it convenient for the best results or for the convenience of the greatest number of souls. Sometimes service was held in a log cabin, sometimes in a district school house. When the missionary contemplated a visit his intention was announced through the district; the date and place of meeting were made known and thither the scattered settlers gathered on foot or on horseback or in wagons. They were happy in their inconvenience at being allowed even in such circumstances to make their peace with God and receive the consolations of religion. Such were the conditions in Linn county half a century since. How little we realize the advantages we enjoy in this day. Few and far between, however, were the visits of the shepherd to the scattered hamlets of the early settlers. Missionary men went about, preaching and teaching and their lives were an example to all with whom they came in contact. Of such men and their life work, we have now to treat. The first record we have of the interests of Linn county in things Catholic was in 1853, when Father Emmons of Iowa City with apostolic spirit and Christlike zeal journeyed through the trackless wastes to cater to the needs of the children of the faith. In those days, fifty-seven years ago, it is needless to say Cedar Rapids was not known as the Parlor City. Its pretensions were very modest. It consisted of only a few small residences with a few stores to supply the needs of the people. THE CHURCH IN CEDAR RAPIDS The chief business industries in those days were the lumber mills of Mr. J. J. Snouffer, Sr. The wild and trackless wastes were being gradually cleared, and the logs were being fitted for the formation of rough log cabins to shelter man and beast. Rough fords or bridges were thrown across the irregular and meandering streams which flowed in undisturbed tranquillity on their way towards the Father of Waters. It was nothing unusual frequently to find that the temporary bridges were carried away over night and the log dweller found himself in the morning isolated and compelled patiently to wait the subsiding of the waters to furnish himself with the necessaries of life. In these days the missionary priest passed along giving his blessing to the work as he went, and in log cabins or improvised chapels fed the bread of life to the hungering sheep of the fold. The first record there is, and that in the memory of those who were present, of mass being offered in Cedar Rapids was in 1853, when Father Emmons of Iowa City, celebrated the holy sacrifice for the first time in the old Dubuque House in B avenue between Fourth and Fifth streets. It is a regrettable fact that the location has since been turned to uses less holy. During his visits afterwards from his home town to Cedar Rapids he always stayed, and officiated at the Snouffer home on Second street, which in those days occupied the site on which now stands the Denecke store. In those days the Catholic settlers came for miles around to Cedar Rapids, and assisted at divine service whenever the goodly priest found it possible to come among them. In wagons drawn by oxen they wended their way from the western part of the county, from Fairfax, and along to the Benton county border line, and even beyond. Often their journey meant days of delay owing to impassable ways and washed out bridges. All honor to those pioneer Catholics who so prized their religion and their faith. No wonder that seed sown under such trying circumstances brought forth fruit which abides. Among the early settlers who gave such proof of their worth and dared difficulties for their religious opinions we find the names of Murray, Keenan, Cook, Hayden, Lilly, Kehoe, Meehan, Flaherty, Cahill, Langan, Christopher, Villeen, Harrington, Hager, and others. Another pioneer of those days was Father Smith who occasionally visited the itinerary of Father Emmons when the latter was unable to do so. Fr. Harmon, also of Iowa City, came a few times into this territory and assisted in sowing the seed and nurturing it in its tender years. After Fr. Harmon's departure the duty again rested upon the shoulders of Father Emmons until Father Gillespie was sent by Bishop Smith to form a new parish in Cedar Rapids, along in the early sixties. The first effort that was made to establish a church in Cedar Rapids was when a piece of property was secured on Sixth avenue and Sixth street, near the present residence of Dr. Skinner. Those who were leaders in this laudable undertaking were J. J. Snouffer, Sr., Alexander Hager, and Francis Lilly. Objection was made to the selection of the site on Sixth avenue and Sixth street from more sources than one and attention was next directed towards the present site on Third avenue and Seventh street. Through the efforts of the above mentioned men three lots were secured, and operations were begun and a little church constructed large enough for the needs of the time. The lumber was obtained at Snouffer's mill, the workmanship was contracted for by Alex. Hager, who was a carpenter, and the means were supplied by Mr. Lilly, Mr. Thos. Murray, Andrew Stark, John Meehan, Flaherty, and others. After Father Gillespie came Father Enlinbrook, who retained the charge only a short time. After his departure Fr. Shields came occasionally in missionary work. In 1865 Fr. Cannon assumed charge and remained about two years. In the fall of 1867 Father P. V. McLoughlin came and remained about six months. One would naturally expect that by this time the congregation should have grown considerably, but the fact is that on the first Sunday of October, 1866, rosary Sunday, the congregation consisted of between 20 and 30 souls and they were from the surrounding country as much as from Cedar Rapids. In 1870 Fr. Lowry (who was a convert to Catholicity) took charge of Cedar Rapids and from that date we have a continued resident priest and a regular history. Soon after his arrival he set to work to build a church more in keeping with the needs of the place, since at this time many settlers had come from Illinois and things began to look more encouraging for our religion. Though his resources were limited, yet he had confidence that while the purses of the people were light, their hearts and their hands were generous. Nothing daunted, he put his hand to the plow and the result was the front part of the present Immaculate Conception church. The foundation in rock work was the gift of Mrs. J. J. Snouffer, Sr., who was ever willing and generous to aid both the priest and the people, though she was not of the household of the faith. I venture to predict that her generosity and true Christian charity is on record in the "Liber Scriptus" and that it will not go unrewarded by the Just Judge. To aid in the completion of this great work Fr. Lowry engaged both men and women, old and young. Among those who contributed materially in money and cooperation in every way we find the names of Mrs. J. J. Snouffer, Sr., Mrs. F. Lilly, Mrs. James Cook, the O'Hara family, Hayden, Hager, Kehoe, Harrington, O'Keefe, Foley, Cook, Mullally, Keenan, Murray, Meehan, Langan, Cahill, Flaherty, McVann, Brecht, Peter Flynn, Killen, Thos. Murray. By the generous and combined efforts of these and many others the desired end was attained and God's house was a reality in Cedar Rapids. Having secured the church the next ambition of the good and zealous Father Lowry was to secure a parish school, wherein the foundation would be laid and the seeds sown in future church members and pillars. The first and only parish school up to this time was a modest and unpretentious institution in which a young lady named Caroline Hager taught the children of the parish, who numbered about fifteen. In 1874 under the direction of Father Lowry the following men were chief among those who built the school: James McNamara, John O'Hara, Charles O'Hara, Peter Flynn, Mr. Springer, Alexander Brecht, John and Charles Murray, the Cannons, Mullally, O'Briens, McVann, McDonalds. The first Catholic cemetery was the present Bohemian Catholic cemetery purchased by John O'Hara, Peter Flynn, John Foley, John O'Keefe, and James Barrett. The first Catholic buried in this cemetery was Mr. Flaherty, father of Pat. Flaherty of the west side. The second funeral held there was that of Mrs. Martin Sheehan, about the year 1865. In 1878 or thereabouts Fr. Lowry secured through Mr. Mullally the ground for the present cemetery at Kenwood for a consideration of about $100.00. Then the old cemetery became the exclusive property of the Bohemian Catholics of Cedar Rapids. This transfer was effected through Father Francis Chemlar for a consideration of $900.00. Of this amount $300.00 were contributed by E. R. and W. H. O'Hara. In 1880 Fr. Lowry was transferred to Burlington and was succeeded by Father T. F. Gunn, of blessed memory. At this time many settlers had located around Cedar Rapids and it began to be an important town. Soon the church had to be enlarged. In order to do so, the old parochial residence which was to the rear of the church edifice had to be removed and a new residence constructed. When this was accomplished, an addition was built to the church, giving it its present shape and dimensions. In the construction of this addition and all the incidental work that such changes entail as well as in the erection of a parochial house Father Gunn found plenty to do during his declining years in Cedar Rapids. He was not a man given to material building, as much as to the upbuilding of spiritual conditions in the hearts of his people. He was active and energetic even to his dying day. He was in sympathy with his charge and lived in the heart of his congregation, not above them. He was a thorough christian gentleman, and a man of honor. He believed in "being" and not "appearing," in doing and not in saying. He was the servant of his people, not their lord. He was a faithful follower of Him who forgot Himself in His care for others. No man ever held a warmer place in the hearts of the people of Cedar Rapids than Father Gunn. Even today his name is in benediction and his praises sung by non-Catholic and Catholic alike. The Rev. Thos. F. Gunn was born at Strokestown, Roscommon county, Ireland, December 3, 1840. He studied the classics in Ireland and philosophy and theology at St. Francis Seminary, Milwaukee. He was ordained priest at Cape Girardeau, Mo., in 1867. His first appointment was to Cedar Falls, Iowa. At the time there was only one priest west of him, at Fort Dodge. While stationed at Cedar Falls Father Gunn had under his charge thirteen stations in Blackhawk, Grundy, Butler, and Bremer counties. During these times a seventy-mile drive in a springless wagon was a common experience. In 1870 Father Gunn was transferred to Sioux City. His charge was St. Mary's parish which then consisted of a modest frame structure on West Seventh street, across Perry creek. At that time the priest's house consisted of a one room structure. Father Gunn after a short time in Sioux City was transferred to Dubuque Cathedral, where he remained three and one-half years and went thence to Burlington, where he remained till 1880, when he came to Cedar Rapids to succeed Father Lowry. At his advent to Cedar Rapids the condition was much different from what it today presents. It was but an outpost of the onward march of civilization and no one dreamt that the coming years would bring about so great a transformation as is today in evidence. Father Gunn was twenty-six years in Cedar Rapids at the time of his death. Shortly before his death he delivered his last public address at the opening of the semi-centennial celebration held on June 10, 1906, in which he forcibly manifested his liberal views and referred to the transformation which had taken place within his memory in the city. Father Gunn died on June 24, 1906, and his funeral was one of the largest and most representative ever held in Cedar Rapids. His eulogy was delivered by Dr. J. J. Fitzpatrick, of Marshalltown, and the speaker paid a becoming and merited tribute to the beloved and popular clergyman. His remains lie buried in Kenwood cemetery and the citizens of Cedar Rapids have erected a suitable monument to perpetuate his memory and hold his name in benediction. [Illustration: BOHEMIAN ST. WENCESLAUS CHURCH, CEDAR RAPIDS] [Illustration: ST. WENCESLAUS SCHOOL, CEDAR RAPIDS] After the death of Father Gunn, Father Toomey became pastor of Immaculate Conception church, which position he still occupies. Great hopes are held out by the people of Cedar Rapids congregation for the welfare of the church interests. A new and commodious church is talked of and the hope entertained it will some day materialize. However as it is not becoming to praise the soldier while he is in the firing line, and as "Praise after death" has been my motto I must leave to the pen of the future historian to chronicle the deeds and sing the praises of the present pastor of Immaculate Conception church. ST. WENCESLAUS PARISH St. Wenceslaus Bohemian Catholic parish of Cedar Rapids was established in 1874. Those through whose prayer and cooperation this new and independent field of activity was called into existence were chiefly the following: Thomas Brouzek, Vaclav Charipar, Natej Charipar, Thos. Chadima, J. Hajek, Fr. Horek, Joseph Kofron, Jos. Pivouka, Vit Kuba, Fr. Kofron, Hynek Krejic, V. Lessinger, Jos. Pivouka, V. Hrebec, H. Sindelar, Jan Stolba, V. Stolba, Jos. Sefranek, Jan Tomanek, Votja Zaruba, Ignace Sindelar, Mathew Kofron, Frank Biskop, Jan Vanous, Marie Tuba, and some others from the surrounding country districts. A lot was purchased, and in August, 1874, the foundation of the first Bohemian Catholic church in Cedar Rapids was begun. It was an eventful day for the Bohemian element in the city. In 1875 money was borrowed and collections made by parishioners, and all resources were drawn on to obtain the necessary means of perfecting the work already begun. In 1878 the balance of the debt was paid by the united effort of a poor but earnest people. In fact the donors, considering their circumstances, were generous. In those days of difficulty and want the parish was in charge of Father Chemlar, who with all the zeal and earnestness of an apostle attended to the varied duties and needs of the scattered and needy congregation. From his limited salary of $200.00 he gave to the more needy and often donated his time and talent without any consideration whatever. God be with those days of disinterested and apostolic labors. The old St. Wenceslaus church was a rock building 75�27 feet. It was without a tower. The bell was erected on an improvised structure in front of the church and its silvery tones seemed to more effectively accomplish its mission and reach the hearts of the people, than our costly and superior ones of today as they ring out from their costly towers or tall minarets. To house the good father of the flock, a modest parochial residence was built by the people and in the basement of the unpretentious home, parish meetings were held and school was taught for years. It was in the days of the good Father Chemlar also that the first Catholic cemetery was secured by the people of St. Wenceslaus parish. In 1889 Father Francis Chemlar was promoted to the charge at Norway, and he was succeeded at St. Wenceslaus by Father John Broz. Fr. Broz remained about two years in Cedar Rapids and during his short stay was by no means inactive. He added to the seating capacity of the church building and also built a tower in the church. The next pastor was Father Kopecky. To his zealous and persistent labor is due the parish school which still remains, in which the youth of the parish receive the rudiments of knowledge in things secular and religious from the good Sisters of Mercy. At this time the pastor's income was only $650.00, yet from this comparatively modest sum the good father found a modest means of doing material good for others and himself. He was a great school man and often spent hours in the school room, keeping at the class work. He was popular with the people and accomplished much good. Following Father Kopecky came Fr. Vrba who remained only a short time and was transferred to Protovin. In 1900 the present incumbent, Rev. Florian Svrdlik, was installed pastor of St. Wenceslaus. Soon after his advent a new church was spoken of and being a man of action as much as of word, he began to feel the pulse of the parish on the matter. Seeing the interest and earnest manner in which the new pastor took hold the people flocked to his aid and in a short time the work assumed practical shape. Ft. Svrdlik is not a man who builds a church on paper years before he has his brick and mortar on the ground. He builds first and then talks of a reality and not of a dream. With the unanimous aid of the people, he organized a fair, and from this realized about $4,000.00. Through the other ordinary means of collections and donations this amount was increased in a short time to the extent of $10,000.00. To this fund his grace, Archbishop Keane, of Dubuque, contributed $500.00. At Christmas, 1903, the necessary property was secured, and on August 4, 1904, the corner stone was laid, and on October 18, 1905, the new church was dedicated with solemn and impressive ceremony. The occasion was one long to be remembered by the people of St. Wenceslaus and Cedar Rapids in general. The new church is beautiful in design and faultless in execution. It was erected at a cost of about $40,000.00, a lasting monument to the zeal and efficiency of the pastor and to the piety and generosity of the Bohemians of Cedar Rapids. The parochial school erected in Father Kopecky's time is his imperishable monument. It is in charge of the Sisters of Mercy. It is a beautiful building, plain and substantial in its style, spacious and well ventilated and well calculated to develop a sound mind in a healthy body. There are about 175 pupils at present attending the school and sowing the seed which will enable them to develop into sturdy men and women. ST. PATRICK'S, CEDAR RAPIDS St. Patrick's parish on the west side, Cedar Rapids, was organized April 18, 1886. Its first resident pastor was Rev. T. F. Richardson, who was transferred from Fairfax. The first parish church was a modest frame structure on Second avenue and Seventh street west. While its seating capacity was limited yet it gave ample accommodation for the few parishioners, whose interests had heretofore been attended to, from the parent church on the east side, and occasionally from Fairfax. Father Richardson retained the charge till the time of his death, which occurred on September 12, 1888. After his demise the interests of the young and struggling parish were entrusted to Rev. M. J. Quirk, who was succeeded by the present incumbent, Rev. T. J. Sullivan who was appointed November 17, 1889. At this time many were locating on the west side who retired from the country around to spend the evening of life in a well earned rest after enduring for years the trials and difficulties of pioneer conditions. Soon the little frame church became inadequate to the needs of the place, and Father Sullivan, with that solicitude which has ever marked his life and labor, began to entertain the wish of a more suitable building. It did not take long for his efforts to be supported by the hand and heart of his people, and on October 18, 1891, the corner stone of the present beautiful building was laid. The late Very Rev. Father Gunn officiated and the sermon on the occasion was delivered by the Rev. C. M. Carroll, D. D. The new church at First avenue and Fifth street, west was dedicated on August 28, 1892, by Bishop Hennessy, of Dubuque. St. Patrick's church is one of the most sightly buildings in the city and when the frescoing which is now being done is completed it will be one of the neatest houses of worship in the city. The building when completed cost about $15,000.00. Father Sullivan took charge of the parish about November 17, 1889. The congregation is now large and representative. Having secured a beautiful church Father Sullivan's next undertaking was the building of a school in keeping with the needs of the parish. The corner stone of this beautiful and spacious building was laid on May 10, 1902, by Dean Gunn. The school is in charge of the Sisters of Charity of the B. V. M., whose mother house is at Mount Carmel, Dubuque. The Sisters of Charity as educators hold a similar place in the religious congregation of women to that occupied by the Jesuits among the male orders. They are the leaders in their respective classes. And the pupils turned out by both orders today are an honor to their alma mater. There are several sodalities and societies attached to St. Patrick's church and the parish is growing rapidly. THE CHURCH AT PRAIRIEBURG It has been asserted that the first mass celebrated in Linn county was at Prairieburg. This assertion I have sought to establish, but have failed, so I take it for what it is worth. As far as I can learn the first mass was said in a log house belonging to James Brislawn, but who the priest was I have not been able to establish. The first authentic record we have is when Rev. P. J. Maher, late of De Witt, then at Anamosa, officiated in the home of Bernard McLaughlin in 1872. The present brick church on the prairie at which a goodly number worship and which is in charge of Rev. Fr. I. J. Norris of Stone City, was erected by Fr. Maher in 1874. The Bohemian element who live in and around Prairieburg built a church a few years ago in the town. It is in charge of Father Ballou of Oxford Junction. THE FAIRFAX CHURCH The first Catholic church in Fairfax was built by Fr. John in 1875. This cradle of christianity in the wilds was located on the state road in Johnson county about six miles southeast of Fairfax. For the construction of this primeval temple oak logs were hauled from the Henderson mills on the Iowa river below Robert's Ferry. From this same mill, which was the only one at that time in these parts, except the Snouffer mills in Cedar Rapids, the early settlers hauled the lumber for their log cabins and for the shelter sheds for their limited live stock. This pioneer church in Fairfax district was afterwards removed to Walford, later to the site of the present building. After Fr. John came Fr. Urbin occasionally from Norway. He returned to Bohemia and died there. Among the early settlers were John Flaherty, who came in 1855; John B. Murray in 1858, Wm. McNamara, Andrew Stark, whose children now enjoy the fruits of his labors; the McDonalds, O'Connells, Donohues, Winekes, Wickies, Brechts, Springer, Barretts, O'Hara, P. Flynn, Foleys, Cook, Haydens, Hager, Cahill, Langan, Killeen, Kehoe, Meehan, Harrington, Lilly, Murray, Cannon, O'Brien. Before this time however there were some scattered settlers in and around the site of the present town. Among the early settlers were Thos. Murray, father of J. E. Murray and Charles Murray of this city, John B. Murray who came from Illinois in '56 or '58, and located in Benton county. John Flaherty, father of P. Flaherty, who came from Illinois in '55 by way of Iowa City. In those days there were very few settlers and the country around was densely wooded where the wild deer and wolf held undisputed sway. The nearest and only Catholic church was in Iowa City and there the pioneers journeyed periodically to make their peace with God. There were no roads, and travelers were compelled to follow the beaten path through thicket and forest. In these journeyings danger and difficulty were ever present. The hardships endured for the sake of religion remind one of the experiences of Saul of Tarsus. Whenever Father Emmons came from Iowa City to Cedar Rapids, his intention was declared some days before and a herald brought the glad news to the settlers who came in from their desert haunts and swelled the congregation at Cedar Rapids. These were literally the days when these faithful pioneers, poor in the world's goods but rich in faith, hungered and thirsted after justice. When the church was built at Cedar Rapids the faithful at Fairfax were looked after for some years till their number increased. Fr. Urbin, who was stationed at Norway, later on also aided in keeping the lamp of faith burning brightly. This was along about 1868. Later on Fr. John Chemlar took care of their interests till in 1875 Father O'Farrell came to abide with the faithful of Fairfax and was their first resident priest. The field of operation in Fairfax was too limited for the zeal of Father O'Farrell and he remained only a short time. He was succeeded by Father McCaffrey who was energetic in his labors, but because limited in his resources was not able to accomplish much, and time hung heavily on his hands. He left soon after. After this time, however, things began to look more encouraging and we find some such sturdy men as John Flaherty, Thomas Murray, John Murray, Pat Harrington, Wm. Harrington, Maurice Cahill, Andrew Garrett, John Sears, Henry Wickie, putting their shoulders to the wheel and from their limited resources, giving material aid in the upbuilding of conditions. The next resident priest was Father Quinn who came from the east. He was a man of action. He set to work and organized the parish in practical shape and doubtless had he been spared Fairfax would be today one of the leading parishes in Linn county. He died after two years from pneumonia contracted while attending to his flock. After the death of Father Quinn, charge of affairs was assumed by Father Kelly, who was succeeded by Father Richardson, who enlarged the church edifice, which still remains a monument of early days and pioneer conditions, but hardly in keeping with these days of opulence and ease. After about four years pastorate in Fairfax, during which time he attended Cedar Rapids west side people, he was transferred to the west side of Cedar Rapids and built the first church in that place. This church was located at Second avenue and Fifth street west, and was a frame structure 60�32 feet. It was at this time, April 18, 1886, that St. Patrick's parish was first organized and Father Richardson was its first pastor and he retained the charge until his death in September, 1888. Father John Brogan assumed the charge of Fairfax parish in April, 1886, and remained seven years, during which time he labored earnestly for the good of religion and was much beloved by the people. During his pastorate he built a beautiful, well equipped modern residence, which still remains and is occupied by the present incumbent. After Father Brogan's removal Father John Hogan assumed the charge of the Fairfax parish and during his stay of five years he labored zealously to pay off the indebtedness on the church property and has improved things generally. He afterwards exchanged Fairfax for his present charge Van Horne, and Father Thomas Reynolds of Van Horne came to Fairfax where he remained till his death. He was succeeded by the present pastor, Rev. P. Reynolds, who has done much to better conditions and who hopes one day to build a church in keeping with the present enviable status of this wealthy community. [Illustration: THE LATE VERY REVEREND DEAN GUNN] THE CHURCH AT WALKER For many years, the faithful of this town and the surrounding districts were attended from Independence. In 1887 Very Rev. Fr. O'Dowd, of Independence, erected a church at Walker, and for four years attended to the same from his home in Independence. In 1891 a new parish was established by Bishop Hennessy, and Rev. James Ryan, now of Calmar, Ia., was appointed first resident pastor. Having a church already secured the new pastor directed his zeal towards the erection of the present parochial residence. While the parish was not numerically extensive, yet what it lacked in numbers was supplied in interest and zeal, and the new pastor in his apostolic spirit and unflagging zeal soon had the good will of his congregation entirely at his disposal and with their generous cooperation in hand and heart and as far as circumstances permitted in currency, he erected a fine home for the use of the priest and had it paid for in a short time. During his stay of three years in the parish he also improved and completed the conditions in church and church property which required attention. Fr. Ryan is the best type of a truly apostolic priest, the zeal of God's house and the happiness of God's people, being the single purpose which at all times animates and actuates his life and action. After three years, Archbishop Hennessy, recognizing his earnestness and efficiency, assigned him to a new and more varied field of operation and he was succeeded at Walker by Rev. John McNamara, now of Key West, Dubuque. Fr. McNamara's stay in Walker was of only short duration, about three months, when in obedience to the wish of authority he went to Key West. After his departure the present pastor, Rev. Wm. Leen, assumed jurisdiction and his stay in Walker for sixteen years is the explanation of the present flourishing condition of the parish. Vast improvements have been effected, in the church and church property, and today Walker takes its place not only among the Catholic churches in Linn county but among the churches in any county in the state. The pastor is a most zealous and priestly man, an erudite scholar and a profound and persistent student. He is not selfish, and generously gives of the fruits of his research through the columns of pamphlet and press. Fr. Leen also occasionally lets his thoughts run along metrical lines. Besides Walker, Fr. Leen also extends his zeal and paternal care to Rowley and another mission station which is not in Linn county. But while frequently engaged in historical research, and contributing to current literature, he finds abundant time and opportunity to feed the sheep and the lambs over which he is shepherd and does his duty so well that he is most popular not only with his charge but with the community in general. THE MARION CHURCH One of the prettiest churches in Linn county today is St. Joseph's at Marion. It was built by the present pastor, Father P. M. Loughvane. Like most other places in Linn county the early settlers in Marion had to endure hardships for their religion. The settlers were few and far between and the only consolation they had from a religious standpoint was the occasional visit of a missionary priest from some outside charge. In the years 1855 and 1856 a good priest named Father Smith came occasionally from Iowa City to minister to their needs and preach them a word of encouragement. In those days Father Emmons also came from Iowa City and contributed to keep the lamp of faith burning. Father Laurent, of Muscatine, also came to Marion occasionally and did missionary work among the pioneers. As a rule the faithful journeyed to Iowa City whenever the weather permitted. In these days there were no automobiles nor telephone service, and it was not at all uncommon for the travelers to be weather bound on their way to or from the scene of their religious observance. Sometimes they had to sleep all night in the wagon in the midst of the woods when the swollen streams prevented their going any farther. It looks like something one may read about, but there are those living today who recall it as a fact. Waiting till the river flowed by, or at least till its current became less rapid, or till the hidden ford appeared--such were the trials of pioneer days in Linn county, and such the tests the faithful were subjected to. After 1870, Marion was attended by Father Lowry, of Cedar Rapids. After Father Lowry's time the faithful of Marion were attended by Father Richardson, of Fairfax, and after his transfer to St. Patrick's he continued to minister to their needs. His successor, Father McQuirk, continued to assist in bringing the consolations of religion to the early settlers. In later days Father John Brogan, of Fairfax, ministered to their needs whenever time and opportunity permitted. Father Timothy Sullivan, after his appointment to St. Patrick's, also ministered to their needs and to this day has many friends who are mindful of his kindness in the days of want. The first resident priest in Marion was Father Laffin, who came in 1890. At this time and indeed previous to this the chief settlers in the Marion district were the Senekir family, the Reillys, the Davises, Colburts, Zimmermans, and Zackeries, and these were the first who took hold and established the first church. The church, by reason of the fewness of its members, was a difficult problem to maintain. It was supported chiefly by the active and energetic assistance of the people in holding sociables and picnics and such other ways and means as were worthy of the noble cause. When the building was completed there was an indebtedness of $1,800, and nothing to pay this amount from. The sale of the property was threatened by those who held the lien on the church. But the zealous and hard-working members of the congregation set to work, and in two years this amount was paid off. After Father Laffin's departure the charge was taken by Rev. J. Hartigan, now at Strawberry Point. For eight years this zealous and interested young priest labored early and late for the welfare and comfort of his flock. During his time the present parochial residence was erected at a cost of $3,000. It is a modest, unpretentious building, but fitted up with all the modern systems of hygienic and healthful appliances. Not content with being comfortably housed himself, Father Hartigan decided to secure also a becoming habitation for his Lord and Master. He decided that a new church was now a matter of necessity in Marion, and gradually he got the members of the congregation to his way of thinking. He held fairs and sociables to obtain the necessary funds to make his dream a reality, and at his transfer from Marion he left in the church treasury more than $2,000 as a nucleus for the new church building. The completion of the work was, however, reserved for his no less interested and zealous successor. Writing of the conditions in Marion at his appointment, Fr. Hartigan says: "I got my appointment to the charge in the winter of 1896, about December 1st, and I shall never forget my feelings on arriving there. I found the parish in excellent condition to try a man's grit and patience. There were about thirty-five families, more or less actively engaged in parish work. There was a debt of upwards of $3,000, with no home except a log cabin, and an old church that had stood the test of the winters' blast for well nigh forty years. I heard murmurs on all sides, some thinking that all their property would be lost. I had many expressions of sympathy. I told the people in very few words that I was not looking for sympathy (although I needed it), that I was sent there to work, that works, not words, were of more avail in those circumstances. I tried to arouse their fainting spirits and told them to go and put their shoulder to the wheel, which they did with a willingness and energy that was beyond my most ardent aspirations. In about two years we had the parish clear of debt. Then it was necessary to build a home to supplant the poor log cabin, one of the old landmarks that did its work for well nigh half a century. To show the dilapidated condition of that abode I may say that I was frequently compelled to move my bed around to escape the rainfall. But thanks to the generosity of the people and their willingness to work and to give, the home was built in almost as short a time as it would take to tell it. It was a gigantic undertaking at the time, but where there is a will there is a way, and the home was built and paid for in about one year after the church property debt was liquidated. That home cost about $3,000, and every cent was paid before it was occupied. Then the cement sidewalks were laid at a cost of about $120, and last but not least came the greatest struggle of all. The parish had progressed so far so well, and it was my desire and the people's desire that their work should be crowned with success. The crowning work of all was the building of that magnificent little church that now stands on the corner of Tenth street. It was not my privilege to see it built before I left the parish, but for that purpose the people and myself labored tooth and nail in season and out of season, so that when I got my appointment to Strawberry Point in October, 1904, I turned over to the present pastor upwards of $2,000. I may say before I close that the spiritual advancement of the people more than kept pace with the material development of the parish." Rev. P. M. Loughnane, the present pastor of St. Joseph's, was born in County Kerry, Ireland. He received his classical education at St. Brendan's Seminary, Killarney, and studied philosophy and theology at St. Patrick's College, Thurles, where he was ordained to the priesthood on June 18, 1803. Coming to Dubuque, he was assigned as assistant to Very Rev. E. McLoughlin, at St. Mary's, Clinton, Iowa. He was afterwards transferred to take charge of the parish at Sabula. Thence he went to State Center, in Marshall county, where he remained eight years. While at State Center he interested himself much in school work which he loved. Fr. Loughnane is a versatile scholar, a man of bright mind, and keen sense of discernment. His ability as a priest he has demonstrated by the beautiful new church which will ever remain a monument to his competency and the earnestness and worth of his people. Bearing in mind that the congregation at Marion is not numerically large nor gifted with the possession of any too much of this world's goods, the sacrifices they made for the new church are much enhanced. The greater number of the members of the charge are railroad employees and more or less of a fluctuating class. But the Catholic heart is cold and callous, indeed, that cannot grow eloquent with faith when contemplating the visible, the material evidence of a great personal sacrifice for the faith. Soon after his advent to St. Joseph's parish the pastor applied all his energy to collect for the new church, and by earnest and energetic effort raised about $5,000, each and every member of the congregation doing his or her duty in a manner truly admirable. THE CHURCH AT LISBON One of the oldest, if not the mother church in Linn county, is that at Lisbon. We have evidence of its existence and of early settlers for whose use it was erected dating as far back as 1854. Records show that Fr. Emmons, of Iowa City, the father of Catholicity in Linn county, made frequent visits to the little town, and baptized and ministered to the needs of the early settlers. Even farther back than 1854 it is on record that this pioneer of the faith offered the holy sacrifice and administered the holy sacraments in the home of Thomas McAllister, east of the town of Lisbon. There are those living today who remember these times and conditions, and the fact is not questioned that some of the present members of the Lisbon congregation were regenerated by the saving waters of baptism in the home of Thomas McAllister, and it is even possible to meet occasionally those who well remember Father Emmons and his teaching. It was through the efforts of this faithful pioneer shepherd, aided by the good will and support of the scattered few, that the old church of Lisbon was called into existence, and it is through veneration for the pastor and the pioneer that it is still allowed to stand, though no longer used for divine worship. This old landmark was erected in 1854. The site on which the little edifice was erected was donated by Jacob S. Pfautz, who also contributed to the present church building. Be it said to their eternal honor that among the contributors for the first church there are several names which are not belonging to the limited list of Catholics of those days. Among the pioneers of those days we find such names as Peter Heller, George Ringer, Mike Hoover, Samuel Bell, Fred Rabenau, William Andre, Thomas McClelland, I. G. Trigenfuse, Sam Ellison, John Walton, J. A. McClelland, Joseph Owens, Thomas Andre, and others. Father Emmons was only a missionary in Lisbon at the time his home charge was Iowa City, but as far as preaching and teaching the word and breaking the bread of life to the children of the faith his jurisdiction was not confined by any boundary or limitation. The first resident pastor of Lisbon was Rev. W. Downey, who resided there for about three years after his term of service. Father Daly followed, and for a short time resided in Lisbon, and afterwards in Mechanicsville, and is spending the evening of his life in Atlantic, Iowa. After this time Lisbon was attached to Marion and was attended for a while by Father Laffin. When Father Hartigan succeeded to the charge at Marion he also attended Lisbon. It was reserved, however, to the present popular pastor of Marion, Rev. P. M. Loughnane, to add another laurel to his crown by replacing the old time-honored landmark with the present ornate and well designed church building. The Catholic cemetery, which is a part of the property of this charge, was purchased in Father Downey's time. THE SISTERS OF MERCY The Sisters of Mercy came to Cedar Rapids on the Feast of St. Mary Magdalen, 22d July, 1875. They came from Davenport, which at that time was subject to Dubuque Bishop for there was only one diocese in Iowa. Sister Mary Isadore and Sister Mary Gertrude were the first to visit Cedar Rapids, and in a few weeks afterwards Sister Mary Agatha and Sister Mary Francis came. These four formally took possession of the building which had been secured for school purposes, and in September, 1875, St. Joseph's Academy and parish school was opened for the first time in Cedar Rapids. This community at Cedar Rapids remained subject to the mother house in Davenport until 1881, when the southern part of the state was cut off and made a new diocese. This new division of the Dubuque diocese necessitated the subjection of the Cedar Rapids community to the diocese of Dubuque and so the branch house became an independent community in November, 1881. At this time the community at Cedar Rapids consisted of about ten Sisters, and there were about twenty-five boarders at St. Joseph's Academy at the time. Previous to the installation of Father Quinn as pastor of Immaculate Conception church the parish school was independent of the academy. After this they were united and the academic school became a free school for all those who were unable to pay for tuition. [Illustration: QUAKER OATS TRAIN] [Illustration: SCENE ON CEDAR RIVER] [Illustration: ST. PATRICK'S CHURCH, CEDAR RAPIDS] This arrangement continued till the spring of 1905, when the Sisters secured the beautiful house and property known as Mound Farm, on which they now have a beautiful mother house and academy. Up to 1905 St. Joseph's was the mother house of the Cedar Rapids community. Now the mother house is at "the Mound." The new Sacred Heart Academy opened in September, 1905, with thirty boarders. It is situated on the same location as the mother house of the community. From the Cedar Rapids mother house of the Sisters of Mercy the following branch houses have been and are supplied: Decorah, Grand Junction, Anamosa, Manchester, De Witt, Charles City, Elma, Oelwein, Bernard, New Haven, Waterloo, Marion, St. Wenceslaus, St. Joseph's, Cedar Rapids, with Mercy Hospital, and a new hospital at Kalispel, Montana. In the community at present there are about one hundred and thirty members. In the novitiate or preparatory school for aspirants to the Sisterhood there are about forty young ladies laying the foundation for their future life work. Any attempt at church history in a state or in a city would be incomplete without honorable mention of the Sisters. The history of the parish school is also the history of the Sisters, that glorious body of women who have given and who give their lives to the uplifting of the human race. That branch of the Sisterhood which devotes their lives to teaching is one of the most powerful allies the church has in keeping her members faithful. The teaching orders are not alone in the work of education. The Sisters have done a great work on the battle field and in hospitals in opening the eyes of the world to the great ends sought by the church. MERCY HOSPITAL There are many orders, each doing their own work in their own place. Wherever there is work to be done, or good deeds to be performed, there we find the Sisters with an eye single to their work and looking for their reward in the world to come. To come from general to particulars, I would be untrue to my promise if I did not call particular attention to one institution in particular, namely, Mercy Hospital. There are few Catholics in Iowa who are not acquainted with Mercy Hospital, Cedar Rapids, and the great work being done by the Sisters of Mercy. The absolute need for such an institution became so much a necessity in Cedar Rapids that on November 15, 1900, the Sisters for the first time began operations in an old residence quite near their convent. For three years, under conditions entirely inadequate, they ministered to the needs of their constantly increasing patrons, till they were compelled by necessity and their rapidly increasing work to build the present institution, which compares favorably with any similar institution in the country and offers every facility to the medical profession. The corner stone of this beautiful building was laid on August 15, 1902, and the building was completed by December 1, 1903. It cost over $100,000. It is in charge of the Sisters of Mercy of Cedar Rapids community, who also have charge of Sacred Heart Academy on Mound Farm, and of St. Joseph's parochial school, with St. Wenceslaus' school and St. Berchman's Seminary, Marion, together with several schools through Iowa, and of the Mercy Hospital at Kalispel, Montana. So great has been the success of this institution that there is need at present for an addition. There is a large training school for nurses in which at present there are twenty-five pupils. The management of the institution is accomplished by the Sisters, who at present number about fifteen, among whom there are seven qualified trained nurses. Ability of more than ordinary character is required to manage successfully an institution like Mercy Hospital. And as the work increases the greater the strain on the management. This position of trust and responsibility has been capably filled for nearly ten years by Sister Mary Alphonsus. She it was who first assumed charge of the little hospital on Third avenue. She has seen that mustard seed grow into the present beautiful institution. Sister Alphonsus, always solicitous for the comfort of others, overtaxed her limited strength. Never physically strong, she has given herself most generously in constant care and vigilance to the duties of her responsible position. Forgetting herself to be of help to others, it is not surprising that her frail constitution should give way, when one considers the responsibility of her position. This fact, coupled with the recent death of her beloved mother, to whom she was much attached, almost completely undermined her physical condition, and acting on the advice of her medical adviser and that of her superior mother, N. Teresa, Sister Alphonsus retired from the hospital to recuperate her failing strength. During her years of office she made herself a general favorite with all with whom she had to do. SACRED HEART ACADEMY This high grade school fills a long felt want in Cedar Rapids and Linn county. There is no more suitable location for a young ladies' academy than Cedar Rapids, and for its site there is not perhaps in the west a place more suited than where the Sacred Heart Academy stands. Situated on the highest elevation, perhaps, in the county, it is by nature and the skill and taste admirably fitted to generate both sound minds and healthy bodies. Recently a new addition has been built to the former academy. The church realizes that true progress is the law which God has given to His creation. Any progress is creation continued. The gospel of Christ is the gospel of progress. The mind to be progressive must seek Him and find Him, and finding Him, be of value to the child and the state. This the church understands better than she gets credit for, and this is the reason why her parish school is her first care after her own existence has been established. Hence any attempt at her history which would not include her schools would be incomplete and dwarfed. In the school is sown the seed which is afterwards nursed and cared for by the church, in its life-giving sacramental system. One of the chief parish schools in Linn county is Sacred Heart Academy, at Green Mound Farm. It is a school for young ladies in which are taught all subjects which qualify candidates for the varied positions to which they may wish to aspire, such as teaching, bookkeeping, stenography, etc., etc. St. Berchman's Seminary at Marion is a boarding school for boys who have not attained the age of fourteen. In this school, which is in charge of the Sisters of Mercy of Cedar Rapids, the most approved methods are employed in imparting thorough and comprehensive instruction in all the elementary branches of an English education, together with a marked attention to the moral culture of the boys, which makes them an honor to their parents and society. Careful attention is given to their physical needs and bodily comfort, and diligent care is extended in seeing that their time in the seminary is put to the best advantage. Music and elocution are among the subjects taught. The seminary is located on First avenue and Fifteenth street. It is situated on a twenty acre area, beautifully wooded, and affording excellent facilities for outdoor games which boys usually indulge in. The seminary has its own sources of supply in all edible stuffs. It has a beautiful orchard and vegetable gardens, and its needs in the way of dairy produce and poultry are supplied from its own farm. While within the city limits, it is far removed from noise and all disturbing elements which may in any way militate against the best results. The apartments are spacious and are furnished with every modern improvement conducive to health and comfort. The building is heated by steam, well ventilated, and lighted by electricity. Hot and cold water are in use for the bath system. At the present time a large addition is being built to meet the needs of the increasing patronage. CHAPTER XXXIX _Linn County Statistics_ POPULATION In 1840 the greatest number of people to the square mile was in the extreme southeastern part of the territory. This was but natural, as nearly all the settlers had come by river from St. Louis, only a few coming by wagons up to this time. The settlers had in part come up along the Red Cedar river, and Linn county claimed a population of 1,373, few of whom had lived more than two years in the county. Settlers also ascended the Iowa and Des Moines rivers. By 1850 land seekers had followed the Des Moines river and had already found homes as far west as Boone county. It was a severe blow to the agricultural interests of Linn county and the newborn state when news of the gold fever reached the borders. Not only the newspapers stirred up the people, but hundreds of parties crossed the state in wagons, stopped along the way and talked incessantly about the great diggings in California. The young men were fired with enthusiasm. Work on the farm was hard and the returns small. Thus Linn county lost many of its best and most enterprising young men. Some, it is true, returned again after a stay of a few years in the gold fields, but a large number never came back, but either died or remained on the coast. While Linn county lost many settlers it also gained others, who started west expecting to join mining parties, but who settled down as farmers instead. From 1849 to 1857 was a restless era of migration in what we call the middle west. In fact it extended over the entire country. There were many causes for this. An era of prosperity sprang up after the Mexican war, the gold discoveries and the opening up of much fertile land by the government. All this, no doubt, stirred people to find new homes or seek new adventures. The panic of '57 of course for a time put a stop to all speculations, especially in western lands. The greatest influx of people into the state was from 1850 to 1856, when the population increased from 192,214 to 517,875, an increase of 169.4 per cent. The population of the state for 1910 is 2,225,771. Linn county felt the same influx, for the population increased from 5,444 in 1850 to 14,702 in 1856. There seems to have been an increase of about 8,000 by the census of 1860, showing that while the panic may have kept some at home who might have gone west, few new settlers sought the west to make new homes. The population of the county and the towns will give the reader an idea of the gradual growth in the population. Here are some figures showing our development: In May, 1838, the population of the county was 205. This had increased to 2,643 in 1844. In 1847 we had 3,954 people, 4,762 in 1849, 5,444 in 1850, 6,870 in 1852, 10,802 in 1856, 18,947 in 1860, 18,693 in 1863, showing the effects of the Civil war, this conflict not only taking many of our substantial citizens to serve in the armies, but for the time impeding emigration. In 1865 the figures had increased to 20,754, in 1867 to 24,549, in 1870 to 31,080, in 1875 to 31,875, in 1880 to 37,237, in 1885 to 40,720, in 1890 to 45,303, in 1895 to 49,905, in 1900 to 55,392, and in 1905 to 57,362. [Illustration: MERCY HOSPITAL, CEDAR RAPIDS] At the time this is being written the population for the county for 1910 has not been announced. The cities and the towns of the county have grown with it. Cedar Rapids in 1885 had 15,426 people; in 1890, 18,020; in 1895, 21,555; in 1900, 25,656; in 1905, 28,759; and in 1910, 32,870. Marion in 1885 had a population of 2,673; in 1890, 3,094; in 1895, 3,766; in 1900, 4,102; in 1905, 4,112. Mt. Vernon boasted of 859 people in 1885, 1,259 in 1890, 1,178 in 1895, 1,629 in 1900, and 1,664 in 1905. Lisbon's population in 1885 was 703. No statistics are available for 1890, but in 1895 the town had 817 people, 956 in 1900, and 948 in 1905. The population of Center Point in 1885 was 565; in 1890, 615; in 1895, 595; in 1900, 674; and in 1905, 823. Springville in 1885 was credited with 561; in 1890, 518; in 1895, 562; in 1900, 509; and in 1905, 582. In 1890 the population of Central City was given as 467; in 1895, 594; in 1900, 623; and in 1905, 607. Walker in 1895 had 485 people, 505 in 1900, and 571 in 1905. In this connection it is of interest to note that in 1836 the population of Wisconsin Territory, of which Iowa was then a part, west of the Mississippi river was, Dubuque county 4,274, Des Moines county 6,257, or a total of 10,531. A second census was taken in 1838, which showed that there were in sixteen counties organized from the original two counties a population of 22,859. Jones county had 241 people at this time, Cedar 557, Johnson 237, and Linn 205. In the first constitutional convention, which met at Iowa City October 7, 1844, and adjourned November 1, 1844, this county was represented by Thomas J. McKean, Samuel W. Durham, L. M. Strong. The constitution adopted by this convention was rejected by the people at an election held August 4, 1845, the vote being, for 7,235, against 7,656. In the second constitutional convention, which met at Iowa City May 4, 1846, and adjourned May 19, the county was represented by Socrates H. Tryon. At the election on August 3, 1846, this constitution was adopted by the people by a small majority. It was presented to congress in December, 1846, and on the 28th of the same month an act was passed for the admission of Iowa into the Union. The third constitutional convention sat in Iowa City from January 19 to March 3, 1857, and adopted a constitution which was ratified by the people on August 3 following. In this convention Linn's representative was Hosea W. Gray. In this county the vote on the constitution was 1,307 yes, 955 no. In the state the vote was, yes 40,000, no 38,681. The result shows the first sign of a change in the political sentiment in state and county. The republicans favored the constitution, and the democrats opposed it. Following are the members of the General Assembly from Linn county from 1846 to date. In the Territorial Legislature, 1843-4, Robert Smythe was our representative in the House of Representatives, and William Abbe in the Senate. J. S. Alexander, Marion, senator 26th, 26th extra session, 27th, 28th and 29th. H. G. Angle, Cedar Rapids, senator 8th, 8th extra session, 9th, 9th extra session. Ellsworth N. Bates, Cedar Rapids, representative 7th. E. J. C. Bealer, Cedar Rapids, representative 29th, 30th, 31st. A. Sidney Belt, Cedar Rapids, representative 11th. J. W. Bowman, Marion, representative 33d, 34th. I. P. Bowdish, Waubeek, representative 17th, 19th. David Brant, Cedar Rapids, representative 26th, 26th extra session. W. R. Brown, Viola, representative 18th. J. P. Carbee, Springville, representative 10th, 11th. J. P. Conkey, representative 5th, 5th extra session. Jennings Crawford, Wapsie, representative 8th, 8th extra session. Joshua Doran, Mt. Vernon, representative 22d. William G. Dows, Cedar Rapids, representative 27th, 28th. Stephen L. Dows, Cedar Rapids, senator 16th, 17th. Charles G. Gitchell, Walker, representative 23d, 24th. John T. Hamilton, Cedar Rapids, representative 21st, 22d, 23d. John W. Henderson, Cedar Rapids, senator 18th, 19th, 20th, 21st. Robert Holmes, Cedar Rapids, representative 5th, 5th extra session. Moses C. Jordan, Central City, representative 16th. Ezekiel B. Kephart, Western, senator 14th, 15th. John E. Kurtz, Lisbon, representative 6th. William B. Leach, Cedar Rapids, representative 12th. William D. Linzenberg, Waubeek, representative 14th, 15th. Dan Lothian, Marion, representative 6th. John McAllister, Cedar Rapids, representative 30th, 31st, 32d. F. McClelland, Cedar Rapids, representative 26th. Arthur M. McKeel, Fairfax, representative 15th. Isaac Milburn, Cedar Rapids, representative 9th extra session. Ernest R. Moore, Cedar Rapids, representative 32d, 33d, 34th. H. J. Neitert, Walker, representative 25th, 26th, 26th extra session, 27th. Jonathan J. Nugent, Nugent, representative 20th. Adam Perry, Western, representative 12th. Isaac M. Preston, Marion, representative 3d, senator 4th, 5th, 5th extra session. A. St. Clair Smith, Cedar Rapids, representative 25th. J. H. Smith, Cedar Rapids, senator 22d, 23d. Robert Smythe, Mt. Vernon, representative 1st, 1st extra session, senator 12th, 13th, representative 20th. Oliver O. Stanchfield, Cedar Rapids, representative 13th. Redman D. Stephens, Marion, representative 18th. W. C. Stuckslager, Lisbon, representative 28th, 29th, senator 30th, 31st, 32d. John M. Terry, Cedar Rapids, senator 24th, 25th. W. G. Thompson, Marion, senator 6th, 7th, representative 21st. William Ure, Fairfax, representative 16th, 17th. E. D. Wain, Mt. Vernon, representative 7th. Edgar A. Warner, Waubeek, representative 13th. Charles Weare, Cedar Rapids, representative 10th. Amos Witter, Mt. Vernon, representative 8th, 8th extra session. Joseph B. Young, Marion, representative 9th, 9th extra session, senator 10th, 11th. Linn county has never had a governor, lieutenant governor, a secretary of state, state auditor, state treasurer, or member of railroad commission. John W. Atkins served as superintendent of public instruction from 1882-1888. John T. Hamilton served as speaker of the house during the session of 1890. S. N. Parsons served as secretary of the senate in the 24th General Assembly. George Greene, Jr., served as adjutant general from 1890-1894. L. S. Merchant was state binder during the years 1885-88. George A. Lincoln has been fish commissioner continuously since April 1, 1901. James H. Trewin is serving as a member of the state board of education. J. T. Hamilton was a member of the state board of control from 1906-1909. Johnson Brigham, a former resident of Linn county, has been state librarian since 1898. On the supreme bench of this state sat George Greene, Norman W. Isbell, and J. H. Rothrock. L. S. Merchant was state oil inspector for a few months in 1893. He was succeeded by Luther A. Brewer, who served from 1893-1897. In congress we have had the following representatives: Wm. Smythe, and Wm. G. Thompson, Marion; J. T. Hamilton, and James W. Good, Cedar Rapids. CHAPTER XL _The Bridges Across the Cedar at Cedar Rapids and Early Steamboating on the Cedar River_ One of the most enterprising men who devoted all his time to the upbuilding of Kingston, which later became part of Cedar Rapids, was David W. King, who arrived a short time after Robert Ellis. Mr. King and the settlers on the west side of the river early devised schemes by which to get in touch with the east side and the county seat. True, it was all right when the river was frozen over and in summer when the river was down so that it was safe to ford the stream, but there were times when it was impossible to ford the river on account of high water. D. W. King obtained a license to operate a ferry across the river, which he continued to run up to the time of his death in 1854. This ferry was operated till about 1857 when the bridges were opened. Even for some time after the first bridge was put in operation did the ferry do much business, as the first bridge soon after it had been completed went out with the flood in the spring of '57, and the second bridge, finished that fall, also went out by an ice gorge in January the next year. Then for a time the ferry was used from and to May's Island as the bridge from the east side to May's Island had been properly erected so as to stand the floods. The establishment of a ferry at this point brought trade to Cedar Rapids and accomplished much in making Cedar Rapids a business center, to which place travelers and others came. It was not till many years later that free bridges could be offered to the citizens of the town. But in this respect the city was ahead of other cities of the state. It was David W. King who early began a toll bridge, and it is said that "when the boulder in the river near the Watrous mill was visible the early pioneer could with safety drive across the river." If it was not they had to pay for crossing on the toll bridge. David King's ferry was the first step in the direction of progress in Cedar Rapids. By virtue of a law which went into effect December 22, 1848, Mr. King was authorized to establish and keep a ferry across Cedar river at a point in Linn county opposite Cedar Rapids for a term of ten years with exclusive privilege for the space of one mile on either side. Here King for a number of years did a thriving business, and Cedar Rapids received the benefits of the trade which extended west into Benton county. THE FIRST BRIDGE In an old paper, being part of the records of the house passed January 23, 1853, the following may be found: "An Act to create a Board of Commissioners with authority to erect a free bridge across the Cedar River at Cedar Rapids in Linn County. "SECTION 1. Be it enacted by the General Assembly of the State of Iowa that John M. May, Frederick A. Williams and Gabriel Carpenter be and are hereby appointed and constituted a Board of Commissioners to receive voluntary subscriptions in trust for the erection of a free bridge across the Cedar river at Cedar Rapids in Rapids Township, Linn County, with a draw of not less than forty feet in said bridge for the free passage of boats and other craft navigating said river. "SEC. 2. Provided, that the Board should furnish Bonds in the sum of $20,000.00 to be approved by the County Judge of Linn County. "Sec. 4. Providing, that the construction of the bridge should be begun within ninety days from the time of the beginning to collect subscriptions and that the bridge should be completed within two years from the time that active work was begun." This bridge was begun in the fall of 1856 and completed during the winter of 1856 and 1857. It was located below May's Island at the foot of Daniels street, now Seventh avenue. This bridge was really gotten up to spring a real estate boom in property owned by Carpenter, Major May and others on the west side of the river. It is said Major May himself subscribed $1,000. However, the location of the bridge was ideal. It was needed and was something the people of the town took a great pride in; in the early day toll bridges were the rule and not the exception. During the early spring of 1857 this bridge in a high flood was carried away and two sisters by the name of Black, living on the west side and who were crossing the bridge at the time, lost their lives. During the following summer there was much agitation for a bridge, especially by the people having real estate and residing on the west side of the river and farmers who had located in the western part of the county as well as in southeast Benton county. During the summer a floating bridge was built across the river at what is known now as First avenue. This was also a short lived bridge, having been carried away by the ice gorge in the spring of 1858. During the same summer materials were secured and some was saved from the old bridge and a temporary bridge was erected across May's Island, between May's Island and east Cedar Rapids, while on the west side a ferry boat was used. In February, 1855, the county court granted a license for twenty-five years to H. G. Angle for the erection and maintenance of a toll bridge at First avenue. It provided that no other toll bridge should be erected on the river for two years within two miles on either side of this contemplated toll bridge. In the decree of the court it was also mentioned that in case a free bridge was constructed within two miles a reasonable sum of money should be paid to the person or company owning the toll bridge. This toll privilege was transferred in the following year to George Greene, John Weare, William Greene, P. W. Earle, A. F. Steadman, H. E. Higley, N. B. Brown, Lowell and Lawson Daniels, E. H. Dobbs, J. J. Child, and J. P. Rogers. This bridge, however, was not opened for traffic until the winter of 1859-60. The stockholders were made up of Cedar Rapids people, and at one time the stock was above par. The prices charged were as follows: 25 cents for a double team and wagon; for driving cattle 5 cents a head: for driving sheep 3 cents a head; and for pedestrians 1 cent each. Some time later reduction was made by the management for round trip ticket holders. Many squabbles were had over these tickets. It is said that an Irishman came to T. J. Dudley, Jr., wanting to start suit for preventing him returning, he having lost his round trip ticket, and offering him $10.00. Mr. Dudley quietly went down to the office of the company and told the man to cross. He was permitted to do so and willingly parted with his $10.00 to Dudley, the latter paying the customary price to the gatekeeper. This story of Dudley's wit, showing how a lawyer got the best of it, was repeated in many families in Cedar Rapids, and as a consequence a number of young men took up the study of law for a profession. For a number of years citizens residing in west Cedar Rapids and in the eastern part of the county made various attempts for a free bridge across the river. Much of the grain and produce came from Benton county and the western part of Linn county. A number of grain merchants and others were located on that side of the river and had their grain in storage at that place and were asking the railroad authorities for permission to erect freight houses on that side of the river. A number of citizens of Cedar Rapids who were interested in Kingston real estate also attempted this enterprise, believing that the time was not far distant before Kingston would become the more important town of the two. A petition was circulated for a free bridge across the Cedar river and presented to the board of supervisors to take the matter under consideration. At the January term, 1871, the board appropriated $14,000 for the purpose, providing that the city or citizens of Cedar Rapids, or both, should guarantee to furnish the balance of such sum as should be necessary to pay for a first-class iron bridge across the Cedar. It was further provided that no part of the county funds should be expended until the whole sum necessary had been raised by subscription or otherwise. The citizens of Cedar Rapids, and others interested in the city, at once circulated petitions for funds and also authorized the mayor of Cedar Rapids to call an election and vote on the question of issuing bonds to aid in the construction of said bridge. This petition was signed by S. C. Bever, one of the early bankers, and by more than fifty citizens wanting a bridge located at what is now First avenue, asking that the city vote bonds to the extent of $6,000, promising that the citizens would guarantee the balance for the erection of a bridge. Another petition was signed by John F. Ely and about one hundred other citizens all interested in locating the bridge at the foot of Park avenue, now Third avenue. These gentlemen asked for the issuance of $12,000 worth of city bonds, and were willing to guarantee any additional sum necessary over and above the amount appropriated by the county and city, which they were to raise by private subscription. Thus, there were two factions within the city, one working against the other in the matter of the location of the bridge. These factions were composed, of course, of people who were interested in the location at a point that would be most advantageous to their private interests. During the winter of 1870-71 it was very cold and severe until in March when it became suddenly warm. Heavy rains followed and the river on or about the first of March was very high and the ice commenced to move out. Large quantities of ice came rolling and surging down the stream and carried everything down the river. In a few days the toll bridge at First avenue went down, struck by one of the ice floes which made it collapse. The Bourne saw mill also became a total wreck, and more or less damage was done to all the mills along the river. On account of the disaster to the toll bridge all communication with Kingston was cut off and it became necessary to do something at once. The city council was called together and the mayor called for an election. In this council sat J. J. Snouffer, Dr. Mansfield, Stephens, C. C. Cook, David Denlinger, E. S. Hill, James Bell, and E. Robbins, with Mayor Thomas Z. Cook. The city voted bonds to the extent of $12,000 by a majority vote of 483 for and 83 against the bond proposition. All this time E. Robbins, one of the aldermen, operated a small boat called the "Aurora," which had previously been used between this point and Vinton, as a ferry boat above the dam. It was so arranged that eight teams could cross at the same time. About the same time Keech & Co. established a ferry boat that was operated by horse power attached to a cable stretched across the river. [Illustration: JUDGE N. M. HUBBARD] The two men having the most to do with the building of this bridge were William Ure, a member of the board of supervisors, from Scotch Grove, and William Richmond, a part of the city council, who had charge of the entire work. These men devoted a great deal of their time in helping along the speedy construction of the bridge. The contract for the superstructure was let in April to Messrs. O'Hanlan and O'Hara at a cost of $22,000.00. The contract provided that the work should be done within ninety days from April 15th. The bridge proper was erected by the Canton Bridge Company, of Canton, Ohio, and cost about $20,000 for the abutment and piers. The other necessary masonry work made a total cost of $42,000. The bridge fund consisted of the following amounts: The county expended $15,000; city bonds, $12,000; subscriptions paid, about $16,000. For many years this bridge was considered as a county bridge and all moneys used for repairs were paid from the county bridge fund; later it was looked upon as a city bridge, and repairs, etc., were paid for out of the city treasury. This bridge was completed August 15th and a celebration was had. It is still used and the bonds have long since been paid. During the year 1874 the board of supervisors appropriated $8,000 for the B avenue bridge and the citizens subscribed $22,000, of which sum N. B. Brown subscribed $5,000, George Greene $4,000, William Greene $4,000, Higley estate $2,000. A contract was let for the bridge in September, 1874, in the amount of $28,500; other additions were made, making the bridge cost about $32,000. Fourteenth avenue bridge, known as the James street bridge, was begun in August, 1875, and completed in December of the same year at a total cost of $27,000. The county appropriated for this bridge $11,500, the city $6,000, and the property owners paid $9,500, T. M. Sinclair paying the largest amount. The First avenue bridge was constructed in 1884 at a cost of about $25,000, the bridge being opened for traffic in November, 1884. The Second avenue bridge, being a cement bridge with railings, cost about $110,000, and was opened for traffic in December, 1905. The new Fourteenth avenue, or James street, bridge was commenced by the Union Construction Company in 1909, and completed in the spring of 1910 at a cost of about $80,000. EARLY STEAMBOATING ON THE CEDAR The following account of some early steamboating adventures on the Cedar river is from the pen of B. L. Wick, and is taken from the first volume of the _Proceedings_ of the Historical Society of Linn county. It is of interest. The subject matter of steamboating on the Cedar will scarcely attract any attention today and means only a pleasure jaunt with more or less inconvenience among sandbars on the upper river. However, historically speaking, steamboating on this river was an epoch-making period for this section of the country, and the prosperity of our city was due in a large measure, to our dam, our grist, saw and woolen mills; and to our steamboat traffic. These industries made Cedar Rapids. It has been said that the history of a town is frequently the history of a great river. This is true of nearly all the great European cities and is equally true of the great marts of commerce in this country. The great Father of Waters has, however, played an important part in the development of the middle west, of which great body of water the Red Cedar is one of its many tributaries. It has been stated that this great river system has 16,000 miles of navigable waters, and it is further the river along whose banks at least three of the European powers have contested for the extension of territory. I shall leave this discussion out of the question, and confine myself to one of its many branches--the Red Cedar. It was not till August 7, 1807, that Robert Fulton propelled the Clermont up the Hudson by means of steam navigation at the rate of five miles an hour, and solved forever, the great question of water navigation. It was not long till the inventor and his friend, Livingston, extended their operations to the great west, and began building steamboats at Pittsburg, and on December 6, 1812, the "Orleans" of 400 tons burden, was the first steamer which made the trip to New Orleans, and thus opened up the newly acquired possessions. This boat was commanded by W. I. Roosevelt, a sturdy ancestor of a worthy descendant. Prior to this time the products of the great West had been transported by means of rafts and flat boats, both slow and dangerous. Now river trade could be carried on up as well as down the river, and in what was then considered very quick time. During the year 1819, Capt. Nelson was the first to propel a steamer, "The Independence," up the Mississippi river from St. Louis. It was not till 1825, according to an old pioneer, Dr. Isaac Galland, that Capt. James White, commanding the steamer "Mandan," passed the rapids at Keokuk. In 1831, Col. George Davenport, the founder of the town which bears his name, explored the Red Cedar as far as Rock creek, and at this place established a trading post with the Indians, which continued for four years. This is the first navigation of this river by the whites on record. The first steamboat on the Des Moines river, of which we have any knowledge, was in 1837, which arrived as far as Keosauqua. The first keel boat was owned by Capt. Cash, and came up in the following year. It seems that the settlers of the territory early began to encourage steamboat traffic with the world. On the 12th of January, 1839, the legislature of Iowa Territory empowered a company to incorporate in the amount of $200,000, in order to build a slack water canal from the Cedar river to the Mississippi by way of Rock creek. An act was also passed for the inspection of steamboats, boilers, etc., at this session. Congress on November 6, 1846, for the purposes of improving the river traffic, granted certain lands to the Territory of Iowa, to aid in the improving of the Des Moines river for the purpose of navigation. Even the other day a large appropriation was granted for the erection of locks and a canal at the Keokuk rapids on the Mississippi. The Red Cedar river is about 248 miles long and is comparatively free from any rapids as far as this city, and hence, was early looked upon as one of the most favored rivers for steamboat navigation. The Iowa, into which the Cedar empties, is about 240 miles in length, and not so favorable for navigation. It is well known that Linn county was created by an act of the legislature of Wisconsin territory, and approved December 21, 1837; and the spot which our city now covers, was settled the following spring, by Osgood Shepherd and William Stone, soon followed by Robert Ellis, Philip Hull, the Listebargers, Thos. Gainer and David King. [Illustration: VIEWS ALONG THE CEDAR RIVER] One cannot speak of steamboating without mentioning Robert Ellis, our respected pioneer who landed on the present confines of our city May 8, 1838, and found only one shanty inhabited, which was on the present location of the T. M. Sinclair packing house, and was owned by Philip Hull; the other hut was built near the Cooper mills and was then vacant as the owner, Osgood Shepherd, had gone east for his family. Mr. Ellis located on his present farm that summer and obtained a patent for it from President Polk, and he is no doubt one of the very few in this county who hold title direct from the government of this date. Mr. Ellis in the winter of 1846, had three flat boats built at Palo, each boat being sixty feet long, sixteen feet wide and drawing three feet of water when loaded. On these boats he loaded four thousand bushels of wheat which he consigned to Noble and McCutchins, of Burlington, millers of that place. On each boat he had three men and these were provided with side oars to be used when they got into bends of the river. They started with their cargo the latter part of March and arrived after some trouble at Burlington; when arriving at Burlington the firm were in financial trouble and it looked as though the men could not get their pay, but it was finally arranged if Mr. Ellis could take flour to New Orleans, they could then realize some money and he would be paid. They remained here for some little time, and started out the three flat boats again, loaded down with flour. They were a long time in getting down the stream but kept on paddling when they got fast in the stumps and otherwise floated down the river. By the latter part of June they arrived at New Orleans in safety and disposed of the flour, but again were unable to realize on the flour as it had been consigned to certain brokers and the payments were tied up. They took in the slave markets and otherwise looked around the great city which was now the great emporium of the west and the southwest, and then took steamer for Burlington. Arriving at Burlington Mr. Ellis stood no show of getting his money, but trusted to luck and bought a horse, riding horseback from Burlington to Cedar Rapids. Not till that fall did he realize anything on this wheat deal, and finally was paid after much trouble by the parties, who were not dishonest, but whose property interests had been tied up so they were unable to realize on their goods sufficiently to pay creditors. The new waterway of Robert Ellis became the subject of conversation for some time afterwards, and it inspired others to greater activity. The people realized that they must have an outlet, for their produce and cheapen transportation, if possible. It became the subject of serious consideration by the settlers. If this question could be solved, the greatness and importance of the city as a commercial center would be assured. By 1839, keel boats had reached Ivanhoe, and quite a trade was carried on at certain seasons of the year, mostly in the spring, and much grain and farm products were taken away in trade for provisions. Thus Squire Holmes, the Higley Bros., Daniels & Co., and several others, from Marion and Cedar Rapids, in the early forties built flat boats at Westport and Ivanhoe and traded groceries and other articles the farmers needed for wheat, pork, and other produce. This stuff was shipped in the early spring on flat boats. Sheds were also erected so as to store the grain until such time as the boats could be loaded. Old Henry Rogers also erected a saw mill and shipped a little lumber down the river. It was dangerous and not practical to get the lumber down stream, and the scheme was abandoned. The first large Mississippi steamer, which came as far as our city limits, was in the month of August, 1844, called the "Maid of Iowa," when a number of settlers and also a part of Mormons came as landseekers. "The first stream boat at Cedar Rapids was the 'Maid of Iowa' commanded by Capt. Chas. Ross. She landed and cabled to the saw-mill on the 3rd of August, 1844, just as the sun was setting."--Extract from Account Book kept by N. B. Brown. On this boat was Rev. Isaac Searles, born in 1812, who located in Johnson county in 1842. He gave the first sermon in true Methodist fashion from the deck of the steamer, and talked to a large concourse of people who had assembled from the surrounding country. Each passenger was offered a lot by the enterprising people of the city. As a result of this steamboat venture, a Methodist church was organized at the home of one of the Listebargers. During the next ten years, many large and small Mississippi steamers made the Cedar river points as far as Cedar Rapids, and quite a trade had been established between St. Louis, Keokuk, Burlington and this part of the state. The last of the large Mississippi steamers, which made Cedar Rapids, was the "Uncle Tobey," of two hundred tons burden, which made her way up here among the brush and overhanging willows in the spring of 1853, and remained at the Third avenue landing for several days, at what is now the Warfield-Pratt-Howell building. When departing, after taking on a large cargo of grain and produce, she steamed up the river and turned down the channel on the west side of May's island. A number of people are still living who remember this steamer and the shouts and waving of handkerchiefs as the steamer glided smoothly down the river and out of sight. From the _Annals of Iowa_, Vol. 5, page 401, I quote the following showing the rainfall in this state from 1848 to 1855: "In 1848, 26 inches; 1849, 49 inches; 1850, 49 inches; 1851, 74-1/2, inches; 1852, 49 inches; 1853, 45 inches; 1854, 23 inches and in 1855, 28 inches." Up to 1858, the rainfall was below the average, while during the years from '58 to '59, it was above the average. From the newspapers of that time, it seems that there were a great many floods during the summer months, so that steamboating was common on all the rivers during the entire year until frost came. The question has frequently arisen, whether or not the rain fall was greater fifty years ago than now, and on the whole, from the old settlers, and from reports, as kept, it would seem to be about the same. All agree, however, that there was more water in the rivers, and they give their reasons as follows: "That the channel of the river was more narrow, and that the rivers were deeper, and free from the mud and the sand, which have now accumulated due to the tilling of the soil. Then the river banks were lined with trees, which protected the water from the rays of the sun, and the sloughs were filled with water all summer on account of the high grass, and all these sloughs, creeks, bayous, supplied the river with water during all seasons of the year, which is now not the case." All the water which fell in those days found its way into the river, which is not true after the ground became cultivated to any extent, so that it has been figured out that only about a fourth of the water finds its way into the river. This, of course, may be one of the reasons why steamboating was possible fifty years ago and is not now. Of the many enterprising settlers, who came west to make this city their home, there were a number of enterprising, wide-awake and industrious men, who had courage and besides possessed more than ordinary ability along commercial lines. Among these settlers, George Greene, who was a prime mover in every new enterprise, succeeded in organizing a company for the building of a steamboat, to be called the "Cedar Rapids," and to be especially built for navigation upon the Red Cedar river. In this company were, besides Mr. Greene, W. H. Merritt, the Daniels family, Dr. J. F. Ely, Dr. S. D. Carpenter and later, W. B. Mack. A contract was entered into with parties at Pittsburg for the building of a modern steamboat, to be of white oak 155 feet long, single deck, stern wheel, clinker built, to be arranged for freight and passenger traffic, and to draw the least possible amount of water. The contract price for this steamer was $20,000, and it was launched in June, 1858, about three months after the contract was let. It was built at Freedom, Beaver county, Pennsylvania, not far from Pittsburg. As to the subsequent history of this steamer, I shall confine myself to press notices from the _Cedar Valley Times_, which will give you an idea of the people and how much interest they took in this vessel, which was to connect them with the outside world. From the issue of July 8th, I find the following: "News has arrived that the 'Cedar Rapids' left Pittsburg July 1st, with 100 tons of freight." From the issue of July 22nd: "The 'Cedar Rapids' arrived from Pittsburg in three weeks, and is around at the dock at Market St. Roman candles were sent up from her decks when she arrived, and the crowd upon the shores saluted her with renewed cheers and with a firing of cannons; below is her Log: 'Left Pittsburg July 1st, at dark. At Cincinnati the 5th; at Louisville the 8th; arrived at St. Louis the 12th; left the 15th; arrived at the mouth of the Iowa river at 11 o'clock, and took in tow, 60,000 feet of lumber; five feet of water in the channel up to the mouth of the Cedar river. Arrived at Moscow Friday evening. Consignees, William Greene, W. B. Mack, H. C. Camp, groceries; L. Daniels, R. C. Rock, Greene and Hay, hardware; W. W. Smith, O. O. Stanchfield, lumber." The article further goes on describing the steamer as follows: "She is 155 feet long, 26 feet wide, and three feet in the hold. She is a stern wheel, 14 feet in diameter, 18 feet long, buckets being 15 inches wide. She is provided with a decker or smaller engine for supplying the boiler with water, also with a smaller engine for hoisting freight out of the hold. All four engines are separate machines. She is also supplied with appliances, such as water gauge, two Evans safety guides, one on each engine, life preservers, fire hose and force pump, in short, everything to make her a first-class passenger boat. The captain is J. M. Andrews, a gentleman who has had much experience with river navigation; the pilot is Albert Wemper; mate, T. Risley; engineers, J. P. Fulton and W. M. Hunter; clerks, J. C. Graves, A. W. Lamb. She had on 300 tons of freight, and drew only three feet of water, and when light, draws eleven inches. She had on board eighty-four passengers." The above description will give you an idea of the first passenger boat of any note built for traffic in Iowa, and was no doubt at that time, one of the best equipped steamers for passenger and freight traffic owned exclusively by Iowa men and operated upon Iowa rivers. On this steamer, which made its first trip in 1858, was W. B. Mack, a person well known to Cedar Rapids people, and who for half a century, up to the time of his death a few years ago, had been one of the most active business men of our city, and in an early day did much in the east in securing funds from the rich in various investments in this city. Mr. Mack had come to this city in March of this year, at the solicitation of Greene and Merritt, and he entered into a partnership relation with said men in the banking business. He early saw the opportunity for Cedar Rapids as a wholesale center, and purchased stock in the steam ship company, went east in June, purchased a stock of groceries in New York City, had them transported by rail to Pittsburg, and personally saw that they were properly stored on the "Cedar Rapids." On the route he made a purchase of a considerable cargo of Kenawha salt. All of which were shipped to Cedar Rapids, and was the first exclusive wholesale stock of groceries in this city. This had an effect of reducing the price of salt from $5 per barrel, to one-half, and it had the further effect of reducing the price of nearly every commodity, so that Cedar Rapids, on account of its transportation facilities, became known as a cheap trading center, and I believe has retained that reputation up to the present time. On this first trip of the "Cedar Rapids," came as a passenger from Pittsburg, Susan H. Greene, better known to you, as Mrs. A. S. Belt. If we could only have the impression of what this seventeen-year-old young lady saw on this trip from Pittsburg to Cedar Rapids, in the '50s, along this historic waterway, we should undoubtedly have at least a chapter of the history of the country and of the life of the people as she observed it, and it would no doubt make a valuable addition to the history of this county. The "Cedar Rapids" made in all, twelve trips during the season, to St. Louis, stopping at every point along the way to pick up cargo or passengers. In this respect, the captain was much like President Stickney, of the Great Western, who replied to the manager of an electric road the other day, wanting certain traffic relations established, that he would stop for a farm wagon, providing there was anything in it. Of the Cedar Rapids business men, who, during this time received large shipments of goods from time to time, I note the following: A. C. Keyes, J. S. Cook, A. H. Atwell, H. C. Camp, H. G. Angle, W. W. Smith Bros., Stanchfield, Taylor, Greene, and W. B. Mack. From the issue of July 29th, I find the following: "The 'Cedar Rapids' left for St. Louis yesterday, and had in tow, a barge loaded with 1,138 sacks of oats, 736 sacks of wheat, some corn and 938 barrels of flour. At Rochester it will take on 200 barrels of flour. It had besides twenty passengers. It was frequently difficult to get under the bridge at Moscow, so a quantity of sand was taken on board at Cedar Rapids to weigh the steamer down sufficiently to get under the bridge, when the weight of the cargo was not sufficient." On October 14th, the newspaper again mentioned the steamer having arrived from St. Louis with a good cargo, the bulk of which was 45,000 feet of lumber, consigned to O. O. Stanchfield and Gordon & Enos, the captain further reports low water and numerous sand-bars. The steamer seems to have run until about the middle of November, when she was laid up at St. Louis, and was expected to have gone into winter trade on the Red river. Dr. S. D. Carpenter and G. W. Hollet having gone to New Orleans to make the arrangements. The newspaper for December speaks of the parties having returned unable to book the steamer for the winter trade on the Red river, as she was not constructed properly for Southern trade. Early in March of the following year the whistle of the "Cedar Rapids" again greeted the denizens of this city, bringing a large cargo of freight, leaving again on the 14th with 4,300 bushels of grain and sixteen passengers. On this trip was one of our honored townsmen, George Haman, who had come from Mifflin county, Pennsylvania, two years previously, and who now was on his way to St. Louis to buy his first stock of drugs. He returned in about ten days with a well selected stock, and has been in active business in the same location ever since. The officers this year were captain, B. Tay; clerk, G. W. Hollet, mate, T. G. Isherwood, and pilot, Merrit. Mr. Haman speaks in glowing terms of the fine treatment received while on board, of the luxurious staterooms and of the magnificent table which was fit for a king. On one of these trips certain machinery was broken at Rochester, and it was thought that they had to go afoot to Muscatine to make the repairs before the steamer could proceed further. A village blacksmith by the name of Jim Grant, a cousin of the general, after looking over the broken piston rods, said in his laconic way, "I'd rather pound away here all summer, than have a man walk to Muscatine and back," and he was as good as his word, for in the morning he had the damage repaired and received a good day's wages and three cheers from the crew and the passengers. In the issue of May 5th, the paper mentioned the steamer "Cedar Rapids" as departing from this city for Burlington with 9,000 bushels of grain with A. W. Lamb as captain. This was the last trip the "Cedar Rapids" made on Cedar river water, as by the issue of May 19th the paper speaks of the "Cedar Rapids" sinking another steamer near Burlington. Mr. Isherwood tells me, that the steamer which was sunk was called the "Canton" and owned by John Roads of Savannah, Ill. The accident was due to a mistake of signals. The injured parties held the "Cedar Rapids" and a long litigation ensued, which was a severe blow to the stockholders, who lost their steamer. The sound of the whistle of the "Cedar Rapids" was never heard again, and it closes the chapter as far as steam boating below the dam is concerned. The day of steamboating was about over. A new method of transportation was devised, and millions of dollars which had been spent by the state and by the nation was now of but little account, and the grants of land which had been made in order to improve the navigation of our river, was now changed, and given in the extension of railroads. June 15, 1859, is the great gala day of Cedar Rapids, for it is on this day that the last rail was laid which connected us with Chicago, and the far East, and the celebration of this occasion is the most noted that we have ever had up to the present time. There were orators from the East, from the South and from the North, and the news of this celebration was spread broadcast over the land and it seemed to have been of such a flowery kind that it caused the waters of the Cedar to flow backwards, and only Elias Doty has ever since that time succeeded in piloting a steamboat on the murky waters of the Cedar, as far as Rochester. As I have stated before, the dam across the Cedar was erected in 1842, although Mrs. John F. Ely says the dam was never completed, and her husband constantly spent large sums of money to keep it up, and it was not long till quite a traffic was going on above the dam as far as Cedar Falls. Early in 1858, T. G. Isherwood came from Brownsville, Pennsylvania, the son of a boat builder, and he set to work to build the first boat of any size for river traffic. It was built for Freeman Smith & Co., and nearly all the lumber was sawed by Snouffer & Watrous and came out of Bever Park. It made its trial trip on September 30, 1858. It was a stern wheeler, single deck, 125 feet long, 125 tons burden, called the "Export." From the paper of October 7, I quote the following: "The new steamer 'Export' made her trial trip up the river last Friday, having on board some 70 or 80 of our citizens. She performed well, and all on board were delighted with the trip. We are happy to know that the whole community unite in awarding the owners, Freeman Smith &. Co., much praise. The list of officers are as follows: Master, Freeman Smith, Jr.; clerk, S. D. McCaulley; engineer, Tom Stanley; mate, Tom G. Isherwood." The paper for the next few weeks speaks in glowing terms of the "Export" and what a trade the merchants of this city have worked up with the towns along the river. That the boat makes the distance by river from Waterloo in fourteen hours and from Vinton, in five hours. The Waverly _Republican_, then edited by our townsman, J. O. Stewart, asks the people of Waverly and the surrounding country to obtain their goods by way of Cedar Rapids, as the cheapest and quickest method by which to get goods into that region of the country. Mr. Isherwood speaks of the boat doing a big business, both in freight and passenger traffic, and that on the whole he did a paying business for the short time it was in service. On this first trip, was enrolled as a member of the crew, George Horridge, a young tinner, who had recently come from the east, and who is now well and favorably known as a banker and capitalist at Vinton. Marion Evans, now mayor of said town, tells me of running a mile and a half to the river to see this first steamer, and when he saw the smoke from the smoke-stack he hid behind the hazelbrush thinking of the eruption of Vesuvius. The paper of October 21st speaks of a picnic party having chartered the boat and gone up the river, and among the names of those well and favorably known to most of you, at least by name, I shall mention a few: George Greene, Dr. S. D. Carpenter, Dr. Lyon, J. F. Ely, J. S. Cook, Rev. Durley and ladies. During the winter the "Export" was sold to J. J. Snouffer and W. D. Watrous. It was remodeled, called the "Blackhawk," and on March 16th made its first trip to Waterloo, with J. J. Snouffer as captain and George A. Ohler as chief carpenter. Arriving at Vinton, they were unable to get under the bridge, and threatened to destroy it. A council of war was held and it was finally decided to elevate one span of the bridge about four feet, and Ohler superintended the work. Mr. Snouffer tells me that the biggest business the steamer did was on June 15th, when he carried 107 passengers at $5.00 a head for round trip for the Cedar Rapids celebration, including board and lodging. He made in all, twenty-nine trips, and during this season, free of all expenses, netted the owners $2,000. The "Blackhawk" as remodeled, was 110 feet long by 19 feet wide, and had two rows of berths on each side, and accommodated 24 passengers, besides a crew of seven people. It took four cords of wood per trip. The table of distances by river compiled by the pilot on the "Blackhawk" is as follows: Palo, 14-1/2 miles; Benton City, 42 miles; Vinton, 50 miles; La Porte, 82 miles, and Waterloo, 113 miles. It was sold to Burley & Durlin, and the owners accepted one-half of the purchase price in land. The cash was never paid, and attachment was gotten out for labor claims and the boat was sold for $19.00. It was sold to a preacher, at Western, who threw up the deal, and again the boat was sold to N. B. Brown and John Curliss, the entire purchase price being paid in woolen goods. On account of dry season, the boat was sent south and was sold by the owners to the government for $6,000 during the war, and was used for carrying provisions for the soldiers on the Tennessee and Cumberland rivers. At one time some of the Linn county soldier boys saw the little steamer make its way up one of the rivers, and a yell went up for the old "Blackhawk." The sight of the steamer brought them nearer home. On one of the trips Mr. Snouffer made that summer, the wife of the fireman, who was acting as maid, was taken ill and the captain sent two doctors who were passengers to examine her. After a hurried examination both came up very much excited, stating that the patient was suffering from spotted fever and for him to stop the boat that they wanted to get off at all hazards. Mr. Snouffer thought perhaps of damages and financial loss so he was in no hurry to comply, but took the husband and went into the small cabin up next to the smoke-stack to investigate for himself. There was the woman in great stress of mind and much worried. He took hold of her hand and tried to rub the spots out and sure enough it was found that during the night the coloring in the cotton goods had colored her arms and the headache was no doubt due to the stuffy room and extremely warm quarters. It is needless to say that for the rest of the trip the doctors were made the butt of ridicule by the passengers. The "Surprise" freighted between this city and Vinton in '63 and the next steamer was known as the "Nettie Munn," being a stern wheeler 70 feet long and 12 feet wide, and was brought here from Wisconsin by Mr. Passmore in 1866, and was blown up at Kelsey's landing the following year. Another steamer was built by E. Robins and used as a ferry boat, and in the wool and lime trade, but was never fully equipped, and was sunk many years ago. The "Carrie Wallace" was built by W. G. Brock in about 1870; was 16�40, a stern wheeler without state rooms, and was used mostly to tow barges, excursion steamers, etc., and was blown up about 1879-80. The "Kitty Clyde" was run awhile and abandoned. John Kozlovsky built the "Rose" in the early days, and after a steamboat venture on the river, was minus several thousand dollars, but had gained a heap of experience in the meantime. The boiler of the "Rose" was shipped to Solon to be placed in the grist mill, and the engine was sent to Spirit Lake, while Captain Elias Doty bought the hull for a mere song in 1884. In this "Rose" hull, Capt. Doty installed the boilers of an abandoned steamer, the "Carrie Wallace," and into it he also installed the engine of an old freighter, called "General Weaver." This combination, Doty called the "Climax." A stock company was organized with the amount of $1,000 and is the only stock known on record which never at any time went below par. Doty put in $600, and his Cedar Rapids friends the balance. He says that he was not out any interest as he had the money in the bank when he started. He was out only his time, but he didn't count that much, as he had all the time there was, and a whole lot of fun in the bargain. It is true, he lost the principal, but then the captain consoles himself with the fact that he might have lost that anyway. The "Climax" was not the only boat the "Governor" ran, for a number of years he had a side wheeler called the "Khedive" and another boat named after his patron saint of greenback days and called the "General Weaver." After his exploits upon the river the captain, like the snail, carried his house with him, and for a number of years, one of the hulls of one of his stranded boats is said to have served him as a photograph gallery. There had been more or less trouble growing out of the fact that this river and the Iowa, which seems to have been known as one stream, were navigable, as the people preferred bridges and dams to open river fronts. In an Act of Congress passed May 6, 1870, the following appears: "That so much of the same river as lies north of the town of Wapello be and the same is hereby declared not a navigable stream." Another act was passed on the 18th day of August, 1894, to the effect that "so much of the same river as lies between the town of Toolsborough and Wapello in Louisa county, Iowa, shall not be deemed a navigable stream, but dams and bridges may be constructed across it." Thus it would seem that the Iowa and Red Cedar rivers for nearly the entire distance in Iowa are not navigable so far as Congress has the right and power to enact such laws, which of course merely refer to whether or not such streams may be used for other purposes than navigation. After all, the story of steamboating is a history of a struggle, which began under auspicious circumstances, and ended in financial failure, but for all that, it made a new Cedar Rapids, and we perhaps today, are profiting by the failures of half a century ago, for it shows what energy and public spirit its first citizens had, which left an impression upon the community and upon the state. We must bear in mind, that Cedar Rapids had only 2,000 people and the county less than 18,000, when these enterprising men of energy, perseverance and thrift put $20,000 into a hazardous undertaking, and even presented passengers and crew with corner lots on arrival. Well might the first passenger have said, when he stepped off the steamboat landing, at Third avenue, much like Moore said of Washington a hundred years ago, "An embryo capital where fancy sees, Squares in morasses and obelisks in trees," but the observing traveler, amid these crude surroundings, must have been alive to new impressions, for Cedar Rapids was a thrifty place, even then, where the new man was a pilot on a boat today, and a banker tomorrow, and although the waters of the Cedar henceforth ran quietly by, unhindered by paddle or screw, railroad building claimed the attention of its people, and they became equally at home on land, as they had been on water. Just the other day I asked one of your old settlers why they could keep up several newspapers in that day, really before they had a postoffice. The venerable ex-postmaster replied with fire in his eye, "Why, heavens sakes my man, it took three newspapers to keep up the town." I have attempted to give you an idea of steamboating on the Red Cedar. I have omitted much, and can only say in the words of the old miller, that he sees not all the water that goes by his mill. Neither have I mentioned all the steamboat ventures on the beautiful Cedar. In this connection it is of interest to note a report made by B. L. Wick to Lew W. Anderson, chairman of the River Front Improvement Commission of Cedar Rapids, under date of May 8, 1909, which report was later submitted to the authorities at Washington, and an appropriation made for a survey of the Cedar. The survey was made in 1909, and report submitted that it was not feasible without a large expenditure of money to make the river navigable except for a short distance from its mouth. Dear Sir: I have been requested to state my views on the practicability and the importance of the navigability of the Cedar river, and will say that for the past ten years I have devoted more or less study to this subject from a historic standpoint, and will herewith give you my views. I believe that what you want more than anything else is whether or not the Cedar river has been navigated formerly, whether or not the rainfall is the same as it used to be, and whether or not there is at present a demand for the opening of this river as a water way for transportation purposes. Historically speaking, traffic on the Cedar river was an epoch making period of this section of the country in the early pioneer days, and the prosperity of Cedar Rapids and other cities was due in a large measure to the river traffic which in those days made, at least, this city what it later became. The first notice we have of a white man exploring what is known as the "Red Cedar River" was by Col. George Davenport as early as 1831 when he established a trading post, at Rock Creek. The first steamboating on the Des Moines river was about in 1837, and from this time on the Des Moines, the Iowa and Red Cedar became the inland water ways by which grain was exported and freight was brought up from the cities on the Mississippi river. As early as 1839 the legislature of Iowa territory empowered a company to incorporate in the amount of $200,000.00 to build a slack water canal from the Cedar river to the Mississippi river by way of what is known as "Rock Creek," and while this project did not come to anything, it shows that the people of this early day believed in a public water way in order to come in contact with the towns along the river further up. The Red Cedar river is about 248 miles long and is comparatively free from any rapids as far as Cedar Rapids, and hence was early looked upon as one of the most favored rivers for steam boat navigation. The Iowa river, into which the Cedar river empties, is about 240 miles in length and is not so favorable for navigation. One of the early settlers who first saw the use of this inland water way was Robert Ellis, who came to these parts in 1838 and who is still living, and who, as early as 1846, caused three flat boats to be built, each boat being about sixty feet in length, sixteen feet in width and only drew three feet of water when loaded. On these boats he loaded 4,000 bushels of wheat consigned to certain millers at Burlington; at Burlington he unloaded the wheat and loaded the same boats with a cargo of flour which was duly taken to New Orleans. From this time on much wheat, corn, bacon, and other articles were shipped from Cedar Rapids to Burlington, Keokuk, St. Louis, and other places on the Mississippi. It is also true that Mr. Haman, one of the oldest druggists of this city, went to St. Louis for his first stock of drugs and these were brought back by water. W. B. Mack, one of the early settlers, and one of the first wholesale grocers, secured a cargo of salt in Ohio, which was duly freighted to Cedar Rapids and caused a decline in the price of this commodity in the amount of $5.00 a barrel. It is known that as early as 1839 keel boats had reached Ivanhoe, and quite a trade was carried on at certain seasons of the year. The first Mississippi steamer which came as far as our city limits was in the month of June, 1846, called "The Maid of Iowa," when a number of settlers came this way as land seekers and at a time when each passenger was offered a lot by the enterprising people of this city. During the next ten years many large and many small steamers made the Cedar river towns as far as Cedar Rapids, and quite a trade had been established between St. Louis, Keokuk, Burlington, and other cities. One of the large Mississippi steamers of 200 tons burden was "The Uncle Tobey," which made her way up here among the brush and hanging willows in the spring of 1853, having on board a large cargo of freight. To show how much importance the river was to the early settlers it might be well to state that in the fifties--in about 1857--a contract was entered into for the building of a steamer about 155 feet long, single deck, stern wheel, clinker built, to be arranged for freight and passenger traffic and to draw the least possible amount of water. The contract price of this steamer was $20,000.00, and it was launched in June, 1858, and was put into service, arriving at Cedar Rapids July 22, having arrived from Pittsburg in three weeks, stopping at all the cities along the way; this boat had on board about three hundred tons of freight, drew only three feet of water, and had on board nearly one hundred passengers. This was, undoubtedly, the best built passenger and freight boat put on Iowa rivers at that time; during that season this boat made in all twelve trips. On the first trip down stream on July 29, of that year, the papers show that she was loaded down and had in tow a barge loaded with 1,138 sacks of oats, 736 sacks of wheat, some corn, and nearly 1,000 barrels of flour. On one of the trips in October up stream this boat had on board 45,000 feet of lumber; in the following summer this boat got into a collision with another steamer on the Mississippi, and on account of a lawsuit the boat was tied up by litigation. For a number of years a profitable steamboat business was carried on in the spring of the year above the dam between Cedar Rapids, Vinton, Waterloo and other places. The early settlers all agree that navigation was possible in those days and profitable as well. It was just at this time when steamboating became certain and settled that the railroad entered Cedar Rapids in June, 1859, and from that time every enterprise which was started was in the line of railway extension as well as transportation. [Illustration: PARK VIEWS IN CEDAR RAPIDS] As to the rain fall, it seems that there has not been much difference between the rains of sixty years ago and now. I collected the following from the _Annals of Iowa_, Volume 5, page 401, being the rain fall from 1848 to 1855. In 1848, 26 inches; 1849, 49 inches; 1850, 49 inches; 1851, 71 inches; 1852, 49 inches; 1853, 45 inches; 1854, 23 inches; 1855, 28 inches. From this the average rain fall of Iowa, I believe, is estimated at about 33 inches. It would appear from 1858 the rain fall was below the average, while during the years up to 1858 the rain fall was above the average. From the newspapers that I have consulted in regard to the rain fall during these years it seemed that there were a good many floods during the summer months so that the steamboating was good until about November, when the boats were taken down south for winter traffic on the southern rivers. As to the rain fall, I have further investigated among the old settlers, and from reports which were kept, it seems that there is not very much difference in the rain fall now and fifty years ago; however, there is this difference, which all agree on, that the channel of the river was more narrow and that the river was deeper and free from mud and sand, which has now accumulated due to the tilling of the soil. The river banks were lined with trees which protected the water from the rays of the sun, and the sloughs were filled with water all summer on account of the high grass, and these grasses and sloughs supplied the river with water more so then than now, as more of it evaporated on account of the tilling of soil and on account of the cutting of the grass than formerly. All the water which fell in those days found its way into the river, which is not true after the ground became cultivated to any extent, and it may be true that only one-fourth of the water which falls now finds its way into the river. Another question may arise "is it practical?" This is a question not easily answered. It is certain that it can not be done through private enterprise; if it shall succeed at all it must be through state or government aid in part, at least. There is no question but what it will be useful, but whether or not the expenses would be too great to undertake such an enterprise--that remains a debatable question. There is water enough in the river, especially by putting in a dam at Moscow and by straightening the channel a little, so that there will be enough water for the number of months during the year to haul much of our heavy freight, and, if necessary, these products could be stored further along the river until such a time as it was deemed advisable to sell and dispose of the same. Heavy freight requires slow transit and a cheap rate, and such can as well go by water as by rail. For this reason it would be possible to ship by water, grain, cereals, as well as cattle, and there would be a great saving to the farmers of this part of Iowa. A conservative estimate of freight paid in Cedar Rapids during the past year is no less than $2,500,000.00, all of which is paid to five railroads which have connecting lines in this city. It is also estimated, and I have been told on good authority, that during October, 1908, the tonnage receipts in this city were as follows for the Rock Island railroad: Live stock 4,638,800 pounds Coal 14,659,303 pounds Brick 383,900 pounds Stone 1,603,200 pounds These are only a few of the larger items and there are a great many more of nearly equal importance with those cited above. There has also been shipped out in farm and dairy products for the year ending 1908 from Linn county 1,980,218 pounds Cedar county 733,708 pounds Benton county 451,297 pounds Black Hawk county 1,032,444 pounds Buchanan county 1,980,218 pounds These are a few of the items from the counties which are tributory to this river. For the year 1907 I will mention the yield of a few cereals in counties adjoining the Cedar river, to-wit: Buchanan county 1,942,750 bushels corn 1,011,000 bushels oats Benton county 3,686,100 bushels corn 1,842,800 bushels oats Linn county 3,851,500 bushels corn 1,166,160 bushels oats Johnson county 3,415,170 bushels corn 1,231,100 bushels oats Cedar county 3,211,230 bushels corn 804,500 bushels oats Say nothing of hay, potatoes, barley, wheat, rye and other products. Such a water course would also offer inducement to manufacturing concerns for the manufacture of cereals, etc., which are shipped out in carload lots daily, as well as grain which is cleaned here and sent out to other cities. This will give you somewhat of an idea, not only of the value and productiveness of Iowa soil, but to show the chances of such a water way by which freight products could be handled at a much lower rate than at present, as we have here the same freight rate as they have at Council Bluffs, and by this means we would get the Mississippi rate, which is much less. Such a water way would open up the heart of the corn and oats belt of Iowa and make it possible to get the water rate on large shipments of freight. If the government is now urging a water way enterprise, surely the Cedar river should not be overlooked, for it is a large body of water, with a rich adjoining territory, and by government promotion could be made the carrier of all our products which, as above set out, means millions in bushels annually. It is not likely that the freight shipped into our city would come by water, as it is generally of a kind which is wanted quickly, but there is no question but that the products of our farmers, and all our mills and factories, would be sent by water, on account of cheaper rates to better markets than now. It is only when I visited other countries and studied transportation from cities in England, Holland, Belgium, France and Germany that I realized the small rivers of those countries which have been used for centuries to such an advantage for the carriage of freight. For instance, a river of any size is dredged to a certain depth at government expense; there is a uniform depth of a little better than three feet of water on many of these rivers, and on these bodies of water barges of not less than 1,000 tons pass up and down loaded with freight. This means cheaper freight rates than we have and this in consequence makes products cheaper to the consumer and higher for the producer. Canada, during the past few years, has spent millions of dollars on its rivers and canals, and it is money wisely spent; while we have spent little or nothing in any effort to help the people in the promotion of water ways, which will be the real source of competition in freight rates in the future. I fully believe that the survey of the Cedar should be made, and I believe that if such a survey is made that this stream will be declared navigable, and that the state or nation will step in in order to make definite plans for financing this great enterprise for the carrying on of freight steamers, carrying cargoes as far as the Mississippi, and I believe that enough tariff exists now to warrant such an enterprise. The Cedar river is an important factor now for the purpose of furnishing power, and should also become a factor in transportation as well. This would be the case provided the river would be improved as demanded, which would result in re-establishing heavy freight traffic by water instead of as now wholly by rail. CHAPTER XLI _Banks and Banking in Linn County_ The history of banking in Cedar Rapids and Linn county may appropriately be divided into three periods, designated respectively, Frontier Banking, Country Banking, and City Banking, each possessing characteristics peculiar to itself and expressive of its time. Frontier Banking was coincident with the beginning of business in Iowa, and continuing, covered the pioneer days, prior to the coming of the railroad, and its story is most interestingly told in his own words by Dr. S. D. Carpenter, whose youthful activities were a part of that early life, and who, in his eightieth year, writes as follows: "Something over fifty years ago, as I recall the circumstance, I was greatly elated when the local printer at Cedar Rapids produced a card on which was imprinted 'Carpenter, Lehman & Co., Bankers.' At an earlier period of my life, I had read _�sop's Fables_, but if I had, the story of the Ass who paraded in the Lion's skin did not seem applicable, and I mingled boldly with my companions, who, with equal effrontery, wore the same apparel. The 'protoplasm' from which the bankers of that day evoluted was plentiful and the environment all that could be desired. In a technical sense, it is quite true, there was no necessity for a bank and no business for a banker; there being no commerce, there were no bills to discount; but nevertheless, we established banks and became bankers. This was possible, because we had squatted down in the midst of millions of acres of a very fertile soil, in a genial and healthy climate. The product of land could not be exported, but a large immigration was pouring into the country, hungry for land and sufficiently numerous to consume all the surplus products. Land was the basis of all the live business, and the land agent and real estate dealer evoluted naturally into a banker. Land warrants took the place of commodities, dealers in the east collected them, and sent them to their agents in the west, who sold them at a large advance to the immigrants for whom they entered the land. The western real estate dealer ordinarily did not have capital enough to buy the land warrant, but handled it on a commission for his eastern correspondent until such time as he could accumulate from his profits sufficient cash to buy it outright. The price of the land warrant as purchased from the party to whom issued, was less than one dollar per acre, and was always sold to the buyer who used it at $1.25 per acre, that is a profit of at least 25 cents per acre, and with the continual increase of immigrants the business became of great volume and was correspondingly remunerative. Often the purchaser wanted more land than he had cash to pay for; then the real estate man sold the warrant at the rate of $1.25 per acre, took the purchaser's note for the balance at three per cent per month interest and held all the land as security. At this point, the real estate man became a banker. The first real estate firm in Cedar Rapids was that of Weare, Finch & Co., consisting of John Weare, Jr., Daniel O. Finch, and George Greene. They began business either in 1850 or 1851. I was offered a one-fourth interest in the syndicate for $500.00 and would gladly have taken it, but was unable to raise the requisite capital. Although unable to break into the crib, like many others, I hung around and was able now and then to grab an ear from the overflow. In other words, I became a customer of the bank. Being in the practise of medicine, I became familiar with all the surrounding country. When I discovered a choice location as regarded timber, water, etc., I went to the bank, bought a land warrant at $1.25 per acre, gave my note at three per cent per month, with a cast iron mortgage, and took my chances in the hope of selling at an advance before the maturity of the note. I was so successful in these ventures that I soon abandoned my profession and devoted my whole time to real estate. The real estate operator took advantage of the fact that many of the immigrants brought money with them, which it required time to invest. They had to look up locations to enter or to examine tracts which they desired to buy at second hand. Meantime, they did not wish to carry their money about with them and therefore they deposited it in the bank. The trade of the local merchants also increased, and they gradually became customers, and from these sources came the deposits. The volume of exchange was small, but the bank added something to its income by acting as agent for the payment of taxes for non-residents. The firm of Weare, Finch & Co. soon merged into that of Greene & Weare, D. O. Finch removing to Des Moines to establish a branch of the same house. Greene & Weare did not long enjoy a monopoly at Cedar Rapids. B. S. Bryan, who had been a clerk in their house, and had become familiar with the business, with a brother-in-law named Ward, from New Jersey, opened a rival establishment under the name of Ward & Bryan, some time in 1852 or '53. At that time, the immigration was so large that both establishments had all the business they could manage with their limited capital. It is not probable that either concern was very conservative, but the newer firm had but little capital, and the members branched out in the way of building new residences for themselves, and Bryan went so far as to buy a top buggy and a fine horse. This was going beyond the limit; the pioneer whose aspirations in the way of a pleasure carriage did not extend beyond a two horse wagon, became suspicious. Some renewals of paper in Iowa City and Davenport were refused them, and they had to close their doors. Then ensued a mild financial earthquake, which did not affect the town itself, because no one in the town, except the merchants, had any money on deposit, and they but little, but the sufferers were those who had put their money in the bank preparatory to buying land, and the bankers of whom they had bought land warrants on credit. Wm. Greene and myself, were appointed receivers. The assets amounted to about $35,000.00 and the indebtedness to something more. It took a year or two to close up the business and there was not a very great loss to any one. [Illustration: IN AND AROUND MT. VERNON] "The town had scarcely quieted down from this excitement before it was struck by another financial cyclone of an entirely different character. We had a mail three times a week from Dubuque to Iowa City, the service being performed by four horse Concord coaches; it was before the day of the express companies. All money and other valuable packages came by mail. One day about 9 o'clock in the morning, the postmaster from Marion dashed into town at full speed, bringing the alarming intelligence that a mail pouch had been stolen from the coach in Marion, which had been found cut open and rifled and then concealed in some shavings back of a carpenter shop, near the hotel where the stage stopped to change horses and allow the passengers to breakfast. In the sack and near it, concealed in the shavings, were letters, and a package of land warrants, amounting to several thousand dollars. What was missing was not known. The land warrants were addressed to Greene & Weare. A crowd gathered about the bank and it soon became known that a money package had been in the pouch, but the amount was not given. Soon the report spread about that the bank had lost five, ten, or twenty thousand dollars, the sum varying according to the guessing power of the relator. Immediately John Weare and Wm. Greene started post haste to Marion, where they found a high state of excitement. The town had resolved itself into a committee of 'Sherlock Holmeses,' all devoting themselves to detective business. As a starting point, they were told that the money consisted of bank notes, issued by the Bank of Elgin, Illinois. Suspicion soon pointed to a disreputable blacksmith, living in a small frame house nearby. The stage had arrived at the hotel just before daylight, first driving to the postoffice, where the driver thought he had thrown all the sacks from the boot, but the small one had escaped his notice. The stage stood in front of the hotel and the horses were taken to the stable and fresh ones brought to supply their places. While this was being done and the passengers being at their breakfast, the stage was quite deserted, and it was then, it still being dark, that the thief got in his work. The stage proceeded on its way, and it was not till the carpenter shop, which stood just across the street from the hotel, was opened up for work, that a workman discovered the papers scattered about and finally the pouch itself. The alarm was at once given and the postmaster, as stated, carried the news to Cedar Rapids. It was not known that money had been stolen till Mr. Weare and Mr. Greene arrived. Soon after their arrival it became known that the blacksmith, quite early in the day, had been to the town grocery and much to the surprise of the grocer, paid up a standing account, and bought several dollars' worth of goods, for which he paid cash, with bills of the Bank of Elgin. These bills had not been in general circulation, and the grocer was making inquiries about them, which at once fixed suspicion on the blacksmith, who was immediately arrested and a guard placed about his house. He was searched, but nothing of an incriminating nature found. The house was then thoroughly gone over, and a five dollar bill of the Bank of Elgin found in the crack in the wall behind a looking glass. The man declared his innocence, and the woman said she knew nothing about the discovered bill. They had three children, a boy about thirteen, another eight, and a younger girl. In explanation of the bills paid the grocer, he said a man from Illinois, where he had formerly lived, had passed through the town the day before, and had paid him a bill of long standing in the bank notes that he had given the grocer. This story they stuck to, through all sorts of cross examination. Another diligent search of the house and adjacent premises was made, but nothing found. People living in the house nearest them, said that before daylight they had heard them up, and saw a light in the house, which was an unusual circumstance. The eldest boy, however, explained that he was raising a pet pig by hand, and that he was up so early because his pig was hungry and he had to feed it. Things went on in this manner till nearly night, when a new clew was struck. A woman living at the outskirts of the village had seen the eldest boy pass her house about eight or nine o'clock in the morning, carrying a sack, which apparently had something in it. No one had, however, seen him leave or return to his father's house, and he was there when the arrest was made, but the time that he was seen corresponded to about the time the grocer was being examined about the bills, and the detectives concluded that the blacksmith had his eyes open and surmised that they were getting warm on the trail, and had then sent out the boy with the money in the sack. The boy stoutly denied that he had left the house and that the woman was mistaken. So the matter rested for the first night. The next morning two other persons were found who had seen the boy and the sack at the time mentioned. Then the boy being hard pressed confessed that his mother had sent him out to a neighboring farm to get meal, but not finding any he had left the sack. Mr. Greene took the boy to the farm, but the people said he had not been there. Then he was brought back and again cross examined. He told numerous and conflicting stories, which I have forgotten, but succeeded in baffling the detectives the whole day. In the afternoon, Mr. Weare wrote me from Marion a very despairing note, saying that they were perfectly sure that the blacksmith was the thief, but that there was no clue to the money, which was the main thing, and suggesting that I bring three or four determined men and join him, and try by intimidation, whether it was not possible to frighten him into giving it up. I acted upon his advice and joined him in Marion about nightfall. "I found him at the house of his mother-in-law in company with a couple of dozen of the amateur detectives. They were awaiting the return of Wm. Greene, whom the boy was leading another wild goose chase. It was the consensus of opinion that if the last effort with the boy failed, the crowd should take the old man from the jail and threaten to lynch him. This might possibly make him confess. I felt perfectly sure that the boy had taken the money in the sack and concealed it and argued that it would be more easy to intimidate him than his father, who seemed to be hardened and determined. Objection was made on account of his age, and on the score of cruelty, but they finally agreed that I might make a trial on the boy, and that in case of failure, they would deal with the old man. Pending the discussion, William Greene and the boy drove up in a buggy. The boy had added another to his many lies about the disposition of the sack. He was a sturdy chap of thirteen, and under the embarrassing circumstances seemed pretty cool. When they got out of the buggy William Greene made a final appeal to him. 'My boy,' he said, 'you have been lying to us all day as you well know, but I will make a last offer to you. If you will tell where you have hidden the money, I will give you $200.00 and you shall not be hurt, or anything done to you, but if you don't, I will turn you over to these men, and I don't know what they will do to you.' The boy said, 'that as true as there was a God in heaven, he didn't know anything about the money, and could tell nothing.' Then I took up the role; I seized him by the throat and threw him pretty heavily to the ground, and called for a rope; the crowd had a rope prepared for the old man, which was immediately put about his neck; then I raised him up and told them to throw the rope over the limb of a tree under which we were standing. They did so and drew it taut, and I said, 'now you lying young rascal, we are going to hang you instantly, and if you have anything to say, this is your last chance.' The suddenness of the attack, and the jar he received in falling sort of dazed him; at all events he cried out, 'don't hang me and I will tell.' He at once confessed that he had the money in the sack, and had buried it in a clump of bushes within three hundred yards of where we were. I led him by the rope, followed by the crowd, and in a few minutes a couple of the men unearthed the sack. We then returned to the house, the money was counted and only a few hundred dollars was missing from the original $6,000.00 which the package contained. The boy in the meantime had regained his courage, and on being asked to explain who gave him the money, said that while going with the sack for the meal early in the morning of the robbery, he had met two men, who gave him the money and told him to bury it and they would call in a few days and pay him $200.00 for his trouble, and that his father had nothing to do with it, and knew nothing about it. Asked to describe the men, he looked at the crowd and gave a very accurate description of myself and John Weare, who stood beside me. The bystanders appreciated the joke, and inquired whether Weare and I were not the men. He gave us another look and said he was not quite certain, but they were men who looked mightily like us, if we were not the very men. "The old man was kept in jail but the boy was left with his mother. In a few weeks the prisoner escaped, the boy having with an axe one night dug a hole in the wall of the jail. He and his father were heard of no more, and were never brought to justice. I have always had a sneaking sort of an admiration for that boy and feel certain that he must have reached distinction in some way or another. "The above episode took place, if my memory is not at fault, about 1854-5, and at that time and on till 1857, the real estate dealers and bankers throve apace. Personally I had arrived at a position that I thought entitled me to become a financier, and in company with L. H. Lehman, of Wooster, Ohio, and E. C. Kreider, of Lancaster, Ohio, we opened our doors and proclaimed ourselves bankers under the firm name of Carpenter, Lehman & Co. Soon afterwards another bank was started, the firm name of which I have forgotten, but of it Henry Wood, an early settler of the town, was a member. Thus Cedar Rapids, with a population of less than 2,000, could boast of three banks. Meantime Greene & Weare grew apace, and besides the home institution, within a few years they established branches in Des Moines, Council Bluffs, Omaha, Ft. Dodge, Sioux City, and it may be at other places, and in almost every county seat that I can think of there were two or three banks. Cook & Sargeant, of Davenport, were the Pierpont Morgans of the day, and had even more branches than Greene & Weare. "I cannot remember that there were any banks of issue in Iowa, nor do I know what the banking laws of Iowa were at that time, but if there were any, they were not so favorable as those of the territory of Nebraska. Cook & Sargeant, I believe, were the discoverers of the new field, and organized a bank at an obscure town in that territory named Florence, and very soon currency of the Bank of Florence was in active circulation; to keep abreast of the times, Greene & Weare started a bank at Fontanelle, a still more obscure place in the territory, and bills of the Bank of Fontanelle were greatly in evidence. I do not remember what provisions were made for the redemption of the notes, but imagine that the holders had a pretty tedious journey to get to the places of issue. They however did duty as money, made times good, and stimulated speculation. When the land office was opened at Fort Dodge, I made a trip to that place with John Weare, Jr., who went, I think, to establish a branch there. The journey consumed several days, and on arriving we found all the buildings that had formerly been occupied by the soldiers filled to overflowing with land seekers and bankers. Not only were the old buildings full, but many were in hastily built cabins, and even in tents. There were seven banks in full operation; one in a tent which served as a background for a large sign, announcing that ten per cent would be paid on current deposits. John Garaghty, of Lancaster, Ohio, an old friend of mine, had his bank in one of the recently built cabins. I found him on the floor of the bank, diligently sewing at a bed tick, which was to garnish a bunk in one corner where he slept. He seemed cheerful, but animadverted severely on his competitor in the tent, whom he said was taking a rascally advantage in offering ten per cent interest. Things went on swimmingly for a couple of years. Immigration was large, lands advanced rapidly in price, with plenty of buyers; to make money one only had to buy real estate, so we all cheerfully used all our cash and credit in that line. "Without much warning, so far as I can remember, the hard times of 1857 struck us, as the stringency extended over the whole country. Our supplies were suddenly cut off. We that were wearing the 'Lion's skin' began to bray, and to take to the tall timber. Our firm fortunately had not gotten entirely beyond its depth, but it was in well up to the chin. By strenuous efforts we managed to pay our depositors and then divided our lands, and went out of business, as did the other concern which had started in about the time we did. Greene & Weare were left alone in the field, but their difficulties were great, and the firm was soon dissolved by the withdrawal of John Weare, Jr., whose place was taken by Wm. Merritt, and the name changed to Greene, Merritt & Co. That financial cyclone I should say wiped out at least one-half of the bankers of Iowa, and had they been asked why they failed, they could have answered in the laconic terms of John Thompson, the bank note reporter, to a similar question, 'for want of money.' "For a couple of years thereafter I devoted my whole time to real estate, trying to get rid of my holdings, which were more than I could comfortably carry. In 1859, or thereabouts, having gotten my affairs into better shape, I again embarked in the banking business, having for partners John Weare, Jr., and Henry B. Stibbs, both of whom had been with the firm of Greene & Weare, the former as a partner, the latter as cashier. The firm name was Carpenter, Stibbs & Co. Banking had then become more legitimate. The railroad had been completed to Cedar Rapids. Commission houses had been established. Grain, hogs, and cattle were shipped in carloads, which furnished bills for discount; merchants were on a firmer basis and did a larger business, and the deposits were of considerable volume: real estate and tax paying still had a place, but were inconsiderable. "Things in a commercial way went on pretty smoothly till the breaking out of the Civil war. At that time our currency consisted principally of bank notes from Wisconsin and Illinois, which were based mostly upon state and other bonds held by the banks which issued the notes. As these securities fluctuated so did the value of the notes. Those who held them wanted to deposit in the banks, and when a customer came in, the banker had to refer to Thompson's Bank Note Reporter to ascertain their value, and even when so determined, the risk of the banker was great, because of their liability to depreciate. I remember going to St. Louis, shortly after the war began to withdraw our account from a bank there, and I had to pay 13 per cent for a gold draft. Still we managed to worry along and I do not remember that many failures occurred. When the war broke out, Cedar Rapids raised a company for the first regiment, and as the state had no money, our bank furnished the funds to equip, maintain, and transport the company to Keokuk, where it was mustered into the service. From that time till I entered the army early in 1862, I had little to do with the bank. I was chairman of a committee of thirteen whose duty it was to encourage enlistments and the formation of companies for the service, and by subscription to raise money for bounties, till finally I went myself and was not mustered out till August, 1865. "From the time I left for the war, I had nothing to do actively with the banking business and have never since been behind a banking counter in an official capacity. What little knowledge I have of the early banking in Iowa, I gained there, but as Cedar Rapids was a typical town, I imagine that the banking done there was very similar to that done in all the other towns of the state. "After a lapse of forty-four years, one's memory is not reliable and you must therefore make liberal allowance for errors in date as well as other things. In writing I regret the want of old papers and other data, but have done the best I could under the circumstances. "Truly yours, "SEYMOUR D. CARPENTER." The first constitution of Iowa made the following reference to banks: "The General Assembly shall provide for the organization of all other corporations, except those with Banking privileges, the creation of which is prohibited." For this reason early banking was conducted as a purely private enterprise, or as a branch of some bank incorporated in another state. Prior to the adoption of the second constitution in 1857, it became evident that the state was very much in need of a more stable banking system, so provision was made for incorporated banks, when approved by vote of the people and for "The State Bank of Iowa," which was incorporated July 29, 1858, with power to establish branches and issue circulating notes. Elihu Baker, a Cedar Rapids banker, was the first secretary of the State Bank, and in time fifteen branches were established at different points in the state. Although none was located here, our business interests received substantial benefit from the improved financial conditions that resulted from a safe system and a sound currency. With the coming of the railroad in 1859, Cedar Rapids entered the field of commerce and forever put an end, not only to frontier banking, but to one of the most wonderfully heroic, and, in some respects, beautiful scenes of its human history--the pioneer life. [Illustration: R. D. STEPHENS] [Illustration: ADDISON DANIELS] [Illustration: J. B. YOUNG] [Illustration: I. M. PRESTON] Country banking as conducted today, is less crude, more scientific, and safer than in the time of which we write, but a fundamental condition that has always made it a public necessity remains the same, namely, a local community engaged in the activities of development, production, and commerce. It goes without saying that the banking needs of Cedar Rapids as a railroad town were greater than ever before and several applications were made for permission to establish a branch of the State Bank, none of which, however, was successful. This worthy institution itself proved to be short-lived, for the need that brought it into existence was broader than Iowa and soon crystallized into the National Bank Act, which was adopted by the Federal Congress in 1863, and which provided for a National Bank currency and effectually put an end to all other bank note issues, and the State Bank of Iowa, having fulfilled its mission, redeemed its notes and all other liabilities, and ceased to exist. Although the national system met with much opposition on the part of the larger state banks of New York and elsewhere, and had to overcome prejudice in the minds of many people throughout the country, its positive improvement on the old order of things was quickly apparent to Cedar Rapids bankers, resulting in the establishment of two National banks in 1864, and the race for charters illustrates a degree of alertness and competition in those days that would do credit to the chief of present day hustlers, and verified the old proverb, "the first shall be last," for the First National Bank, with a capital of $50,000.00, received charter No. 500 on August 23d, while the City National Bank, with a capital of $100,000.00, received charter No. 483 on July 19th of that year and was the first to open its doors for business. During the following year, the First National Bank increased its capital to $100,000.00. Published reports, about the end of the year 1865, show total deposits in both banks of nearly $150,000.00, and the full limit of outstanding bank notes $90,000.00 each, thus promptly and amply providing banking facilities for the rapid development that followed the close of the Civil war. City banking within the memory of our older bankers was practically confined to the east and to a very few of the larger cities of the country, and its development in Cedar Rapids and other cities of her class illustrates the evolution of banking methods and evidences the remarkable financial growth of Iowa and the west. In response to the growing needs of jobbing and manufacturing lines, which were then in their infancy, the Merchants National Bank was organized in 1881 by R. D. Stephens. He was an exceptionally able banker, and his untimely death in 1883 deprived the community of a strong force. With the organization of the Cedar Rapids National Bank, which succeeded the private banking business of G. F. Van Vechten in 1887, there was inaugurated a systematic effort to encourage and build up a business with country banks within this territory. Such deposits were carried in moderate amounts before this, but were handled more as a matter of necessary collections on account of the shipments of live stock and grain to this center than as a permanent and profitable branch of banking. It became evident at this time that the rapid development of the state and of wholesale and manufacturing businesses at this point was bringing Cedar Rapids into closer business relations with many other towns, that currency and credit could be handled here with equal safety and with greater profit and convenience than in the distant east, and with population and wage earners increasing, the savings banks assumed their most important place, and thus it came about that city banking, like country banking, was the outgrowth of our mutual business requirements and advantages. Its natural development led to the organization of the Cedar Rapids Clearing House Association in 1902, the designation by government authority of Cedar Rapids as a reserve city for deposits of other national banks in 1903, and to the existence of ten active banks today, holding total deposits of over sixteen million dollars, and completes a record of banking safety that has paid its depositors in full throughout its history. List of Cedar Rapids banks in the order in which they began business: No. Name Opened Liquidated 1 Greene & Weare 1852 1858 2 Ward, Bryan & Co. 1853 1856 3 Carpenter, Lehman & Co. 1856 1857 4 Dodge, Carr & Co. 1856 1857 5 Elihu Baker & Co. 1857 1860 6 Greene, Merritt & Co. 1858 1862 7 Carpenter, Stibbs & Co. 1859 1869 8 S. C. Bever & Son 1862 1864 9 City National Bank July 19, 1864 1898 10 First National Bank August 23, 1864 1886 11 Union Savings Bank February, 1870 1879 12 G. F. Van Vechten Private Bank February 1, 1877 1887 13 Merchants National Bank March, 1881 14 Cedar Rapids Savings Bank May 15, 1883 15 O. N. Hull's Real Estate Bank August 12, 1884 1890 16 Cedar Rapids National Bank February 28, 1887 17 Security Savings Bank April 26, 1889 18 Bohemian-American State Bank June 13, 1892 1894 {Iowa Savings Bank May 1, 1893} 19 { changed name to } 1898 {Bohemian-American Savings Bank September 1, 1894} 20 Citizens National Bank March, 1898 1908 21 American Trust and Savings Bank April 5, 1898 22 Cedar Rapids Loan and Trust Co. February 1, 1900 1904 23 Peoples Savings Bank May, 1903 24 Fidelity Trust and Savings Bank June 1, 1904 1907 25 Commercial Savings Bank December 14, 1905 26 Iowa State Savings Bank July 1, 1906 27 Commercial National Bank July 7, 1908 28 First Trust & Savings Bank August 4, 1910 THE CEDAR RAPIDS CLEARING HOUSE ASSOCIATION The Cedar Rapids Clearing House Association was organized largely through the efforts of R. T. Forbes, at that time cashier of the Citizens National Bank, and J. M. Dinwiddie, cashier of the Cedar Rapids Savings Bank. During the summer of 1902, Mr. Forbes and Mr. Dinwiddie agitated the matter and in October of that year, as the result of their efforts, a committee of Cedar Rapids bankers, consisting of John T. Hamilton, J. M. Dinwiddie, Ralph Van Vechten, James E. Hamilton, J. W. Bowdish, Lawson Daniels, E. W. Virden, E. M. Scott, Ed. H. Smith, E. E. Pinney, and R. T. Forbes, visited Davenport and investigated the workings of the clearing house association of that city. Following that visit to Davenport, a meeting of the representatives of the banks of the city was held on November 3, 1902, at which meeting it was formally resolved to form a local association. A constitution and by-laws were adopted on November 6, 1902, and the clearing house was regularly organized, with the following banks as members: Merchants National, Cedar Rapids National, Citizens National, Cedar Rapids Savings, Security Savings, American Trust and Savings, People's Savings. The first officers, elected December 3, 1902, were: President, J. M. Dinwiddie; first vice-president, E. M. Scott; second vice-president, Ed. H. Smith; treasurer, E. W. Virden; secretary and manager, R. T. Forbes. After formal organization the clearing house lay dormant for several months and it was not until January 4, 1904, that the association actually began the work of daily clearings. The clearings for the first day amounted to a total of $127,000. The average per week for the first year was about $400,000. That the banking business of Cedar Rapids has grown with giant strides the past five years is evidenced by the fact that the clearings are now running well over one million dollars per week and are showing an average gain of 40 per cent over the corresponding weeks of last year. The week ending June 5, 1909, showed the remarkable increase of 130 per cent over the same week of 1908. At the time of organization the banks of Cedar Rapids had a combined capital of $630,000, surplus and undivided profits of $400,000, and deposits of $7,800,000. At the present time they have a combined capital of $900,000, surplus and undivided profits of over $800,000, and deposits of $16,000,000. Since the organization of the clearing house the deposits of country banks has increased from $2,000,000 to more than $6,000,000, savings and time deposits from $4,200,000 to $7,200,000, and individual demand deposits from $1,200,000 to $2,200,000. Such a showing of growth and prosperity is an absolute index of local conditions and speaks more eloquently than words of the substantial manner in which this city is forging ahead in things financial. J. M. Dinwiddie served as president until December, 1906, being succeeded by E. M. Scott, who served until December, 1908. Mr. Scott was succeeded by J. W. Bowdish, who resigned in March of this year, being succeeded by Kent C. Ferman. R. T. Forbes served as secretary and manager until December, 1906. He was succeeded by Charles Fletcher, Jr., who held the office until July, 1908, when he was succeeded by W. J. Elliott. E. W. Virden, the first treasurer, was succeeded by John Burianek, Jr., who served until December, 1907, when he was followed by Louis Wokoun. The present officers are: President, Kent C. Ferman; first vice-president, James E. Hamilton; second vice-president, John Burianek, Jr.; treasurer, Louis Wokoun; secretary and manager, W. J. Elliott. The present membership comprises all the banks of the city, as follows: Merchants National, Cedar Rapids National, Commercial National, Cedar Rapids Savings, Security Savings, American Trust and Savings, People's Savings, Iowa State Savings, Commercial Savings. The clearing house association rooms are under the Merchants National Bank, and here representatives from each bank in the city meet at eleven o'clock each day to exchange checks, or "clear" the day's business. The Commercial Savings Bank was organized December 13, 1905, with a capital stock of $50,000. Its officers were C. H. Chandler, president; W. C. LaTourette, vice-president; James L. Bever, Jr., cashier; with C. H. Chandler, James L. Bever, Sr., W. C. LaTourette, H. Cushman, John B. Bever, C. B. Robbins, E. J. Carey, A. Jeffrey, and C. Denecke, directors. The bank has enjoyed due prosperity. There have been some changes in its officers, C. H. Chandler continuing as its president to this date. C. B. Robbins and E. J. Carey are the present vice-presidents, and Ed. B. Zbanek, its cashier. The Iowa State Savings Bank opened for business January 6, 1906, at the corner of Tenth avenue and Third street. The capital stock was $50,000. It is known as the "South End Bank," and was organized for the especial accommodation of business men and individuals in the southern portion of the city. The first officers were: A. Tomec, president; V. O. Hasek, vice-president; and Joseph Lesinger, cashier. The present officers are: V. O. Hasek, president; J. J. Cerveny, vice-president, and Joseph Lesinger, cashier. Present capital stock $50,000; surplus, $5,000; total resources, $525,000; deposits, $700,000. The People's Savings Bank was organized March 10, 1900, with T. McCarthy, president; H. E. Witwer and J. J. Powell, vice-presidents; E. W. Virden, cashier; and T. McCarthy, H. E. Witwer, J. J. Powell, John M. Redmond, Wm. King, George H. Boyson, A. H. Wolf, Theodore Stark, and Fred H. Shaver, directors. A. H. Wolf and George H. Boyson, having disposed of their interests in 1903, at the annual election held January, 1904, C. L. Miller and George G. Grupe were elected in their places. T. McCarthy, on account of his health, did not desire a re-election as president, and E. W. Virden, having accepted a position in Louisiana, caused a vacancy in the presidency and cashiership. At that meeting the following officers were elected: H. E. Witwer, president, J. J. Powell and Fred H. Shaver, vice-presidents; and John Burianek, Jr., cashier. On January 9, 1906, at the annual meeting, Mr. Redmond being unable to serve as a director, did not desire re-election and in his place John Burianek, Jr., was chosen. On the death of J. J. Powell in 1908, Wm. King was chosen one of the vice-presidents. The directors now are H. E. Witwer, T. McCarthy, F. H. Shaver, G. G. Grupe, Wm. King, C. E. Tuttle, E. S. Seeley, John Burianek, Jr. Originally this bank had 83 stockholders, the number now being 53. It has a surplus of $25,000, undivided profits of $10,000, and deposits of nearly $900,000. Early in 1911 the bank will occupy its new building on the corner of First street and Third avenue west, one of the handsomest in the state. The Cedar Rapids National Bank was incorporated February 28, 1887, and succeeded to the business of G. F. Van Vechten, banker. The original directors were A. T. Averill, Geo. B. Douglas, G. F. Van Vechten, Joseph S. Cook, C. Magnus, J. M. Ristine, and C. B. Soutter. Changes in the board of directors have occurred as follows: In 1888 P. E. Hall succeeded J. M. Ristine. In 1891 Ralph Van Vechten succeeded C. Magnus. In 1896 Mr. Magnus was reelected to succeed C. B. Soutter. In 1899 Ed. H. Smith was elected to fill the vacancy caused by the death of J. S. Cook. In 1906 P. E. Hall was succeeded by J. H. Ingwersen. In 1906 C. Magnus retired from the board, and in January, 1907, J. M. Ristine was elected to fill the vacancy. In 1909 C. D. Van Vechten was elected to fill the vacancy caused by the death of G. F. Van Vechten, and in 1910 Glenn M. Averill was elected to fill the vacancy caused by the death of his father, A. T. Averill. The present personnel of the board is as follows: Ralph Van Vechten, Geo. B. Douglas, Ed. H. Smith, J. M. Ristine, J. H. Ingwersen, C. D. Van Vechten, and Glenn M. Averill. The original officers were A. T. Averill, president; G. F. Van Vechten, vice-president; Ralph Van Vechten, cashier. A. T. Averill served continuously as president until his death in 1910, and was succeeded in office by Ralph Van Vechten. G. F. Van Vechten was vice-president until the time of his death, which occurred in 1909, and he was succeeded in office by Geo. B. Douglas. In February, 1905, Ralph Van Vechten resigned his position as cashier, to assume the second vice-presidency of the Commercial National Bank of Chicago. At that time he was elected to the position of second vice-president of the Cedar Rapids National Bank, being succeeded as cashier by J. H. Ingwersen. In 1908 Mr. Ingwersen resigned as cashier to accept the presidency of the Peoples Trust and Savings Bank of Clinton, Iowa, and Kent C. Ferman, who had been assistant cashier since 1904, was appointed cashier. In 1904 John Fletcher was appointed assistant cashier, and Miss Anna Smouse auditor. In 1906 Mr. Fletcher resigned to accept the assistant cashiership of the Drovers Deposit National Bank of Chicago. In 1908 Louis Visha was appointed assistant cashier, and in 1909 Martin Newcomer was appointed as assistant cashier. [Illustration: S. S. JOHNSON An Early Cedar Rapids Settler] The present officers are therefore as follows: Ralph Van Vechten, president; Geo. B. Douglas, vice-president; Kent C. Ferman, cashier; Louis Visha, assistant cashier; Martin Newcomer, assistant cashier; and Miss Anna Smouse, auditor. The bank has a capital of $100,000, a surplus of $100,000, undivided profits of over $100,000, and deposits of more than $3,500,000. The Security Savings Bank was incorporated March 18, 1889, and opened for business April 26, 1889. The original stockholders numbered 87, of whom 22 have since died. The original directors were G. F. Van Vechten, C. J. Ives, J. R. Amidon, Walter D. Douglas, Chas. H. Clark, Jno. E. Murray, W. W. Higley, J. R. Morin, and W. F. Severa. Changes in the board of directors on account of death or disposition of stock have occurred as follows: In 1894 P. C. Frick succeeded J. R. Morin; in 1895 E. M. Scott succeeded W. F. Severa; in 1896 B. H. Witwer succeeded Chas. H. Clark, whose death occurred during that year; in 1899, on account of temporary removal from the city, W. D. Douglas resigned and was succeeded by C. D. Van Vechten, but on the death of W. W. Higley, later in the year, Mr. Douglas was reelected to succeed him. In 1906 D. K. Harbert succeeded C. J. Ives, who died that year, and in January, 1910, Emma M. Van Vechten was elected to succeed her husband, G. F. Van Vechten, whose death occurred the previous September. President Van Vechten and Vice-President Ives served the bank continuously from its organization to the date of their respective deaths; Vice-President Amidon continuously since organization, and President Scott the same--first as cashier, then vice-president, and after Mr. Van Vechten's death, as president. On January 1, 1908, J. W. Bowdish was engaged for one year to relieve Mr. Scott, during the building period, and served as cashier throughout that year. Cashier Frank Filip entered the employ of the bank in 1894, was promoted to assistant cashier in 1904, and made cashier in 1909. The original capital stock was $50,000, which was later increased to $75,000, then to $100,000, and on March 24, 1908, to $150,000. The present surplus is $100,000. Its total deposits are now about $1,800,000, belonging to 5,000 depositors. The bank first opened for business at 211 South Second street. In 1893 it erected on its own ground, 26�60 feet, on the corner of Second avenue and Second street, a three-story brick bank building, containing the first exclusive safety deposit vaults in the city. In 1902 additional ground was purchased and in 1907 the three-story brick adjoining on the south was purchased and the bank removed to a temporary office in this building, while its old home was replaced by its present eight-story, steel frame, fire proof office building, where its banking apartments are modern and complete. The Bohemian-American State Bank was organized under state charter and commenced business June 13, 1892, with a capital of $60,000, its officers being W. F. Severa, president; S. L. Dows, vice-president; J. W. Bowdish, cashier; V. A. Jung, assistant cashier. Among its organizers were W. F. Severa, S. L. Dows, J. H. Douglas, F. Braun, Jos. Woitishek, Jos. Renchin, E. E. Pinney, H. B. Soutter, T. C. Munger, C. Butler Weeks, J. J. Powell, and Warren Harman. It had a successful career and paid dividends from its commencement. It was consolidated September 1, 1894, with the Bohemian-American Savings Bank, in order to avail itself of the more liberal charter given by the state to savings banks, the stockholders and depositors practically all remaining with the new organization. The Iowa Savings Bank was organized under state charter and commenced business May 1, 1893, with a capital of $50,000. Its officers were James H. Douglas, president; W. F. Severa and H. B. Soutter, vice-presidents; J. W. Bowdish, cashier; and V. A. Jung, assistant cashier. The directors were J. H. Douglas, F. Braun, H. B. Soutter, Warren Harman, Jos. Woitishek, S. L. Dows, W. F. Severa, T. C. Munger, C. Butler Weeks. On September 1, 1893, the articles of incorporation were changed, increasing the capital to $60,000, and changing the title to Bohemian-American Savings Bank. At the same date the Bohemian-American State Bank, desirous of the benefits of the more liberal charter offered savings banks, arranged to consolidate its interest with the Bohemian-American Savings Bank, which consolidation took effect September 1, 1894. The Bohemian-American Savings Bank enjoyed a prosperous growth, notwithstanding the effect of the panic of 1893, probably as severe a financial panic as at that time had ever been experienced. It paid regular semi-annual dividends and continued prosperous until its consolidation, March 28, 1898, with the Citizens National Bank and the American Trust and Savings Bank, two newly organized banks, the Citizens National Bank taking over the commercial department, and the American Trust and Savings Bank absorbing the savings department. The Cedar Rapids Savings Bank was incorporated March 13, 1883, and opened for business May 15, 1883. The original stockholders numbered 36, of whom eight have since died. The original directors were Jno. T. Hamilton, Lawson Daniels, Chas. B. Soutter, Robert Palmer, F. C. Hormel, Jas. L. Bever, Geo. W. Bever, A. T. Averill, and F. J. Upton. Changes in the board of directors on account of death or disposition of stock have occurred as follows: In 1884 E. I. Foster succeeded F. J. Upton; in 1891 M. A. Higley succeeded Mr. Foster; in 1892, at the death of F. C. Hormel, J. M. Dinwiddie succeeded him; in 1897, J. M. Terry succeeded A. T. Averill; in 1900 Robert Sinclair succeeded M. A. Higley, Geo. Goodell succeeded Jas. L. Bever, and E. R. Moore succeeded Geo. W. Bever. President John T. Hamilton, Vice-President Chas. B. Soutter, and Cashier J. M. Dinwiddie have served continuously since the organization of the bank. The original capital stock of the bank, paid in cash, was $50,000, which has been twice increased--the first time to $75,000, and then to $100,000. The present surplus of the bank is $65,000, and the deposits over $1,850,000. The contract for the bank's six-story, fire proof building, the first six-story structure in the city, located at the corner of Third avenue and Third street, was let May 30, 1895, and the building was occupied in May, 1896. In 1909-10 an addition was erected, so that the building is now 90�140 feet. Its present officers are John T. Hamilton, president; Chas. B. Soutter, vice-president; Robert Palmer, vice-president; J. M. Dinwiddie, cashier; and W. J. Elliott, assistant cashier. Its directors are: John T. Hamilton, Chas. B. Soutter, J. M. Dinwiddie, Robert Palmer, Robert S. Sinclair, J. M. Terry, and Walter L. Cherry. The Merchants National Bank, of Cedar Rapids, was organized February 28, 1881, the first board of directors being R. D. Stephens, John W. Henderson, P. C. Frick, W. W. Higley, J. C. Broeksmit, A. B. George, S. L. Dows. Its first president was R. D. Stephens. John W. Henderson was chosen vice-president, and Charles E. Putnam, cashier. Mr. Stephens died in April, 1883, and was succeeded by M. A. Higley as president. In the spring of 1899 John T. Hamilton purchased the Stephens and other interests in the bank, and on June 5, 1899, succeeded Redmond Stephens as director. On July 1, 1889, M. A. Higley tendered his resignation as president, after more than sixteen years' service in that position, John T. Hamilton being chosen president, which office he still holds. Chas. E. Putnam remained as cashier of the bank from the organization to January 14, 1905, when he resigned and was succeeded by James E. Hamilton, who had been assistant cashier since January 28, 1901. On the consolidation of the Merchants National and the Citizens National, May 18, 1908, James E. Hamilton was made vice-president, and John S. Broeksmit, who had been cashier of the Citizens National, was made cashier of the new and consolidated Merchants National. The original capital stock of the Merchants National was $100,000. The present capitalization is $200,000; surplus, $200,000; deposits of nearly $5,000,000. From the time of its organization in 1881 until the consolidation with the Citizens National in May, 1908, more than twenty-seven years, the Merchants National occupied the room in the Ely block at the corner of Second avenue and Third street. The bank is now occupying elegant quarters in the remodeled Cedar Rapids Savings Bank building. The present officers are John T. Hamilton, president; P. C. Frick, vice-president; James E. Hamilton, vice-president; John S. Broeksmit, cashier; Edwin H. Furrow, assistant cashier. The American Trust and Savings Bank was organized under state charter and commenced business April 5, 1898, with a capital of $50,000. Its first officers were George W. Bever, president; E. E. Pinney and W. F. Severa, vice-presidents; R. T. Forbes, cashier. Its first board of directors consisted of E. E. Pinney, J. L. Bever, J. B. Bever, W. F. Severa, Jas. H. Douglas, Geo. W. Bever, F. Braun, T. C. Munger, and Joseph Renchin. The object of its organization was to establish and conduct a strictly savings business. It took over at the date of its commencement the savings department of the Bohemian-American Savings Bank, and its total deposits on April 9, 1898, were $175,338.23, its location then being at the corner of First street and Second avenue. On February 22, 1899, it moved into the Masonic Temple at the corner of First street and First avenue, which location it still occupies. In 1901 the capital was increased from $50,000 to $80,000. This was rendered necessary owing to increased deposits, in order to comply with the then existing statutes governing the relative allowable amounts of deposits to capital stock. On January 1, 1908, the controlling interest in the bank passed into the hands of Ernest R. Moore, Louis Wokoun, and others of their associates who were the dominant factors in the Fidelity Trust & Savings Bank, of this city. They arranged and carried out the consolidation of the two institutions. The officers then elected and board of directors named continue until this time. The present officers are Ernest R. Moore, president; W. F. Severa, S. G. Armstrong, and Otto Sikora, vice-presidents; Louis Wokoun, cashier. The board of directors are: C. J. Deacon, Lew W. Anderson, George Chadima, F. Braun, S. G. Armstrong, W. F. Severa, Ernest R. Moore, W. R. Boyd, and Frank J. Pudil. On January 1, 1909, the capital of the bank was increased to $100,000, and the surplus to $50,000. The deposits now aggregate $1,650,000, with total assets of $1,900,000. The Citizens National, Cedar Rapids, was opened March 28, 1898, capital $100,000 which was increased to $200,000 January 2, 1906. Its first officers were J. L. Bever, president; J. R. Amidon, vice-president; J. W. Bowdish, cashier; directors, J. L. Bever, W. F. Severa, J. B. Bever, F. Braun, J. H. Douglas, E. E. Pinney, J. T. Hamilton, G. W. Bever, R. Williams, J. R. Amidon, T. C. Munger. In May, 1908, after a prosperous career this bank was consolidated with the Merchants National. The Commercial National, Cedar Rapids, was organized July 7, 1908, with a capital of $100,000, and the following officers: Jas. L. Bever, president; W. C. La Tourette, vice president; J. L. Bever, Jr., cashier; Homer Pitner, assistant cashier. The First Trust & Savings Bank, which is closely connected with the Commercial National, having the same officers, was organized August 4, 1910, with a capital stock of $50,000.00. These two banks have had a remarkable growth, the combined resources now being over $1,500,000. The dean of Cedar Rapids bankers, Jas. L. Bever, takes an active interest in both institutions. The present officers are: J. L. Bever, president; J. L. Bever, Jr., W. C. La Tourette, vice-president; Homer Pitner, cashier, and F. D. Snakenberg, assistant cashier. The Cedar Rapids Loan & Trust Company was organized on February 1, 1900, with a paid up capital of $50,000 for the purpose of doing such a trust business as the laws of Iowa authorized. Those who were most active in the organization and who constituted the first board of directors were as follows: Ed. H. Smith, president; L. W. Anderson, first vice-president; W. G. Dows, second vice-president; S. S. Dorwart, S. S. Sweet, E. E. Clark, Ralph Van Vechten, N. M. Hubbard, Jr., John A. Reed, S. G. Armstrong, and W. L. Crissman. Its board elected L. M. Rupert as secretary and the officers as first selected remained the same during the corporation's continuance under the name of the Cedar Rapids Loan & Trust Company. The company was located at the northwest corner of First street and Second avenue and was conducted as a trust company until June 1, 1904, when a majority of the capital stock passed into the hands of Ernest R. Moore and Louis Wokoun and their associates. In order to bring the institution under the operation of the general savings bank laws of the state and to permit it to transact a general banking business the articles of incorporation were amended to change the name to The Fidelity Trust & Savings Bank while at the same time the office of the bank was changed to 116 South Second street, a location much nearer the business center of the city. Under the reorganization the stockholders selected the following officers and directors: W. W. Hamilton, president; Ernest R. Moore, first vice-president; W. G. Dows, second vice-president; Louis Wokoun, cashier; S. G. Armstrong, E. E. Clark, H. L. Walker, C. J. Deacon, L. W. Anderson. This bank was later consolidated with the American Trust & Savings Bank. The Ely Bank, of Ely, was organized in January, 1903, with J. H. Smith, president; Ed. H. Smith and I. B. Smith, vice-presidents, and George L. Benish, cashier. The bank is a private one, and the present officers are the same as the original ones. The Bank of Palo was organized May 23, 1908, with a capital stock of $10,000, and the following officers: J. W. McClintock, president; Carl Rabe, vice-president; G. E. Carrier, cashier. Its present officers are: J. W. McClintock, president; John Lewis, vice-president; R. W. Waite, cashier. The State Bank of Central City was organized January 17, 1906, with P. G. Henderson, president; E. K. Hatch, vice-president; Ed. Leclere, cashier; A. T. Minehart, assistant cashier, and P. G. Henderson, E. K. Hatch, F. W. Blakely, O. R. Barber, Eugene Doe, H. L. Shakespeare, and E. E. Henderson, directors. Since that time there have been but few changes in the officers. At present the officers and directors are: P. G. Henderson, president; Eugene Doe, vice-president; F. Leclere, cashier; H. F. Lockwood, assistant cashier; E. G. Henderson, Eugene Doe, O. R. Barber, H. L. Shakespeare, W. N. Goldsberry, Anton Falcon, and E. E. Henderson, directors. When the bank was organized it took over from the Bank of Central City deposits to the amount of $72,802.29. The bank has grown steadily, and the deposits are now over $350,000.00. Originally the capital stock was $25,000.00, which was increased to $35,000.00 in July, 1909. The stock is owned by forty-one farmers and is conducted principally for the farmers. It opens at seven o'clock in the morning and does not close until six o'clock in the evening. The Linn County Savings Bank, of Center Point, was organized April 23, 1906, with L. Gilchrist, president; W. Langsdale, vice-president; Homer Pitner, cashier, and J. F. Stauffer, assistant cashier. Owing to the resignation of the cashier, J. F. Stauffer was later made cashier, and E. E. Silver, assistant cashier. The capital stock is $20,000.00, and the bank has a surplus of $3,000.00. [Illustration: THOS. J. McKEAN] [Illustration: N. W. ISBELL] [Illustration: WM. GREENE] [Illustration: O. S. BOWLING An Old Cedar Rapids Settler] The Fairfax Savings Bank was organized May 15, 1907, with a capital of $10,000.00 and with officers as follows: H. N. Woodward, president; Henry Lefebure, vice-president; Charles Young, cashier; Lewis Stallman, Joseph Vorel, J. F. Dvorak, William Park and D. J. Cahill, directors. On August 1, 1908, G. W. Storey was chosen cashier in place of Charles Young, resigned. C. J. Knickerbocker was elected assistant cashier in September, 1908. The directors today are: James M. Rogers, E. J. Cahill, J. F. Dvorak, Joseph Vorel, L. F. Lefebure, H. N. Woodward, and Henry Lefebure. The bank has grown steadily since its organization and now has deposits amounting to $100,000.00. The private bank of Stuckslager & Auracher, of Lisbon, was founded in 1874 with Harrison Stuckslager as president, and Gotleib Auracher as cashier. The officers today are W. C. Stuckslager, president, and John Auracher, cashier. It has a capital of $100,000.00. The Alburnette Savings Bank was organized in April, 1908, with E. M. Lanning, president; Samuel Maier, vice-president, and Geo. F. Miller, cashier. There has been no change in officers except that W. F. Stauffer was elected assistant cashier in August, 1909. The bank has a capital of $15,000.00, and a surplus of $1,500.00. It succeeded the Alburnette Bank, which was a private institution, and has enjoyed a steady growth. The Prairieburg Savings Bank was organized October 1, 1904, with C. L. Niles, president; H. F. Came, vice-president, and F. J. Cunningham, cashier. There has been but one change of officers, C. E. Buckley being the present cashier. The bank has a capital stock and surplus of $14,600. Its growth has been steady and satisfactory. The Bank of Troy Mills was organized in March, 1908, with Floyd J. Ware, president, and Thomas A. Ware, cashier. These, with Marie R. Ware, assistant cashier, are the present officers. The institution has a capital stock of $20,000.00, and a surplus of $5,000.00. The Coggon State Bank was organized in 1892 with Jacob Mangold, president; G. A. Schenkowitz, vice-president, and H. T. Brainerd, cashier. The present officers are S. N. Goodhue, president; J. H. Ehlers, vice-president; D. D. Johnson, cashier, and Wallace S. Hamilton, assistant cashier. The bank has a capital stock of $25,000.00, and a surplus of the same amount. It has deposits of nearly $300,000.00. The Exchange Bank of Springville was established in 1878 by Joseph S. Butler, with a capital of $25,000.00. The firm name of the owners is J. S. Butler & Son, with C. F. Butler, president, and Sam James, Jr., cashier. It has a capital stock of $75,000.00 and resources of $400,000.00. The Exchange State Bank of Walker was established in 1885 as a private bank by H. J. Nietert, and was organized as a State Bank March 1, 1907. The present officers are H. J. Nietert, president; Martin Schneider, vice-president; Theo. W. Hawkinson, cashier; H. J. Nietert, Martin Schneider, Henry Fairchild, E. N. Beach, William Trevor, John B. Michael, Theo. Hamblin, Chas. O. Barry, and Adam Zimpfer, directors. It has a capital stock of $50,000.00, a surplus of $5,000.00, and undivided profits of $10,000.00. It is worthy of note here that this was one of the few banks that met their payments in cash during the panic of 1907. The Mount Vernon Bank was organized January 16, 1884, by William Smith, James Carson, and H. H. Rood, Mr. Carson being the president; Mr. Rood the vice-president, and Mr. Smith the cashier. The officers today are: W. C. Stuckslager, president; D. L. Boyd, vice-president, and Chas. M. Hartung, cashier. The bank has a capital stock of $100,000.00. The Marion Savings Bank was incorporated February 22, 1889, by Andrew J. McKean, E. A. Vaughn, F. G. Hervey, J. S. Alexander and Jay J. Smyth, Mr. Smyth being the president and S. N. Goodhue the cashier. It has a capital stock of $30,000.00, and deposits today of over $300,000.00. The officers at present are: B. F. Mentzer, president; J. W. Bowman, cashier; B. F. Mentzer, W. W. Vaughn, F. A. Shumack, J. S. Alexander, Karl W. Kendall, C. H. Kurtz and J. W. Bowman, directors. The Farmers & Merchants State Bank, of Marion, was organized in 1894, with Samuel N. Goodhue, president; George W. Toms, vice-president, and E. J. Esgate, cashier. Two years later George W. Toms succeeded Mr. Goodhue as president, and T. J. Davis became vice-president. In 1902 A. M. Secrist succeeded Mr. Davis as vice-president. The present officers are George W. Toms, president; A. M. Secrist, vice-president, and E. J. Esgate, cashier. The capital stock of the bank is $60,000.00, surplus, $5,000.00. The directors of the bank are: George W. Toms, A. M. Secrist, W. B. Carpenter, Garry Treat, D. H. Correll, C. C. Carpenter, W. P. Secrist, W. E. Beall, A. E. Granger, W. J. Goodyear and E. J. Esgate. The Commercial Savings Bank, of Marion, was organized March 1, 1905, with E. R. Mason, president; F. A. H. Greulich and H. C. Oxley, vice-presidents; H. C. Millen, cashier, and E. H. Millen, assistant cashier. There has been no change in officers since organization. The bank has a capital stock of $25,000.00, and undivided profits of $3,000.00. It has deposits of over $350,000.00, and has shown a steady growth each year. The First National Bank, of Marion, succeeded the private banking firm of Winslow, Stephens & Co., in 1862, with R. D. Stephens as its first president, and A. W. Cranden as its first cashier. Later, J. W. Bowdish became cashier until succeeded by Jay J. Smyth. In 1881 Mr. Stephens organized the Merchants National Bank of Cedar Rapids, but continued as president of the First National Bank of Marion until his death, March, 1883, when Louisa B. Stephens, his widow, was made president. She continued as such for three years. Mr. Jay J. Smyth then became president, and S. N. Goodhue, cashier. Mr. Goodhue was succeeded by J. S. Alexander in 1892. In 1896 Mr. Alexander became president, and C. H. Kurtz, cashier, the officers so continuing until September, 1908, when C. H. Kurtz became president, and J. W. Bowman, cashier. In January, 1909, T. J. Davis was chosen president, and J. W. Bowman continued as cashier, and these gentlemen are at this date its present officers. The capital stock has remained since the organization at $50,000.00, and the surplus at $10,000.00. This is the only First National Bank charter now in existence in Linn county. The bank was the 117th National bank chartered by the government. It has declared in cash dividends $170,051.32, and has never passed a dividend or even temporarily closed its doors. Among some of its employees who went out into the world to win success from this bank are Ed. M. Scott, now president of the Security Savings Bank, of Cedar Rapids; W. S. Goodhue, cashier of the State Bank of Vinton; J. W. Bowdish, who became cashier of the American Trust & Savings, and later cashier of the Security Savings of Cedar Rapids; Chas. Jackson, now cashier of the First National Bank, of Manilla, Iowa; F. J. Cleveland, now county auditor. Dr. Jno. M. Ristine, now very prominent in Cedar Rapids, was employed as a young man in this bank. The present president, T. J. Davis, was employed as bookkeeper in 1881, continuing for five years, when he became actively engaged in the lumber business in Marion and vice-president of the Farmers & Merchants State Bank until he again entered the First National as its president. CHAPTER XLII _Roster of County Officers_ Linn county was organized in 1838 and the first election for county officers was held August, 1839. The legislative board of the county, or what corresponds to our present board of supervisors, was composed of three members called a board of commissioners. The following persons served on the board of commissioners: Samuel C. Stewart, Peter McRoberts, Luman M. Strong, 1839. E. T. Lewis, B. McGonigle, S. C. Stewart, 1842. E. T. Lewis, Oliver Day, B. McGonigle, 1843. Oliver Day, E. T. Lewis, W. B. Davis, 1844. W. B. Davis, Andrew Safely, 1846. Andrew Safely, Benjamin Waterhouse, Samuel Hendrickson, 1847. S. Hendrickson, Andrew Safely, Johnson Hill, 1850. A. Safely, Johnson Hill, Wm. A. Thomas, 1851. The above system continued until the first code was enacted in 1851 which abolished the board of commissioners and provided for the election of one officer to be called "county judge" who performed the duties of our present board of supervisors and in addition was probate judge and presided over what was called a "county court." The old election books now preserved in the county auditor's office show the following persons to have been elected to this office: Norman W. Isbell, elected August, 1851. James M. Berry, elected August, 1854. Daniel Lothian, elected August, 1857, three terms. Johnston Elliott, elected October, 1863, two terms. A. B. Dumont, elected October, 1867, one term. Isbell resigned June 12, 1854, and Joseph B. Young, prosecuting attorney, acted as county judge until the next election when James M. Berry was elected to fill the vacancy. The legislative duties of the county judge were vested by the Eighth General Assembly in a board of supervisors consisting of one member from each township or two in those townships having over 4,000 inhabitants. The first board sat January 7, 1861. The clerk of the district court was ex-officio clerk of the board of supervisors. The Twelfth General Assembly abolished the office of county judge altogether and vesting the judicial duties in the district court created the office of county auditor to assume the ones not already vested in the supervisors and clerk of the district court. The first auditor's term began the first Monday of January, 1869. Bertram--Perry Oxley, 1861-1867 and 1870; Wm. G Darr, 1868-1869. Brown--Wm. Carbee, 1861-1862; Hosea White, 1863-1866; T. M. Giffen, 1867-1868; J. F. Gritman, 1869-1870. Boulder--Jos. Whitney, 1861-1862 and 1869-1870; Earhart Burke, 1863, resigned and term completed by John B. McQueen; J. B. McQueen, 1864; Neeley Parsons, 1865-1867; Wm. Wagner, 1868. Buffalo--Jos. Story, 1861-1862; E. M. Crow, 1863-1870. Clinton--D. M. Smith, 1861-1863; Geo. Buchanan, 1864-1866 and 1868-1869; I. T. Updike, 1867; Edwin Cadwell, 1870. College--John W. Henderson, 1861-1862; Robert Pierce, 1863-1864; Adam Perry, 1865-1867; Jonathan Neidig, 1868; W. H. Shuey, 1869-1870. Fairfax--Phillip Moody, 1861-1864; W. B. Reynolds, 1865-1866; Wm. Ure, 1867-1870. Fayette--Levi W. Johnson, 1861-1863; resigned and last term completed by J. D. Hays; John E. Langley, 1864-1865; W. J. Whiting, 1866-1868; H. B. McKean, 1869-1870. Franklin--Wm. Hayzlett, 1861-1862 and 1868-1869; Henry Kepler, 1863-1867; C. H. Kurtz, 1870. Jackson--Jos. Blodgett, 1861-1862; John P. Fay, 1863 and 1866-1867; Seth Bishop, 1864-1865; Wm. Henderson, 1868-1870. Linn--William L. Miller, 1861; George Yeisley, 1862-1863; D. M. Richardson, 1864-1865; J. W. Handley, 1866-1867; James Johnston, 1868-1869; H. C. Platner, 1870. Maine--Samuel F. Buxton, 1861-1862; L. D. Jordan, 1863-1866; Ormus Clark, 1867-1868; E. A. Warner, 1869, seat contested in 1870 and board declared seat vacant and notified trustees of Maine township. Marion--A. J. Twogood, 1861-1862; A. B. Dumont, 1863, resigned and term completed by A. Manson; A. Manson, 1864; R. D. Stephens, 1865-1869; R. D. Stephens and E. A. Vaughn, 1870. Monroe--Daniel Albaugh, 1861-1869; M. N. Kramer, 1870. Otter Creek--James H. Mason, 1861-1862; L. F. Dance, 1863-1864; Caleb Hendryx, 1865-1866; John Lanning, 1867-1868; Henry Harris, 1869; A. F. Yambert, 1870. Putnam--Wiley Fitz, 1861-1862; Elmore H. Prickett, 1863-1864; Abner Arrowsmith, 1865, resigned and term completed by Ferdinand Kershner; Ferdinand Kershner, 1866-1867; Joseph Moorhead, 1868-1870. Rapids--John Weare, 1861, 1864 and 1867; J. F. Charles, 1862; Charles Weare, 1863; J. M. Chambers, 1865; H. G. Angle, 1866; William Stewart and William Richmond, 1868; William Stewart and Charles Weare, 1869; Charles Weare and W. D. Watrous, 1870. Spring Grove--J. H. Fairchild, 1861-1862 and 1864 to 1866, and 1869-1870; R. C. Shinn, 1863; J. H. Walton, 1867-1868. Washington--Corydon Gilchrist, 1861; John Carr, 1862 and 1867-1868; Z. Mentzer, 1863-1864; William Langsdale, 1865-1866; E. D. Hazletine, 1869-1870. In 1870 the number of the board was reduced to three members, one being elected each year in the county at large, but at the 1874 election the county had been divided into three supervisor districts and a supervisor was elected from each district as at present. The following persons have served up to date: FIRST DISTRICT William Ure, elected October, 1870, two terms. James Yuill, elected October, 1875, two terms. John T. Hamilton, elected October, 1881, one term. James Yuill, elected November, 1884, two terms. Patrick Mullaly, elected November, 1890, one term. Resigned and Charles H. Playter appointed to complete the term. William J. Donnan, elected November, 1893, two terms. Andrew J. Fuhrmeister, elected November, 1899. SECOND DISTRICT Robert P. Rose, elected October, 1870. Robert P. Rose, elected October, 1871. [Illustration: INDEPENDENT HOSE COMPANY, CEDAR RAPIDS, 1875 T. A. F. Nusz, Baxter S. McQuin, C. A. Laurance, Geo. P. Gordon, Will Ferguson, Archie A. Ayers, Lyman M. Ayers] Daniel Travis, elected October, 1874, two terms. Robert Smith, elected November, 1880, one term. Mordecai E. Bunting, elected October, 1883, two terms. Garry Treat, elected November, 1889, three terms. John J. Ives, elected November, 1898. THIRD DISTRICT Joseph Whitney, elected October, 1870. Joseph Whitney, elected October, 1873. Miles M. Crookshank, elected October, 1876. Albert C. Burnett, appointed June, 1881. E. D. Wilson, elected October, 1881. James H. Davis, elected November, 1882, two terms. Abraham C. Coquillette, elected November, 1888, two terms. Henry Fairchild, elected November, 1894, two terms. Leonidas L. Wilson, elected November, 1900. George E. W. Leonard was declared elected supervisor in October, 1873, but the election was contested by Joseph Whitney and the court for trial of contested election reinstated Mr. Whitney. Crookshank resigned and Albert C. Burnett was appointed and took his seat at the June, 1881, session and at the general election October, 1881, E. D. Wilson was elected to fill the vacancy. COUNTY AUDITORS J. P. Coulter, elected November, 1869, three terms. Samuel Daniels, elected October, 1875, three terms. Jos. Moorhead, elected October, 1881, three terms. Jas. K. Bromwell, elected November, 1887, two terms. Wm. G. Treat, elected November, 1892, one term. Edward L. Camp, elected November, 1894, two terms. Wm. T. Jackson, elected November, 1898, two terms. The terms of all county auditors were extended one year by the legislature during Mr. Bromwell's second term, so that county treasurer and auditor would not be elected the same year. RECORDER AND TREASURER The code of 1851 provided that these two offices should be held by one person. Isaac Cook, elected August, 1851, two terms. Nathan M. Day, elected August, 1855, two terms. Wm. Cook, elected October, 1859, two terms. Jas. Johnston, elected October, 1863, one term. COUNTY TREASURER Richard T. Wilson, elected October, 1865, four terms. Stephen T. Berry, elected October, 1873, three terms. Robert M. Jackson, elected October, 1879, four terms. Jos. Barnhill, elected November, 1887, two terms. Jos. S. Lake, elected November, 1891, one term. Franklin E. Witter, elected November, 1893, two terms. Geo. W. Eakle, elected November, 1897, two terms. COUNTY RECORDER John J. Daniels, elected November, 1864, four terms. Chas. E. Putnam, elected November, 1872, four terms. Christian H. Kurtz, elected November, 1880, four terms. R. Hershey Jones, elected November, 1888, one term. Chas. C. Mentzer, elected November, 1890, one term. Elvin H. Dunbar, elected November, 1892, two terms. John H. French, elected November, 1896, two terms. Perley O. Clark, elected November, 1900. SHERIFF Hosea W. Gray, 1840. Ambrose Harlan, 1844. Samuel W. Durham, 1846. Ambrose Harlan, 1848. Vincent Beall, elected August, 1851, one term. Samuel Brazelton, elected August, 1853, one term. Levi H. Mason, elected August, 1855, two terms. Thos. J. McKean, elected October, 1859. Resigned and John A. Ide appointed February 28, 1861, who in turn resigned and W. W. Smith appointed March 11, 1861. Wm. W. Smith, elected October, 1861. Resigned and Oliver O. Stanchfield appointed September 3, 1862, to fill the vacancy until the next general election. Oliver O. Stanchfield, elected October, 1862. Hiel Hale, elected October, 1865, one term. John G. Hayzlett, elected October, 1867, three terms. G. D. Gillilan, elected October, 1873, two terms. David Carskaddon, elected October, 1877, one term. Aaron F. Yambert, elected October, 1879. Died in office and J. H. Yambert appointed to fill vacancy. At the next general election (November, 1880) E. L. Swem was declared elected by the board of canvassers, but the court for the trial of contested election seated B. F. Seaton. J. H. Yambert, appointed September 6, 1880. B. F. Seaton, elected November, 1880. Geo. W. Burnside, elected November, 1885, two terms. Dan R. Kinley, elected November, 1889, three terms. John Cone, elected November, 1895, two terms. Martin Evans, elected November, 1899. CLERK OF THE DISTRICT COURT S. H. Tryon, 1841, 1842, 1843. John C. Berry, 1844, 1845, 1846. Porter W. Earl, 1847, 1848, 1849. Hosea W. Gray, September, 1849, 1850. James M. Berry, 1851. James M. Berry, elected August, 1852. Andrew J. McKean, elected August, 1854, nine terms. John L. Crawford, elected November, 1872, three terms. George L. Stearns, elected October, 1878, four terms. Jackson W. Bowdish, elected November, 1886, one term. Oscar F. Lamb, elected November, 1888, one term. David W. Reynolds, elected November, 1890, one term. Oscar F. Lamb, elected November, 1892, two terms. James W. Bowman, elected November, 1896, two terms. Charles W. Braska, elected November, 1900. COUNTY ATTORNEY This office was created in 1886 by the Twenty-first General Assembly. M. L. Ward, elected November, 1886. Resigned to remove from the county and Milo P. Smith appointed September, 1887, to fill the vacancy until the next general election. Milo P. Smith, elected November, 1887. John M. Redmond, elected November, 1890, one term. John M. Grimm, elected November, 1892, three terms. William O. Clemans, elected November, 1898, two terms. COUNTY SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS This office was created in 1858 by the Seventh General Assembly. Albert Manson, elected April, 1858. Ira G. Fairbanks, elected October, 1859, two terms. P. W. Reeder, elected October, 1863, one term. H. S. Bradshaw, elected October, 1865, one term. Z. V. Elsberry, elected October, 1867, one term. William Langham, elected October, 1869, two terms. Eli Johnston, elected October, 1873, four terms. John S. Willard, elected October, 1881, two terms. Frank J. Sessoins, elected November, 1885. Resigned July 30, 1889, to accept superintendency of schools at Waterloo, Iowa, and Fred Chamberlain appointed to complete the term. Fred Chamberlain, appointed July 30, 1889. F. Sherman Thompson, elected November, 1882, two terms. Nathan H. Richards, elected November, 1893, two terms. Ira E. Gould, elected November, 1897, two terms. CORONER Oren E. Shipman, elected August, 1851, one term. Isaac Whittam, elected August, 1853, one term. Benjamin Gaylord, elected August, 1855, one term. Johnston Elliott, elected August, 1857, one term. Mowry Farnum, elected October, 1859, four terms. Mr. Farnum was re-elected a fifth time in October, 1867, but refused to qualify and accept the office and Alexander Laurance was appointed January 11, 1868, to fill this office. Alexander Laurance, appointed January, 1868, eleven terms. John B. Turner, elected November, 1889, four terms. Cordy H. Ranek, elected November, 1897, two terms. COUNTY SURVEYORS Ross McCloud, 1839. Samuel W. Durham, 1841. Thomas J. McKean, 1843. A. D. Bottorf, 1847. Col. Samuel W. Durham stated that Mr. Bottorf was accidentally killed in office. A gentleman from Putnam township by the name of Cox was in the county surveyor's office on business, and as was frequent in those days, carried a musket which he leaned up in the corner of the door and door frame. The opening of the door threw the gun on the floor, and it was discharged, wounding Mr. Bottorf in the heel. The wound was not considered serious but blood poisoning set in and death resulted. John McArthur, ----. Samuel W. Durham, elected August, 1851, one term. Thomas J. Stone, elected August, 1853, one term. Adam Perry, elected August, 1855, one term. Plimpton Greer, elected August, 1857, one term. George A. Gray, elected October, 1859, one term. John L. Crawford, elected October, 1861, one term. John M. Greer, elected October, 1863, two terms. George A. Gray, elected October, 1866. Samuel W. Durham, elected October, 1871, two terms. James E. Lyman, elected October, 1875. George W. Wynn, elected November, 1880. G. A. Mitchell, elected November, 1885, two terms. Samuel W. Durham, elected November, 1889, two terms. Edmond P. Boynton, elected November, 1893, one term. Thos. R. Warriner, elected November, 1895, one term. John H. Lary, elected November, 1897, one term. Jos. D. Wardle, elected November, 1899. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1900 Supervisors--A. J. Fuhrmeister, J. J. Ives, L. L. Wilson. Auditor--W. T. Jackson. Treasurer--Geo. W. Eakle. Clerk District Court--C. W. Braska. Recorder--P. O. Clark. Sheriff--Martin Evans. County Attorney--W. O. Clemans. Superintendent of Schools--I. E. Gould. Coroner--C. H. Ranck. Surveyor--J. D. Wardle. Judges District Court--W. G. Thompson, H. M. Remley, W. N. Treichler. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1901 Supervisors--A. J. Fuhrmeister, A. B. Strother, L. L. Wilson. Auditor--William T. Jackson. Treasurer--Geo. W. Eakle. Clerk District Court--Chas. W. Braska. Recorder--P. O. Clark. Sheriff--Martin Evans. County Attorney--Wm. O. Clemans. Superintendent--J. E. Vance. Coroner--D. W. King. County Surveyor--J. D. Wardle. Judges--W. G. Thompson, H. M. Remley, W. N. Treichler. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1902 Supervisors--A. J. Fuhrmeister, A. B. Strother, L. L. Wilson. Auditor--William T. Jackson. Treasurer--Chas. D. Carroll. Clerk District Court--Chas. W. Braska. Recorder--P. O. Clark. Sheriff--Martin Evans. County Attorney--Wm. O. Clemans. Superintendent--J. E. Vance. Coroner--D. W. King. Surveyor--J. D. Wardle. Judges--W. G. Thompson, H. M. Remley, W. N. Treichler. [Illustration: CITY RESIDENCES, CEDAR RAPIDS] COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1903 Supervisors--A. J. Fuhrmeister, A. B. Strother, L. L. Wilson. Auditor--R. C. Jackson. Treasurer--Chas. D. Carroll. Clerk District Court--Chas. W. Braska. Recorder--P. O. Clark. Sheriff--Martin Evans. County Attorney--Joseph Mekota. Superintendent--J. E. Vance. Coroner--D. W. King. Surveyor--J. D. Wardle. Judges--W. G. Thompson, J. H. Preston, B. H. Miller. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1904 Supervisors--A. J. Fuhrmeister, A. B. Strother, L. L. Wilson. Auditor--R. C. Jackson. Treasurer--Charles D. Carroll. Clerk District Court--Chas. W. Braska. Recorder--P. O. Clark. Sheriff--A. W. Coquillette. County Attorney--Joseph Mekota. Superintendent--J. E. Vance. Coroner--D. W. King. Surveyor--J. D. Wardle. Judges District Court--W. G. Thompson, J. H. Preston, B. H. Miller. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1905 Supervisors--A. J. Fuhrmeister, A. B. Strother, L. L. Wilson. Auditor--R. C. Jackson. Treasurer--Chas. D. Carroll. Clerk District Court--H. C. Ring. Recorder--C. W. Biggs. Sheriff--A. W. Coquillette. County Attorney--C. G. Watkins. Superintendent.--J. E. Vance. Coroner--D. W. King. Surveyor--J. D. Wardle. Judges--W. G. Thompson, J. H. Preston, B. H. Miller. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1906 Supervisors--E. W. Virden, A. B. Strother, L. L. Wilson. Auditor--R. C. Jackson. Treasurer--Chas. D. Carroll. Clerk District Court--H. C. Ring. Recorder--C. W. Biggs. Sheriff--A. W. Coquillette. County Attorney--C. G. Watkins. Superintendent--J. E. Vance. Coroner--D. W. King. Surveyor--S. N. Parsons. Judges--W. G. Thompson, J. H. Preston, B. H. Miller. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1907 Supervisors--Allan McDuff, Wm. P. Secrist, J. C. Gritman. Auditor--F. J. Cleveland. Treasurer--H. E. Pratt. Clerk District Court--H. C. Ring. Recorder--C. W. Biggs. Sheriff--A. W. Coquillette. County Attorney--Chas. J. Haas. Superintendent--A. B. Alderman. Coroner--W. S. King. Surveyor--P. F. Randall. Judges--Milo P. Smith, W. N. Treichler, F. O. Ellison. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1908 Supervisors--Allan McDuff, Wm. P. Secrist, J. C. Gritman. Auditor--F. J. Cleveland. Treasurer--H. E. Pratt. Clerk District Court--H. C. Ring. Recorder--C. W. Biggs. Sheriff--A. W. Coquillette. County Attorney--Chas. J. Haas. Superintendent--A. B. Alderman. Coroner--W. S. King. Judges District Court--Milo P. Smith, W. N. Treichler, F. O. Ellison. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1909-1910 Supervisors--Allan McDuff, Wm. P. Secrist, J. C. Gritman. Auditor--F. J. Cleveland. Treasurer--Harry E. Pratt. Clerk District Court--Wm. Dennis. Recorder--J. E. Cook. Sheriff--Wm. G. Loftus. County Attorney--Chas J. Haas. Superintendent--A. B. Alderman. Coroner--W. S. King. Surveyor--J. W. Bowdish, Jr. Judges District Court--Milo P. Smith, W. N. Treichler, F. O. Ellison. COUNTY OFFICERS FOR 1911 Supervisors--Allan McDuff, Wm. P. Secrist, J. C. Gritman. Auditor--F. A. Canfield. Treasurer--J. B. Travis. Clerk District Court--Wm. Dennis. Recorder--J. E. Cook. Sheriff--Wm. G. Loftus. County Attorney--G. P. Linville. Superintendent--A. B. Alderman. Coroner--W. S. King. Surveyor--Raymond Swem. Judges District Court--Milo P. Smith, W. N. Treichler, F. O. Ellison. CHAPTER XLIII _History of Marion, the County Seat_ BY HON. JAMES E. BROMWELL Marion, most fittingly called the "City Beautiful," or the "Grove City," was laid out in 1839 on a semi-circular plateau of prairie that lay within a timbered crescent bordering and following the course of Indian creek on the west, and opening into a vast extent of prairie on the east, to which it lay joined like a protected harbor of the sea. Before it was laid out in the spring of 1839, it was located by a special board of commissioners appointed by the territorial legislature of Iowa in 1838, as the county seat of Linn county, and was named in honor of General Francis Marion. David A. Woodbridge, who was appointed to superintend the work, and Ross McCloud, the first county surveyor, proceeded to lay out the town, and on December 2, 1839, assisted by Hosea W. Gray and A. J. McKean as chain carriers, Elisha Kemp stake driver, and Ira Wilson flagman, and under the direction of David A. Woodbridge, agent, the town of Marion was platted on the west half of the northwest quarter of section six, township eighty-three, range six, and the east half of the northeast quarter of section one, township eighty-three, range seven. The town consisted of fifty-six blocks, 250 feet square. The lots were 60 by 120 feet, and the alleys ten feet wide. The four streets that enclose the public square were laid out eighty feet wide, all other streets sixty feet wide. The lots on which the court house and other county buildings now stand, were then reserved for public use, as was the park, consisting of the block directly north of that on which the county buildings now stand, and block fifty-six, the southwest block of the plat, was reserved for a public cemetery. Isbell's Grove, now known as Irish Hill, lay to the southeast of the town plat like a beautiful emerald island cut off from the body of timber lying south of it by a strip of prairie, where, in 1838, William K. Farnsworth had entered a claim. He was the first actual town settler, although James Preston and Prior Scott had entered a large tract of land east of Isbell's Grove about the same time, and a part of which lay open until the eighties, and was known as Scott's Prairie. Soon after the town was located, Luman M. Strong and James W. Bassitt located northwest of the town; Rufus H. Lucore, west; John C. Berry and Hosea W. Gray, north; James W. Willis, northeast: George W. Gray, south; John Margrave, northwest; and Aaron Moriarity, James and Henderson Smith on the land now owned by Emmett Kemp; James Blackman, adjoining on the northeast; Samuel Ross, his mother and several brothers, adjoining the Willis place, later known as the E. A. Vaughn farm. [Illustration: VIEW OF MARION, 1868] Henry Thompson erected a mill three miles south on Indian creek. The timber southwest and west was taken up in small parcels; and Ephraim P. Lewis, one of the second board of county commissioners, and A. B. Mason settled between Marion and Cedar Rapids and were the first settlers in that direction. All of these came to Iowa in 1839; and in the fall of that year the Brodies and Leveriches settled two miles northwest of town. A little later Norris Cone settled southeast towards Mount Vernon, and Norman, George, and John Elihu Ives, four miles east; and a large part of the Ives land is now owned by two sons of Elihu Ives, viz: John and Julius Ives. W. L. Winter and wife settled on Dry creek, northwest of Marion, in 1842; and the wife, Clarissa D. Winter, eighty-eight years of age in March, 1910, with her mind unimpaired, and intellect grown seemingly brighter with the years, is living with her daughter, Mrs. R. Lee Taylor, in Marion. The first house built in Marion, although then without the town plat, was that of Luman M. Strong, erected in 1839. It was also the first tavern. It stood on the Center Point road, now known as Central avenue, and occupied the site where Alvin M. Goldsberry built his home, which is now owned by J. B. Michel. The second house was built the same year by Henry Thompson and David A. Woodbridge, also outside the town plat, and on the site now occupied by the residence known for years as the H. P. Elliott home, on Twelfth street, just north of the Odd Fellows building. These men also built the first store, a log shanty, near where Charles A. Patten's residence now stands on north Eleventh street; and were licensed by the commissioners as follows: "Ordered, that Woodbridge and Thompson be allowed a license to vend and retail foreign merchandise at their store in Marion, for one year from the 9th day of October, 1839." In 1840 Addison Daniels came to Marion on horseback from Iowa City, seeking a business location, although there was not a house nor tree within the city limits, just a sea of tall, waving, wild grass with cow-paths running here and there. But he contracted with Hosea W. Gray for the erection of a store building 20�22 feet in size, and went to Muscatine by horse and thence to St. Louis by boat, where he purchased a stock of goods and returned to Marion. It took him about six months to make the trip, and when he returned he found his store room ready, and three residences in the town proper, viz: that of George Greene, afterwards judge of the supreme court of Iowa, capitalist, and later a prominent citizen of Cedar Rapids, on Main street west of Market street on the lot later occupied by the residence of Joseph Mentzer in the rear of C. F. Reichert's grocery store; that of Joseph W. Bigger, later a prominent farmer southeast of Marion, where Dr. Bardwell lived so many years, and now occupied by Eliza Bardwell: and that of L. D. Phillips, built by Joseph W. Bigger, assisted by James E. Bromwell, as a hotel and known for many years as the American House, later as the Newhall, on the site now occupied by Ed. Sigfred's clothing store. The first store of Marion, in the city proper, was that of Addison Daniels, who continued in business for nearly half a century with marked success. It stood on the site now occupied by the Home Bakery of Mrs. Smith, on Tenth street. Mr. Daniels was Marion's first postmaster, a man of public spirit, sterling integrity, and unimpeachable character. He died June 18, 1883. In the spring of 1840, O. S. Hall, a pioneer of marked christian character, built a one and a half story frame building just north of the first store of Mr. Daniels, where he opened a hotel known as the Iowa House. He also served one term as county recorder in 1843. He died in 1846, but the hotel was continued by his widow and son, O. S. Hall, Jr., still living in Marion, until 1871, but in later years in the large brick building in the same block at the corner of Tenth street and Eighth avenue. In the same spring the first jail of the county was built, a log structure, on lot two, block thirty-six, and where the Catholic church now stands, at a cost of $635.00. It was built by William Abbe and Asher Edgerton. William Abbe had removed to Marion from his claim near Mount Vernon on Abbe creek, which was named for him, and where the commissioners met to locate the county seat, and which was also one of the first polling places of the county. The first court house was built on the northeast corner of the block occupied by the present county buildings. Here the first school was held in Marion. The building was bought in 1845 for use as a Methodist church. It was later occupied for many years by Leonard Stowe for a bakery and grocery, and has recently been remodeled for residence flats. However, the county records show that the Methodists had made provision for a church building several years before, but probably by reason of the scarcity of money in those days, had been unable to build such an edifice as was required by a resolution of the county commissioners at their April term, 1842, which read as follows: "Ordered by the Board that the Trustees of the Methodist Episcopal church of the Town of Marion be allowed and they are hereby authorized to purchase of the county agent lots number three and four in block number thirty-seven on condition that they pay said agent the sum of ten dollars and erect on said lots a good and substantial church building worth at least $1,500 within two years; and the said agent is hereby empowered to execute the above sale." This description of the lots was doubtless wrong, for these were the lots where A. J. McKean built his home, where he lived until his decease. The lots intended, and where the first Methodist church was built, were lots one and two in block twenty-seven. The present court house was built in 1841 by George W. Gray, contractor. In the spring of 1840 Hiram Beales built and operated a saw mill, if not the first, one of the first in the county, on Indian creek west of the town and on the west side of Indian creek, opposite the site of the present Howler Mill. In 1841 Richard Thomas became a partner in this mill and mill stones were introduced for grinding grain. The first upper mill stone used in this mill has an interesting history. Ambrose Harland, once sheriff of Linn county, and who first lived at the place known later as the "Old Stone Barn," on the old road between Marion and Cedar Rapids, was a stone mason and built the first brick residence in Marion in 1842 for William H. Woodbridge. This house stood in the street, where now the Methodist parsonage stands, and was for years known as the Berry house. In 1884 Samuel Daniels, who settled in Marion after the war and was Linn county's third auditor, bought this Berry house, and by reason of it occupying a part of the street and thus disfiguring the block of which Mr. Daniels owned the greater part, tore it down. As one of the corner stones of this house, Mr. Daniels found this first upper mill stone of the Beales and Thomas mill, which had in 1842 been replaced by a larger one, and has preserved it as a relic of early days. Richard Thomas, commonly known as "Uncle Dick," came to Marion in 1840, and was a remarkable character. His farm embraced what is now known as "Orchard Heights," one of the most beautiful additions of Marion. He was of southern birth, quaint, plain-spoken, energetic, and died in 1893 at the age of 111 years. His widow and daughter, Mary English, also a widow, occupy a beautiful home in "Orchard Heights" near the original building site of the old farm. In 1841 the first school house was built in Marion by subscription, and on the site now occupied by the C. R. Fairfield Lumber Company's office. It stood alone in the open prairie, and was surrounded by wild grass fully five feet high. Mr. Higby was Marion's first school master. It was in this building that Rev. Mr. Emerson organized the first Methodist society. In 1838 the territorial legislature appointed Richard Knott, Lyman Dillon, and Benjamin Nye commissioners to locate the "seat of justice" in Linn county, and on the first Monday in March, 1839, two of said commissioners, Richard Knott and Benjamin Nye, met at the house of William Abbe, on Abbe's creek, and chose the site of the town of Marion as the proper location for the county seat. In August, 1839, three commissioners were elected to act as fiscal agents of the county. The polling place was Westport, near the present site of Bertram, and Samuel C. Stewart, Peter McRoberts, and Luman M. Strong were elected. This commission was invested with about the same powers as are now exercised by the board of supervisors of the county. They held their first meeting in Marion on September 9, 1839. H. W. Gray, the first appointed and first elected sheriff of Linn county, proclaimed the board in session. Its first official act was the appointment of John C. Berry, clerk. It next named the county seat, Marion. It next appointed A. J. McKean and William H. Smith constables. At its October session, 1839, it divided the county into three election precincts, viz: one at William Abbe's, on Abbe creek, known as the Sugar Grove precinct; one at Marion, known as the Marion precinct; and one at Michael Green's, known as Green's Grove precinct. The first election judges of Marion were James W. Bassitt, Henry Thompson, and Rufus H. Lucore. At this session James W. Willis was allowed $7.75 for five days' work making town stakes and hauling same, "three loads." The first road laid out was as follows, and ordered January 6, 1840: "Beginning at the county line west of Lathrup Olmsted's farm; thence on the nearest and best ground to the town of Marion; thence to the rapids of Cedar river; thence to the county line on a direction to Iowa City, the seat of the Territorial government." We quote one other entry of the county commissioners made at the January term, 1840: "Ordered by the Board that James W. Willis be and is hereby allowed the privilege of cutting a sufficient amount of timber off from the quarter section of land on which the town of Marion is located to finish a certain frame for which he has already got a part; provided, however, that he shall not cut any timber that is not included in the streets of said town. Said privilege is granted in consideration of house rent and fuel for the January term of this board. 1840." A very significant entry was made by this board of commissioners at its April term, 1840, in which Luman M. Strong, one of the commissioners, was granted a license to keep a grocery and "vend spiritous liquors at retail for one year at his house near Marion by paying into the county treasury the sum of $50.00." In a later record, and the only one referring to the claimant as a public officer, R. P. Lowe, district attorney for 1840, is allowed $75.00. The county judge plan succeeded the commissioner system of government in 1851, and Norman W. Isbell was the first judge, and was elected in 1851. He was succeeded in turn by J. M. Berry, Daniel Lothian, Johnston Elliott, and A. B. Dumont. The supervisor system, one from each township of the county, by order of the legislature, supplanted the county judge in 1861; and Marion was represented on this first board by A. J. Twogood. In 1871 the present system of county government by a board of three supervisors was adopted. County Judge J. M. Berry, in 1855, in his official capacity, contracted for the erection of the present jail and fire proof building where the county offices are now located, and this brought on the court house fight of 1855, when the issues were fairly joined in the contest for election to the county judgeship between J. M. Berry, representing Marion, and Rev. Elias Skinner, representing Cedar Rapids. Berry won by a handsome majority. Hosea W. Gray, a man of marked ability and prominent in the early history of Marion, was elected the first sheriff of Linn county. At the same election, to wit: in August, 1839, Thomas W. Campbell was elected county treasurer; Socrates H. Tryon, who was also Marion's first physician, county clerk; and G. H. Tryon, was either elected or appointed the first county recorder. Although it is well authenticated that Richard Osborn and Sarah Haines were married in Linn county in 1839, the first marriage in Marion and the second license of record in the county is that of James E. Bromwell and Catherine Gray, date August 26, 1841. This saintly pioneer died in Marion May 5, 1900, after more than sixty years continuous residence in Marion and on his farm, one and a half miles east of the town, honored and loved by all. The same year John Hunter was married to Hannah Barbary Hines, and Charles Rowe to Phebe Putnam, and Ans Safely to Margaret Hunter, and Samuel Ross to Mary Vaughn, and John Mann to Mary Mann, and Julius Allen Peet to Esther Ann Crowe, and Aaron Moriarity to Hannah Ross, and Joseph Crane to Agnes Bogard. Hosea W. Gray, who in the Civil war was captain of Company A, Sixth Iowa Infantry, and Linn county's first sheriff, took the first census of Linn county in 1840, which showed a population of 1,373. The vote at the first election in 1839 showed thirty-two ballots cast. October 28, 1840, Peter Garrow, born in Scotland, renounced allegiance to Queen Victoria and declared his intention to become of citizen of the United States. The first divorce case was filed May 26, 1842, and entitled Dyer Usher vs. Mary Ann Usher. At the September term, 1843, it was ordered dismissed. The first divorce granted in Linn county was at the March term, 1844, of the district court, when Parthena E. Hewitt obtained a decree of divorce from her husband, Oliver Hewitt. The title of the first case filed in the district court of Linn county is Richard Thomas vs. O. S. Hall, being an appeal case brought for trespass. After several continuances it was dismissed. George Greene, Marion's first lawyer, was counsel for the plaintiff. William G. Thompson was the first prosecuting attorney for what was called the second circuit, consisting of the counties of Cedar, Jones, and Linn, and of the eighth judicial district after the establishment of the circuit court, in 1868. The first murder committed in Linn county occurred in Marion March 20, 1847, when James Reed--who then and for many years after occupied the farm later known as the Bachman farm, on the old road about half way between Marion and Cedar Rapids, and whose house was destroyed by the tornado of 1860--struck Nathaniel Carnagy with a sled stake, fracturing his skull, from which injuries he died two weeks later. Reed was indicted but found not guilty by a jury. The tornado of 1860, which passed through Linn county on Sunday, June 3, started about six miles west of Marion. It struck the southwest part of the town but the only damage done was to a brick smoke house standing west of the house then occupied by Willard Harlan, now the home of J. Q. A. Dutton, the last house on the street car line east of Indian creek. The first deed recorded was for lots five and six, block eleven, Marion, and was executed by the county commissioners April 4, 1843, to Horace Metcalf. The second deed is to Addison Daniels. The consideration is nine dollars. It bears the same date and is for lots one and two, block fourteen, the present Clogston home, lot seven, block twelve, where the T. J. Davis building on Tenth street now stands, and lot eight, block thirteen, on a part of which the First National Bank now stands. The selection of these lots is good evidence of the business ability of Mr. Daniels in those early days. The plats of the towns of Marion and Cedar Rapids were recorded on the same day, to wit: April 3, 1843, "O. S. Hall, Recorder." In volume 216 on page 48, Recorder's office, is a record showing the organization of the Presbyterian society, on November 11, 1839. William Vaughn is named as one of the elders. A. J. McKean, who came to Linn county in 1839, helped lay out the town of Marion, was the first constable of Linn county, and the first assessor for the whole county, by appointment in 1840. He served as clerk of the courts from 1854 to 1872, and was one of Marion's most prominent citizens for over half a century. His brother, Thomas J. McKean, was the first mayor of the town of Marion which was incorporated in 1865. He was elected sheriff of the county in 1859, serving until the spring of 1861, when he resigned to enter the government army service, having already served in the Florida and Mexican wars, and November 21, 1861, was appointed brigadier-general, and after a brilliant service in the Civil war was honorably discharged in 1865, as brevet major general. On September 5, 1848, he was married to Sarah T. Gray, who still survives him, is a resident of Marion, and still bright and active at the age of ninety years. One of the most prominent men in the early history of Marion, and we might add of the county, was Samuel W. Durham. A courtly gentleman of the old school, honored and respected by every one who knew him, he died at his home in Marion, May 2, 1909, at the ripe old age of ninety-two years. He was sheriff of Linn county from 1846-1848, county surveyor in 1841, serving one term, in 1851 serving one term, in 1871 serving two terms, and in 1889 serving two terms. He was also a member of the first constitutional convention of Iowa, which convened at Iowa City October 7, 1844. [Illustration: JAMES E. BROMWELL, SR.] George Greene, Marion's first lawyer, and who built one of its first three residences, was the first member of the General Assembly from Linn county. He also served in the council, now called the state senate, of the third legislative assembly of Iowa, which convened at Burlington November 2, 1840, representing Cedar, Jones, and Linn counties. He also served in the fourth assembly, which convened at Iowa City December 6, 1841. The first court was held in Marion October 26, 1840, and the following record was made: "Minutes of the District Court of Iowa Territory, within and for the county of Linn: "Iowa Territory } } Linn County } "Pursuant to an act of the Legislature of the Territory of Iowa, approved July, 1840, the District Court of the United States, and also for the Territory of Iowa, met at Marion, in said county, on Monday the 26th day of October, 1840. Present: Hon. Joseph Williams, Judge of the Second Judicial District for the Territory; W. G. Woodward, Esq., District Attorney of the United States for the District of Iowa; R. P. Lowe, Esq., prosecuting attorney for Second Judicial District; Hosea W. Gray, Esq., Sheriff of County of Linn; Socrates H. Tryon, Clerk of the District Court; Lawrence Maloney, Marshall of the Territory." The following are the lists of the early officers of Linn county, who were all residents of Marion: Sheriffs--Hosea W. Gray, 1840; Ambrose Harlan, 1844; Samuel W. Durham, 1846; Ambrose Harlan, 1847; Vincent Beall, 1850; Samuel Brazleton, 1853; Levi H. Mason, 1855; Thomas J. McKean, 1860; William W. Smith, 1861; O. O. Stanchfield, 1862; Hiel Hale, 1866; John Hayzlett, 1868; G. D. Gillilan, 1874. Clerks of District and Circuit Courts--John C. Berry (Com.'s Clerk), 1839; S. H. Tryon, 1840; John C. Berry, 1844; Porter W. Earl, 1847; Hosea W. Gray, 1849; James M. Berry, 1851; A. J. McKean, 1854; J. L. Crawford, 1873. Treasurers and Recorders--Addison Daniels, 1841; O. S. Hall. 1844; John Zumbro, 1844; O. S. Hall, 1845; P. W. Earl, 1846; William M. Harris, 1846; Isaac Cook, 1851; N. M. Day, 1855; William Cook, 1860; James Johnston, 1864. Recorders after the offices of treasurer and recorder were separated--John J. Daniels, 1865; Charles E. Putnam, 1873. Treasurers after offices were separated--R. T. Wilson, 1866; S. T. Berry, 1874; R. M. Jackson, 1882. Auditors of the County--A. B. Dumont, 1869; John P. Coulter, 1870; Samuel Daniels, 1876; Joseph Moorhead, 1882; James E. Bromwell, 1888. The following is a list of the early State Senators: I. M. Preston, 1852; William G. Thompson, 1856; H. G. Angle, 1860; J. B. Young, 1864; Robert Smyth, 1868; E. B. Kephart, 1872. The following is a list of the early judges of the Eighth Judicial District: Joseph Williams, 1840; Thomas S. Wilson, 1846; James B. Carleton, 1847; William Smyth, 1853; Isaac Cook, 1857; William E. Miller, 1859; Norman W. Isbell, 1862; C. H. Conklin, 1864; N. M. Hubbard, 1866; James H. Rothrock, 1867. Ira G. Fairbanks was the first superintendent of county schools. In the first constitutional convention which was held at Iowa City October 7, 1844, and whose work was rejected by the people at the polls August 4, 1845, Linn county was represented by Thomas J. McKean, Samuel W. Durham, and Luman M. Strong. At the second one, held at Iowa City May 4, 1846, and whose work was endorsed by a small majority at the election held August 3, 1846, Socrates H. Tryon represented Linn and Benton counties. The first estate ministered upon in Linn county was that of James Travis, who died in December, 1839. James Doty was appointed administrator February 15, 1840. His bond was for $200. His bondsmen were Jacob Leabo and John Stambaugh. Israel Mitchell, who had been appointed by Governor Lucas, in 1839, was the judge of probate. It was this same Judge Mitchell who located the first town in Linn county, viz: that of Westport, near the present site of Bertram, and who was the orator of the day at the first Fourth of July celebration in Linn county, held at Westport in 1839. The second estate appearing of record was that of William Marion, who died July 4, 1840, and of which William Abbe was appointed administrator in 1841. The third was the estate of Martin Martindale, who died in February of 1841, and of whose estate William Garrison was appointed administrator. The following is the record of the first coffin made in Linn county: "Be it remembered that on the 21st day of June, A. D. 1841, James E. Bromwell filed his account in the Court of Probate against the estate of Martin Martindale, deceased, in the words and figures, to wit: "To J. E. Bromwell, Dr. "To one white walnut coffin, $12.00" Marion was the home for years of three Mexican war veterans, who were also veterans of the Civil war, viz: Thomas J. McKean, G. A. Gray, both deceased, and Samuel B. Thompson, now past ninety years of age and living with his daughter, Mrs. Nellie Schimmerhorn, of Kansas City. Marion was incorporated in 1865. Its first mayor was General Thomas J. McKean. The other officers were: recorder, G. A. Gray; trustees, D. H. McDanel, who died in Chicago and whose widow is now living in Cedar Rapids; S. W. Rathbun, still living in Marion and editor and proprietor of the Marion _Register_, which was established as the _Prairie Star_ in 1852 by A. Hoyt; G. F. Woods, who died in Marion some years ago; O. C. Wyman, now a merchant prince of Minneapolis; and Dr. N. W. Owen, who died in 1880. The Marion fire department was organized in 1874 and consisted of the Phoenix engine company and the J. C. Davis hook and ladder company. D. P. Thurber was elected the first foreman of the Phoenix company, and A. J. Keyes of the hook and ladder company. The first engine house was the old Baptist church which stood on the site of the present C., M. & St. P. depot. Such was the beginning of the later noted Marion Volunteer Fire Department, with its matchless Mentzer Hose Company, which as a drill corps, under the captaincy of James E. Bromwell, for twenty years, in the state of Iowa and elsewhere, challenged all military and civic companies, and met all challengers in competitive contests, winning over fifty first prizes, cups, and purses, acting as special escort to Governor Cummins at the St. Louis Exposition in 1904, and winning over all contestants at the National Firemen's Tournament of the Trans-Mississippi Exposition, held at Omaha in 1898, and retiring without a single defeat as a drill corps after its first three years, although as a fire company it is still active and efficient and the possessor of a beautiful home of its own on Seventh avenue in Marion, the lower story being used as a hose house and armory, and the upper story for reception and club rooms. In 1864 the Dubuque and Southwestern Railroad, running from Farley to Cedar Rapids, was built into Marion, and in 1872 the Sabula, Ackley & Dakota Railroad--now the C., M. &. St. P.--connected Marion with Chicago. Here it terminated until it was extended west to Council Bluffs in 1880, and south to Kansas City in 1882. Marion was especially favored in its early history, as it is today, by competent and popular physicians. Of these there were three, probably best known, who are worthy of mention, viz: Drs. Thos. S. Bardwell, Henry M. Ristine, and N. W. Owen. Dr. Thomas S. Bardwell came to Marion with his father, Dr. Leonard Bardwell, in 1841. He studied medicine with his father, and after attending lectures in St. Louis began practice in Marion in 1850. He was a natural doctor, bringing into his practice not only a knowledge of medicine but that intuition and instinctive comprehension of the law of cause and effect as applied to the human system which mark the genius in materia medica and surgery. He was a great hearted man, kind, generous, charitable, a devoted son and brother, a loyal friend and citizen. He died in Marion in 1895. Henry M. Ristine came to Marion in 1842. He, too, was a master in the ministry of relief to human suffering. His genial presence and cheerful and encouraging words added much to the magic of his medicine. His friends were legion. He was welcomed to the homes where he was called as a physician as a beloved brother, and was always a comfort and a blessing in the sick room. In the early days and to the second generation his name was a household word throughout Linn county. He moved to Cedar Rapids in 1875, where, crowned with success and honors in his chosen calling, he died in 1897. Norman W. Owen came to Marion in 1856. He continued the study of medicine, which he had begun in the east, under Dr. Henry M. Ristine, and graduated from Rush Medical College in 1862. He at once entered into a partnership with Dr. Ristine, and during his absence in the Civil war, he drove almost night and day, attending the large practice which he was left alone to care for. He was a most skilful and successful physician. He united with a wide knowledge of diseases and their remedies, the tenderness and skill of the trained nurse. An earnest student, of analytical yet comprehensive mind, he became a pioneer in the discovery of new remedies for human ailments, and while he formulated and compounded many preparations now of common use, his greatest achievement was the discovery and composition of Owen and Chamberlain's--now Chamberlain's--Colic, Cholera, and Diarrhoea Remedy, a world-wide panacea, of which Dr. Owen was the sole and undisputed originator. This alone places him among the "immortals" in the realm of medicine. He died in Marion in 1880. Among the early great financiers of Marion--and we might say of Iowa and the west--was Redmond D. Stephens. He came to Marion in 1855. He was a lawyer, teacher, and scholar, as well as a banker. He obtained the third charter ever issued for a national bank in Iowa, and instituted the First National Bank of Marion in 1863. He was one of the county supervisors in 1867, and was elected to the state legislature in 1879. He organized the Merchants National Bank of Cedar Rapids in 1881, of which, as well as of the First National Bank of Marion, he was president when he died in Cedar Rapids in 1883, where he then resided. His rare acumen, keen perception, unerring judgment, and almost prophetic endowment, mastered every business enterprise he undertook and won for him the merited distinction with which success ever crowns the union of genius and studiousness, of being enthroned, honored, and acknowledged as king in the chosen realm of his life work. No early history of Marion would be complete without mention of that brilliant coterie which illumined Linn county's seat of justice and as pillars and ornaments of the law established and adorned the now famous bar of Linn county. Nothing in later years has compared with the gladiatorial contests of the early years when true forensic oratory, keenest wit, and brilliant satire made forever famous the legal arena within the old court house at Marion. What memories and achievements cluster about the names of Corbett, Hubbard, Preston, Isbell, Thompson, Young and Smyth. Nathaniel M. Hubbard, the greatest legal general of his time, who served one year as judge of the eighth district in 1865, was keen, alert, tactful, resourceful, and tireless. He won marked distinction in his profession, and died in Cedar Rapids a few years ago, as chief counsel for the Chicago & Northwestern Railway. Norman W. Isbell, student, scholar, interpreter of the law, judge of the eighth district in 1862, died in the prime of life, a great mind in a frail body. J. B. Young, brilliant, scholarly, eloquent, came to Marion in 1853; was elected prosecuting attorney for Linn county in 1854. He served in the state legislature in 1861, in the state senate in 1863, and was re-elected in 1866. He was army paymaster, with the rank of major, during the Civil war, elector-at-large in 1868, and United States pension agent in 1869. Impetuous, fiery, generous, of marked aptness and ability, he honored and adorned his chosen profession. William Smyth came to Iowa in 1843 and to Marion in 1846--the year he was admitted to the bar. He was elected prosecuting attorney for the county in 1847, appointed judge of the fourth district in 1853, elected in 1854, and re-elected in 1856, but resigned in 1857, and with his brother, Robert Smyth, and A. J. Twogood established the first bank in Linn county, later known as the Twogood and Elliott bank of Marion. In 1858 he was chairman of the committee of three to revise and codify the laws of the state of Iowa, and the criminal code of 1860 is largely his work. In 1862 he was commissioned colonel of the Thirty-first Iowa Volunteer Infantry, serving until 1864. He then formed a law partnership with J. B. Young, and was actively engaged in the practice until 1868, when he was elected to congress. He was renominated in 1870, but on September 30, 1870, before the election, died at his beautiful suburban home adjoining the city of Marion, now owned by the Sisters of Mercy, and known as St. Joseph's Academy. A man of sound judgment, a lawyer of merit, a judge of ability, a statesman of fidelity and purity, he yet stood pre-eminently before all as a man of integrity, honor, and character, the true and highest type of the Christian gentleman. I shall now mention as the last, the two greatest lawyers of the early days of Marion, judging from their practice, marked success, and general recognition, viz: Isaac M. Preston, and William G. Thompson. Isaac M. Preston came to Marion in 1842. He was elected probate judge of Linn county in 1842, appointed district attorney for the eighteenth judicial district of Iowa in 1845, again elected probate judge in 1847, the same year was appointed United States district attorney for Iowa by President Polk, was elected to the state legislature in 1848, and elected the first state senator in 1852 for Linn, Benton, and Tama counties. He moved to Cedar Rapids in 1878, where he died in 1880. He was possessed of a strong mind, his reasoning was logical, and his analysis keen. He aspired to greatness in his profession above all else. He was pronounced by competent judges the greatest criminal lawyer of Iowa in his day. Rugged, determined, persistent, tireless, profound, thoroughly versed in the common law, of broad conception, a close student and able judge of human nature, deliberate, careful, prudent; in speech plain, masterful, convincing; he having reached a conclusion in law or taken a position legally or morally, was seldom if ever compelled to compromise or retreat. [Illustration: T. M. SINCLAIR] [Illustration: J. O. STEWART] William G. Thompson came to Marion in 1853 and first began the practice of law with I. M. Preston. He was prosecuting attorney in 1854, editor of the Marion _Register_ (which he bought to insure a republican paper for Linn county) in 1855 and 1856, state senator in 1856 and 1858, major of the Twentieth Iowa Volunteer Infantry, serving until 1864, elector-at-large on the republican ticket in 1864, district attorney of the eighth judicial district from 1867 to 1874, chief justice of Idaho in 1878, elected to congress in 1879, and refused to accept a renomination. In 1884, to save the republican legislative ticket, he was nominated for the state legislature and elected. He was appointed judge of the eighteenth district in 1894, and was elected in the fall of the same year, re-elected in 1898 and 1902. He is now living in retirement with his son. J. M. Thompson, at his beautiful home, "The Elms," on the boulevard between Marion and Cedar Rapids. Major Thompson was naturally possessed of the elements of true greatness, viz: simplicity, sympathy, generosity, and charity. While he was in truth the "poor man's friend," he was more truly everybody's friend. His was a brilliant mind, a tender heart, an eloquent yet poignant tongue. Of quick intuition, forceful expression, and impassioned oratory, he carried juries with the force of the mountain torrent. His great tender heart was the repository of anybody's troubles or sorrows or legal difficulties "without money and without price," if needs be. As a lawyer he was comprehensive, ingenious, and aggressive. As a judge, merciful, conscientious, and just. The equitable appealed to him in every branch of the law. No truer friend, no more loyal partisan, no more zealous advocate, ever stood rock bound, unchangeable, and immovable as William G. Thompson always stood without malice or offense. Devoted to his home, his wife, and only son, cheerful, sunny, optimistic, unerring in his measurement of men and motives, charitable and forgiving beyond belief, honored and honorable, commonplace and companionable, always kind and considerate and helpful, great hearted, of noble soul, and of almost divine compassion, Judge William G. Thompson has already erected his monument of Christlike deeds, and his sepulchre will be the inner shrines of the hearts of all who knew him. The character of the early settlers of Marion was of the highest type. Little wonder, then, that it has grown into a city of schools and churches, that its moral atmosphere has been fairly free from the fetid breath of vice and crime, and that its intellectual, spiritual, and social ideals have been largely realized in its system of schools, number and quality of its churches and church membership, and its unexcelled fraternal organizations, literary and musical clubs, and societies. Of ideal location, modern and progressive, its water supply direct from the noted Bowman springs, clean and wholesome, its people contented and prosperous, never destined, under the shadow of Cedar Rapids, to be a great city, but unique, beautiful, the county seat of the great county of Linn, undoubtedly the prize winning slogan of Cedar Rapids, with Marion substituted, would be acceptable to every resident: "Marion suits me." CHAPTER XLIV _Linn County in War_ The men and women of Linn county have always been patriotic. They have responded promptly and cheerfully to every call to arms. One of the earliest settlers in the county had served in the Revolutionary war. Nathan Brown, who came here in 1839 and for whom Brown township was named, at the early age of sixteen years joined the American forces. T. J. McKean, George A. Gray, A. R. Sausman, William Hampton, S. D. Thompson, "Democ" Woodbridge, and a Mr. Courtney served in the war with Mexico. These men all enlisted from this county, entering the service in June, 1847. J. J. Snouffer, who came to the county in the early days and who long was an important figure in the business and political life of Cedar Rapids, was a veteran of this same war. It is not out of place here to say a word regarding T. J. McKean, the only man from the county who received the commission of brigadier-general in the Civil war. General McKean was born in Pennsylvania in 1810 and entered West Point in 1827, graduating with honors in 1831. He immediately entered the service with the rank of lieutenant, and was stationed in Louisiana. Resigning his commission, for a time he followed the profession of civil engineer. He came to Marion in 1840, and when war with Mexico was declared he raised a squad of six men as above and joined Company K, 15th Regulars, the only company sent out from Iowa. He served in the Mexican war for a year and a half and then returned to Marion. At the breaking out of the Civil war he was holding the office of sheriff of the county. He was not able to resist the call to arms and surrendered his office to accept a post as paymaster in the Union army. He entered upon his duties early in 1861. In the fall of that year Governor Kirkwood proposed his name for a brigadier-general. He received that commission and served his country with ability. On April 12, 1861, Sumter was fired upon. On the 15th, President Lincoln issued a call for 75,000 ninety-day men. It was erroneously believed that our internal difficulties could be adjusted in that period. Within thirty days after the president's call had reached Iowa this state had a regiment in the field. In that regiment, the First Iowa. Linn county had a full company under the command of Capt. T. Z. Cook. Before giving a detailed account of the various companies that served in the Civil war from Linn county, it may be well to treat briefly of some of the stirring events that were witnessed in the county in the early days of the war. The board of supervisors early held a special session to provide means for the relief of the families of such men as were willing to volunteer for field service. At the September, 1861, session of that body the following resolution was adopted: "That the Clerk of the Board of Supervisors issue an order or orders for the benefit and relief of any of our volunteers now in the United States service, upon the certificate and approval of the resident Supervisor of the township in which the family or applicant resides." The press and pulpit of the county strongly advocated the cause of the Union. No conservative position on the burning question was taken by either. Many are the emphatic appeals to the loyal spirit of the county. In its issue of April 18, 1861, the _Cedar Valley Times_ has this to say: "More than ever, it is now the duty of every true man to respond to the call of his country. Party ties are broken, party divisions forgotten, in the common necessity which summons every true American to the standard of his country--to the defence of our Union, our Constitution, our liberty and our rights.... Every man to his post, that post the support of the Administration." In the same issue there was a call for a meeting on that evening to obtain an expression of the feelings of the people. This meeting was held in Carpenter's Hall, Cedar Rapids, and was characterized by great enthusiasm. Dr. J. H. Camburn presided and Isaac Van Meter acted as secretary. These gentlemen, together with Porter W. Earle, William Greene, H. G. Angle, Dr. Taylor, E. N. Bates, W. H. Merritt, and others gave stirring talks. At this meeting a despatch was read from Gov. Samuel J. Kirkwood, as follows: "If Linn county shall tender me a full company of seventy-eight good men, properly officered, by Thursday of next week, I will offer the company as one of the regiments required of this state by the President of the United States." A committee was appointed to push the matter of raising a company. On this committee were E. N. Bates, T. Z. Cook, W. H. Merritt, J. H. Stibbs and W. R. Sweitzer. Twenty-five names were signed that night to a muster roll. Other towns of the county were not behind Cedar Rapids in enthusiasm. On the evening of April 19th a mass meeting was held at Kingston, with J. H. Elder in the chair. He at once offered his purse to its limit for the cause. Here Rev. A. G. Eberhart, and Messrs. Churchill, Stewart and Detwiler were the speakers. Eight men added their names to the roll of Cedar Rapids volunteers. In Marion a meeting of equal enthusiasm was held and a full company volunteered. By noon of the 19th thirty-five men had signed a muster roll in Mt. Vernon. A great crowd gathered in the chapel of Western college on the evening of the 19th. Young men, students and others, were urged to enroll for the honor of Linn county and the cause of the union. Nine were added to the list. The meeting also contributed five dollars to aid in purchasing bibles for the company--the boys from Western going with those from this city. On Monday the 22d, this contingent came to the city, and on the same day twenty-seven of the Mt. Vernon volunteers were accepted for the first company from Linn county. Captaincy of the company, K, First Infantry, fell upon T. Z. Cook. In Buffalo township there were but twelve voters, and just half of these volunteered for army service. At Palo a spirited union meeting was held, and at once thirty-five men pledged their lives to the cause. The boys at once began drilling under J. J. Snouffer, a veteran of the Mexican war. Dr. S. D. Carpenter was made quartermaster of the regiment. On Saturday, May 4, a flag was presented to the company. On May 6 Company K left for Clinton. Following is roster of the company, at the time it left Cedar Rapids: Captain, T. Z. Cook; first lieutenant, J. C. Marvin; second lieutenant, Robert Stinson; orderly, J. H. Stibbs; second sergeant, J. Van Meter; third sergeant, E. Coulter; first corporal, R. L. Wilson; second corporal, J. H. Hammond; third corporal, E. L. Carpenter; fourth corporal, Jos. McClelland. Privates--Geo. H. Angell, Geo. W. Aylesworth, John Agler, Geo. C. Burkmeister, Benj. E. Butler, A. C. Blood, H. H. Boyes, H. C. Bates, John M. Chase, Henry P. Covertson, W. J. Conley, Paul Carpenter, B. Franklin Cook, A. D. Collier, Wilson Certain, A. J. Churchill, J. M. Clark, Edward Calder, Joseph B. Daniels, John K. Daniels, Samuel Daniels, Addison Davis, Robert P. Dewey, John J. Perry, Chas. W. Esgate, B. E. Eberhart, Wm. J. Eckles, Stuart Erwin, E. P. Fellows, John Fitzgerald, J. B. Fisher, J. D. Ferguson, Andrew Geddes, Geo. Granger, Andrew Harmon, Hiel Hale, F. W. Hollingrane, J. J. Hollan, Perry Hoyt, W. P. Hubbard, Peter Hauger, Charles A. Harper, R. W. Hayzlett, J. C. Hayes, Nathaniel Johnson, Geo. A. John, W. B. Jacobs, Frank Klump, J. H. Little, G. C. Miller, Philip Murdock, J. C. Morehead, H. J. McManus, John McGowen, E. R. McKee, Michael Mentz, D. W. Prescott, N. Russell, G. Rifenstahl, H. W. Ross, J. W. Robinson, R. M. Rogers, A. T. Rigby, W. D. Robins, E. W. Stewart, R. B. Stewart, James O. Stewart, Henry Shaffer, John S. Starkweather, L. E. Stevins, J. W. Smith, C. C. Smith, E. B. Soper, J. M. Secrist, Geo. F. Schoonover, J. B. Stine, F. J. Shuey, M. Taylor, E. Thompson, G. F. Vandever, J. N. Van Arsdel, L. P. Winterstein, C. Wynn, William Walt, D. H. Wilson, Geo. H. Yager, L. J. C. Ziengenfus. The regimental officers were J. F. Bates, Dubuque, colonel; W. H. Merritt, Cedar Rapids, lieutenant-colonel; A. B. Porter, Mt. Pleasant, major. The company before the close of its services endured many hardships. It took part in the skirmish at Forsythe on July 20. On the evening of the 9th of August the First Iowa, under command of Lieut. Col. Merritt joined the other forces at Springfield, under Gen. Lyon. Marching to within three miles of the enemy's camp at Wilson's Creek, the attack was begun at 3 o'clock on the morning of the 10th. It was a severely contested engagement. At this battle Gen. Lyon was killed, while personally leading the First Iowa. Victory was with the Union army and pursuit of the enemy was continued until nightfall. Following is the report made by Captain T. Z. Cook of casualties sustained by his company: "Killed--Private Perry Hoyt. Seriously wounded--E. Coulter, leg; Henry Shaffer, leg and arm; John Stine, leg and breast; E. R. McKee, arm; W. D. Robins, leg; Samuel Daniels, leg. Slightly wounded--J. O. Stewart, leg; John Fitzgerald, face; Joseph Hollan, foot; J. M. Chase, back; George F. Schoonover, arm badly bruised by grape shot. Sergeant Coulter and Privates Shaffer and Stine were left at Springfield. Isaac Van Meter, second sergeant, and John H. Stibbs, sergeant, particularly distinguished themselves for coolness and bravery. T. Z. Cook, captain." This battle really ended the service of Company K. The regiment was mustered out at St. Louis August 25 and started at once for home. On the evening of August 26 the volunteer's returned to Cedar Rapids. The Kingston Guards, of eighty men, with a local company of about the same number, furnished an escort and headed by the mayor and council met the train at the depot. Five thousand people were estimated in the gathering. The dwellings and stores were illuminated in honor of the return. A procession was formed and marched to the same place where a few months before the flag had been presented. On behalf of the city Mayor Bishop voiced its welcome to the volunteers. Judge Isaac Cook supplied a little more speech-making and a supper followed of quality to make these soldiers forget all hardships of camp and march. In other portions of the county the enthusiasm was as great as it was in Cedar Rapids. The _Linn County Register_ of April 20, 1861, in announcing the commencement of hostilities stated that "already, some seventy-five persons, in the vicinity of Marion alone, have signified their intention to volunteer under the call of President Lincoln." In its issue a week later the same paper said that "on every corner the people are assembled, in squads of a dozen or more, discussing the chances of the conflict. Men in the country leave their plows, and rush into town, to inquire about the news." In the Sixth Infantry, which was mustered in July 6, 1861, Company A was entirely from this county. It was organized at Marion. The regiment was mustered out at Louisville, Kentucky, July 21. 1865. It saw some hard battles, several of its officers being killed in action, and eighteen wounded. Of the enlisted men 274 were killed or died in the service, and 331 were wounded in action. It is said that this regiment suffered more casualties than any other regiment from Iowa. The regiment suffered severely at Shiloh, Mission Ridge, Resaca, Dallas, Kenesaw Mountain, and Jackson, Miss. [Illustration: COL. T. Z. COOK] Its first captain was Hosea W. Gray, who was succeeded by Tarlton Caldwell, Willard H. Harland, and Rodney E. Barker, who served as captains at different periods. A. L. Ingram, who entered the company as a private, was first lieutenant at the time of mustering out. Other well known names among the officers of this company are those of George A. Gray, W. M. Harbeson, A. P. Alexander, Samuel D. Springer, C. A. Huston, Chas. L. Byam. Among the members of the company are found the names of T. H. Alexander, Daniel K. Kinley, Chas. Robins, S. A. Stearns, D. F. Stinson. George M. Holmes, of this county, entered as sergeant of this regiment, and was promoted from time to time until he became captain of Company K on July 30, 1863, resigning October 17, 1864. In the Eighth Infantry Joseph C. Stoddard, yet a resident of Cedar Rapids, was commissioned adjutant November 15, 1865, having been promoted from sergeant-major. Among those from this county in this regiment may be noted Jno. M. Dawley, J. H. Gardner, Hiram Inks, Wm. H. Ostrander, David G. Usher, Homer H. Phillips, D. W. Yount. The county was also represented in the Ninth Infantry, being especially strong in Company K, in which Abraham Bowman was commissioned second lieutenant and promoted to the captaincy on January 9, 1864. Its first captain was David Carskaddon, afterwards colonel of the regiment. Among the familiar names in this company we find those of David Bowman, Jas. C. Morehead, Oliver B. Cone, John Cone, John S. McKee, J. M. Burkhart, W. S. Dingman, John W. Gray, I. N. Lutz, A. R. Whiteneck. The company was organized in Marion and mustered into the service July 23, 1861. In the Eleventh Infantry these names are noted: Robt. L. Wilson, Samuel H. Harrison, Chas. W. Mason, Wm. H. McRoberts, Wm. Burge, Henry M. Cook, Jno. Coburn, John Elder, E. P. Listabarger, Wm. Mitchell, Jas. D. McRoberts, And. W. Satley, Thos. Strang, John B. Stine, Geo. W. Sparks, Samuel Shafer, Wm. A. Thompson. Company K of this regiment was organized in Cedar Rapids, John C. Marvin, captain. It was mustered in July 23, 1861. Company D, Twelfth Iowa Infantry, was captained by John H. Stibbs. The regiment was organized at Dubuque and mustered into the service November 25, 1861, with Joseph P. Woods, a West Pointer, as colonel; John P. Coulter of Cedar Rapids, lieutenant-colonel, and S. D. Brodtbeck, major. The Twelfth was then ordered to St. Louis. The Linn county company was organized in Cedar Rapids, and mustered in October 26, 1861. First of the year 1862 found seventeen members of the company in hospitals. A malignant outbreak of measles at that time caused many deaths in the Twelfth and other regiments. During the week ending January 15, 1862, Capt. Stibbs, in a letter to his brother in Cedar Rapids, reported that six of his men had died in hospital. These were William H. Webster, William L. Dailey, John L. Jaques, John S. Lee, Jasper Cyner and Henry Haradon. Seventeen others were in various hospitals at St. Louis. On Saturday, January 11, the regiment was ordered to be ready to start for Kentucky on the 15th, but because of ice in the river, these orders were countermanded. On the 27th it was ordered to report to Gen. Grant at Cairo. From thence the regiment was sent to the mouth of the Cumberland river, and established its camp in the field. On February 5 it joined the expedition against Fort Henry. The company was at Ft. Donelson when it capitulated. The regiment remained at Fort Donelson until March 12, when it was moved to Pittsburg Landing. On the evening of the 9th of April news was received of a great battle at Pittsburg Landing, in which the Twelfth Iowa had share. It was only known that slaughter had been immense, and until full details were received the anxiety in Cedar Rapids can be imagined. Yet how slow this news was in coming may be judged from an editorial note in the _Cedar Valley Times_ for April 17: "Three of our Iowa regiments--the Eighth, Twelfth and Fourteenth--were cut off and taken prisoners while bravely defending their flag and the glory of their country. They fought like tigers. We are not yet able to publish full lists of losses, and the anxiety so long felt must continue." The report made by Lieutenant-Colonel Coulter gave the following returns for Company D: Killed--First Lieutenant James B. Ferguson; Privates Daniel Luther and James P. Ayres. Wounded--Sergeant J. M. Clark, Corporal Joseph Stibbs, H. C. Morehead and H. Panborn, all slightly; Privates J. G. Clark and Frank Renchin, severely. R. C. Cowell and Ed. H. Bailey, slightly. Missing--(prisoners)--Capt. J. H. Stibbs, Second Lieutenant Hiel Hale, Orderly Sergeant R. Hilton; Corporals H. W. Ross and J. J. Broughton; Privates L. M. Ayres, Ed. Buttolph, Samuel Baumgardner, Thomas Barr, J. W. Burch, S. Birch, P. Brennan, D. L. Conley, D. Conley, F. Dubois, S. A. Flint, W. A. Flint, A. J. Frees, C. Ferrerbend, H. Grass, P. Gephart, A. Hill, R. L. Johnson, Eli King, William Lee, John Luther, T. J. Lewis, Wm. B. Lutz, J. Lanagan, E. B. Martin, A. J. Milen, D. W. Minor, R. McClain, J. Nicholas, J. O. Sartwell, D. Sivets, J. Scott, L. Snell, R. K. Soper, A. A. Stewart, J. M. Garponning, W. H. Trowbridge, W. Whitenack, J. J. Whittam, J. Wagner, J. Craft, F. Curren, R. P. Zuver, A. McIntyre. Lieutenant Jason D. Ferguson, one of the killed, was at the outbreak of the war a student in Cornell College. He was one of that gallant band who left their studies to take up men's work. He was a member of Company K, First Iowa, serving throughout the brief but arduous campaign in which that regiment participated. His efforts were untiring in organization of Company D, of the Twelfth. But the losses of Linn county soldiers were not confined to those of Company D, of the Twelfth Iowa in the battle of Pittsburg Landing. Quartermaster Mortimer A. Higley sent back to friends in this city, a list of those in Company A, Fifteenth Iowa, there killed and wounded. Among the killed were Pat H. Kennedy and Wm. W. Wood, privates, both of Cedar Rapids. Wounded, Corporal John Kimbro, in arm, severely; privates, Elisha Hopkins, severely; Charles Stewart, slightly; Jacob Brown, severely; Newton Dawson, and Henry Bunn, slightly, all being from Linn county. The Twelfth Iowa regiment was mustered out and the members from this county returned home during the last week of January. Company D, enlisted in 1866, came home with the following Cedar Rapids survivors: S. R. Burch, adjutant; Homer Morehead, regimental quartermaster; John Clark, captain; Eli King, first lieutenant; N. G. Price, orderly sergeant; H. Pangborn, John Burch, I. G. Clark, B. P. Zuver, sergeants; J. Lanagan, John Luther, R. C. Cowell, Josiah Scott, R. L. Johnson, P. Brennan, A. A. Stewart, T. Lewis, corporals; S. Baumgardner, John Whittam, Wm. Whiteneck, J. W. Rowen, W. H. Trowbridge, A. J. Freese, R. S. Martin, J. B. Lambert, Daniel Sivetts, Sam H. Flint, H. Grass, F. Dubois, H. Ross, Wm. Lee and R. K. Soper, privates. Citizens of Cedar Rapids and Kingston gave a reception to these returned soldiers on the evening of February 6. This took form of a ball at Daniels' Hall and a supper served at the American House. The Thirteenth Infantry was organized at Mt. Vernon and mustered in July 23, 1861, John Q. Wild, captain. Chas. W. Kepler was a captain and E. R. Mason a sergeant. Among the members were Geo. W. Doty, Jacob W. Easterly, Chas. Gardner, Jos. M. Harper, S. P. Harman, D. A. Hamilton, Jas. E. Neal, Robt. W. Thompson, Wm. Thompson, F. A. Varner, Thos. W. Wilson, D. C. Weaver, John Shaver, John Archer, Henry Blessing, Frank Cook, David Hoster, Geo. W. Thompson, John Bierly, Wm. Cline, T. B. Fullerton, John Gregg, Wm. Hackett, Joseph Livington, Jas. A. McClellan, O. T. Petit, M. W. Sweet, Wm. Teeters, Edw. Ware, Julius A. Jackson. In the Fourteenth Infantry Jos. Legore was a corporal, and a number enlisted in the regiment from this county. The same is true of the Fifteenth. Sixteenth and Eighteenth regiments. Company A of the Fifteenth was composed largely of Linn county men. M. A. Higley was first lieutenant in this company and later a major in the commissary department. The Eighteenth regiment was organized at Clinton, but Company A was made up almost entirely of men from this county. T. Z. Cook, of Cedar Rapids, was lieutenant-colonel of the regiment. On July 9, 1862, Governor Kirkwood called for five additional infantry regiments from Iowa. In response to this call a "mass war meeting" was held in Cedar Rapids on the evening of July 22. E. G. Brown was chairman and J. H. Elder, secretary. The result of this meeting was the organization of Company A, 20th Iowa. Many of the most substantial citizens of Cedar Rapids for the time being laid aside their private business to engage in raising men for the war. The Twentieth Iowa Volunteer Infantry was composed of five companies from Linn county and five from Scott county. The companies from this county were A, B, F, H, and I. They were mustered into service August 25, 1862. The company went from here to Clinton and from there to Davenport. On September 5 they took the boat for St. Louis. The regiment experienced several hard marches in Missouri and Arkansas; it took part in the siege of Vicksburg, saw service in Louisiana and Texas; was in the attack on Mobile, and was mustered out there July 8, 1865. William McE. Dye, of Marion, was colonel of the regiment, William G. Thompson was major. Dr. Henry Ristine was surgeon, C. S. Lake, adjutant, and J. S. Lake, commissary sergeant. Company A was captained by E. N. Bates, Company B by Edward Coulter, Company F by N. M. Hubbard, Company H by R. H. Lucore, and Company I by C. C. Cook. Among the well known Linn county men in this regiment may be mentioned the following: Milo Adams, W. H. Boyce, John H. Culp, George W. Homer, Robert Keeler, George W. Mentzer, John D. Mounce, C. E. and Daniel W. Robbins, Erin Rucker, John M. Starbuck, B. F. Snyder, F. Uebel, William D. Robbins, A. J. Mallahan, John J. Robbins, Robert C. Hall, D. G. Manahan, D. A. Dingman, Joseph Floyd, R. C. Ring, L. L. Wilson, N. C. Gillilan, Geo. W. and William Bice, H. Hollenbeck, H. C. Adams, W. C. Bowen, S. A. Beach, George Beebe, Byron Cone, F. M. Elrod, H. P. Eastman, Geo. D. Gillilan, J. N. Huston, James W. Howlett, J. W. Newhall, E. J. Reynolds, W. Stinson, Geo. A. Gray, J. J. Hollan, William H. Scott, George W. Wynn, B. P. Wickham, L. D. Elsbery, A. B. Lucore, William Busby, D. L. Castle, S. P. Hollan, James M. Hunter, Hiram Inks, J. D. Jordan, F. A. McConahy, C. H. Sawyer, J. C. McClellan, S. L. Dows, William E. Earl, E. D. Stedman, S. F. Seeley, Casper J. Hart, John W. Whitenack, S. B. Mann, Chas. Morehead, John C. Weatherwax, John Chambers, George W. Daniels, G. B. Daniels, Abraham Hess, M. B. Plummer, Samuel M. Whiteing, Henry White. J. O. Stewart. Capt. J. O. Stewart, long clerk in Cedar Rapids of the U. S. District Court, entered Company B of this regiment as first sergeant. In March, 1863, he was appointed second lieutenant and in 1864 commissioned captain. For a year and a half he acted as adjutant of the regiment. Companies F, G. and H in the Twenty-fourth Infantry were from Linn county. E. C. Byam was for a time colonel of this regiment, John F. Sly was surgeon, John Q. Wilds, of Mt. Vernon, was lieutenant colonel. C. L. Byam, D. W. Camp and William H. Smouse were adjutants, F. W. Vinson was both a captain and chaplain. W. C. Dimmett was captain of Company F. John G. Hayzlett and C. H. Kurtz were first lieutenants, T. L. Smith, A. T. Waln were second lieutenants, and among the members of this company may be noted the following: William Camp, Andrew Doty, John W. Firkins, John F. Goudy, John Geiger, William Hall, John A. Ide, Samuel Johnson, J. H. Kepler, A. Lacock, William McQuiston, John Peddycoard, John Renfrew. This company was organized at Mt. Vernon. W. W. Smith was captain of Company G and among the members of this company were George F. Coleman, James Morrison, David Briggs, A. Cox, H. H. Felton, Jacob Grow, J. G. Hall, D. W. King, Daniel Matson, John L. Ogan, John F. Prather, Willis Vance, John H. Worden. This company was organized in Cedar Rapids. Of Company H William Carbee was captain. Among the other officers were F. A. Jones, I. B. Dutton, William C. Glover, George W. Martin, J. H. Shanklin, Josiah Bundy, and among the members may be noted Michael Boyer, C. H. Burlingham, Joe L. Bundy, John B. Bowman, C. H. Branch, David Ely, Z. V. Elsbery, C. R. Elsbery, E. R. Gregg, M. Griffith, T. J. Gibson, Benjamin W. Gibson, Joseph Hyatt, F. C. Hunter, I. Lambert, Charles Penn, D. J. Post, J. S. Vernon, David C. Winans, and John Yount. This company was recruited from Springville, Waubeek, and Prairieburg. The Thirty-first Infantry, Company A, Robert Stinson, captain, was recruited in northeastern Linn county and was organized at Marion. William Smyth, of Marion, was colonel of the regiment, G. L. Carhart surgeon, L. H. Mason and A. J. Twogood quartermasters, Milo P. Smith sergeant-major, and Donald Lothian commissary sergeant. J. S. Alexander, at present postmaster at Marion, was promoted to the captaincy of Company A on June 14, 1864. Dyer Usher and John H. Harvey were lieutenants in this company, John M. Robbins, Hiram Deem, Jesse Abbott, Richard Abbott, Alfred Stinson and A. P. McKinley sergeants. Linn county was represented in the Thirty-seventh Infantry by men in Companies A, D, G, H and I. Jas. S. Morehead, George A. Calder, G. L. Snyder are familiar names on the roster of this regiment. Company A was organized in Cedar Rapids with John Hogendabler as captain. The company was made up of men from Linn, Benton and Blackhawk counties. The regiment was known as the "Grey Beards." Toward the close of the war some 100-day regiments were organized in Iowa. The county had men in these also--John S. Harrison, J. T. Christian, Geo. W. Bever, Henry S. Bever, B. F. Snyder, Geo. S. Bushnell, I. S. Barger, John Allsbaugh, H. O. Kearns, R. N. Maudsley, S. H. Metcalf, N. H. Martin, P. Otterbein, Homer H. Phelps, and others. Half of Company E, 46th, Infantry were from Linn county. John Harrison of Cedar Rapids, was the captain. David B. Henderson, of Dubuque, was colonel of the regiment. The county had also scattered representation in several cavalry regiments. According to the reports of the adjutant general of Iowa, out of a population of 18,947, Linn county furnished 1,737 men for the army from 1861 to 1864 inclusive. It is scarcely possible to sum up in brief space what Linn county did in raising men for the war. Company K of the First Iowa. Company D of the Twelfth, the companies raised by Captains E. N. Bates, C. C. Cook, R. H. Lucore, N. M. Hubbard, and J. P. Coulter, had already gone out from the county or were ready to enter the service early in 1862. W. W. Smith and Rev. F. W. Vinson had also a full company. More than fifty men had been recruited at Western, seventy-five at Springville, a full company at Mount Vernon, some fifty additional men at Marion, and a company was then forming at Center Point. In its issue for August 21, the _Times_ stated: "Within the past two weeks she [Linn county] has sent five companies out, and four others, full and organized, are waiting orders to leave. A tenth company will soon be filled. Nothing less than a regiment will satisfy the martial feeling prevailing in our county." On Monday, August 18, the companies of Captain Cook, Lucore, and Coulter, about 250 in all, left Cedar Rapids for Clinton. Captain Vinson's company was filled on August 20, with Sheriff W. W. Smith as first lieutenant. This company was made a part of the Twenty-fourth, or "Temperance" regiment. Mr. Vinson later resigned as captain to accept a position as chaplain of the regiment. In the meantime Captain T. Z. Cook had received a commission as lieutenant colonel of the Eighteenth Iowa. At the time he was mayor of Cedar Rapids but resigned and Charles Weare was appointed in his place. [Illustration: SAMPLES OF CURRENCY USED IN PIONEER DAYS The lower two signed by John Weare, President] In April, 1862, Dr. J. H. Camburn, of Cedar Rapids, was commissioned as surgeon of the Sixteenth Iowa and about the same time Dr. R. R. Taylor was appointed as medical officer of the Fourth cavalry, then stationed at Benton Barracks, St. Louis. To speak at length of the services rendered in the field by the men from Linn county is not possible at this time. Our boys all distinguished themselves for bravery, and suffered patiently the many privations to which they were subjected. Many of them saw hard service, and quite a number were taken prisoners. At Shiloh among the Linn county officers made prisoners were Capt. John H. Stibbs, and Lieut. Hiel Hale of Company D, Twelfth Iowa. These officers were later released on exchange. Captain Ed Coulter of the Twentieth Iowa fell into the hands of the enemy down in Texas. It seems that officers of the Twentieth were somewhat unfortunate. Major W. G. Thompson was badly wounded at the battle of Prairie Grove. Captain Bates resigned because of ill health, returned home, and died. Captain Lucore became ill with the small pox and also died. Captain C. C. Cook resigned on account of sickness, and was succeeded by Joseph McClelland, who at the time was ill in New Orleans. Lieutenant Joseph Holland resigned and came home sick, dying soon afterward. Company A of the Thirty-first Iowa reached Cedar Rapids after being discharged on July 3, 1865. This company went into the war 100 strong and returned with only about forty. Early in August of this same year, the three companies from Linn county in the Twenty-fourth Iowa reached home. Of Company C there were only twenty of the original members left. On the 7th of September, 1865, Cedar Rapids gave the returning soldiers a big reception. The elaborateness of the reception was greatly marred by a heavy rainfall. The spirit manifested was all right, however. COMPANY C, CEDAR RAPIDS One of the best known military companies in the state is Company C, of Cedar Rapids. This company was organized November 1, 1883, its first captain being George Greene. Many of the best known young men of the town at one time or another have been members of this organization. After serving a number of years Captain Greene resigned, and for a short time W. G. Dows was acting captain. Ed. II. Smith was then chosen to the position. He was succeeded by George A. Evans. W. G. Dows, long a member of this company, for a time was adjutant of the First Regiment Iowa National Guards. Upon the call for troops because of the Spanish-American war, on April 25, 1898, the entire membership of Company C left that same night for Des Moines, where the entire First Regiment was assembled. This regiment was mustered into the United States service as the Forty-ninth Iowa United States Volunteer Infantry. William G. Dows, colonel, commanding. After drilling for a time they went to Jacksonville, Florida, and then to Savannah, Georgia, where they took a government transport for Cuba. The members of the regiment did all kind of service in the army of occupation, much of it being very laborious. In May, 1899, the regiment returned from Cuba and shortly afterwards was mustered out at Savannah. While the company was in the service in Cuba George A. Evans was its captain. A few months later the present Fifty-third Regiment was organized, each city in the old regiment being allowed a company in the new. Company C was reorganized, and is now a part of this regiment. The first captain of the new company was Frank Hahn. He was succeeded by T. A. Berkebile, and he by John Rau, who is now the captain of the company. Col. William G. Dows, who is now a member of the governor's staff, served for twenty-five years in various capacities in the same regiment, a service for continuity unequalled. Though offered promotions, he maintained that he would rather stay by the old boys and the old regiment. FIFTH IOWA BATTERY Promptly upon the declaration of war in 1898 with Spain a battery was organized in Cedar Rapids for service in that war. It was mustered into the service as the Fifth Battery Iowa Volunteer Light Artillery. Nearly all of the 100 members came from Cedar Rapids and vicinity. The members were enrolled during April and May, and the battery was mustered in at Des Moines in June by Major Olmsted of the U. S. regulars. The battery saw no regular service, but it spent ten weeks in camp waiting, ready for service in the field if called upon. George W. Bever was the captain, R. Tasker Forbes and S. Craighead Cook, lieutenants, Charles A. Loring was first sergeant, Robert M. Witwer, quartermaster sergeant. Dr. C. H. French and Roy Waite were also sergeants in the company. CHAPTER XLV _Odds and Ends of History and Reminiscence_ In this chapter we give some odds and ends of history and reminiscence that could not well be inserted elsewhere or that came into our possession after the foregoing chapters were written: The result of the vote in Linn county in 1860 showed 2,227 for Lincoln electors, 1,220 for Douglas, 24 for Breckinridge, and 84 for Bell. In Rapids township Lincoln had 397, Douglas 201, Breckinridge 3, and Bell 26. The first telegraph line reached Cedar Rapids February 24, 1860. On the evening of Sunday, June 3, 1860, a destructive storm occurred, since known as "The Great Tornado." It was most destructive about five miles north of Cedar Rapids, and passed southward, leaving the county in the vicinity of Western. Some lives were lost and many buildings destroyed. THE TOWN OF WESTERN Western was laid out in March, 1856, under the auspices of the United Brethren church, with the design of forming proper surroundings for the college. Ground was first broken in June of that year. By August, 1857, there were forty-three dwelling houses and three hundred inhabitants. One college building had been completed. This was of brick, three stories in height, 36 by 62 feet. This was placed upon a campus of seventeen acres. Rev. S. Weaver was first president of this institution. The plan was to operate a large farm in connection with the college, that students might earn their way. In this new town there were already two stores, one hotel built and one building, a blacksmith shop, two physicians, and fourteen busy carpenters. Land in the vicinity was worth from $10 to $20 per acre. Its quality was proven when the college president, on his own farm, raised 1,800 bushels of wheat. There was a railroad coming there, of course, as there was one prospected to nearly every cross-roads in the state. This particular line was the Iowa Union, to run from Cedar Rapids to Iowa City. Western was above all things a moral town. One Daniel Quin having opened a grog shop near the place, where the college authorities could not interfere, the people took up the matter. Sentiment was aroused and a mass meeting was held. At this meeting resolutions were adopted, which provided that a committee should wait upon the dram seller and urge him to desist. In case of his refusal the committee was to try legal methods for his suppression. If these proved ineffective the meeting was to be again called, to devise further measures. A very significant addendum was that the meeting would support the committee in any plan which might be considered necessary to eradicate the obnoxious business. It was further resolved to use the boycott--though the Irish captain had not yet given his name to the scheme. In other words they were not to employ or trade with any man engaged in the liquor business or who might in any way support the traffic. It is perhaps needless to say that Quin surrendered at discretion without forcing the committee and the people to extremities hinted at. MT. VERNON Mt. Vernon makes showing in several directions during 1857. The Congregationalists of that town being without a place of worship were enabled to rent from the Covenanters. But by the terms of the lease with that strict body promise was made that no minister of pro-slavery sentiments should be heard within the building, nor upon any occasion was a musical instrument of any description to be used therein. The institution at Mt. Vernon which had before this time been known as "Iowa Conference Seminary," was in August, 1857, changed in name to Cornell College. And Mt. Vernon, like the other college town of Western, was careful for civic peace and righteousness. Christianity in that time and in a new country was required sometimes to be of a stalwart and muscular kind, that it might meet evil tendencies sharply and effectively. Thus we learn of the discomfitures of a gang of rowdies from Linn Grove, who invaded the peace of Mt. Vernon and disturbed its Sabbath quietude, with intent to break up a religious meeting then in progress. These were overcome, after a tussle, by the worshippers, and held until passing of midnight brought a civic day. Then the justice was roused, the disturbers formally accused, tried and fined to the utmost extent of their resources. The affair was over before one o'clock Monday morning, the rowdies started home with empty pockets, sadder and wiser men, and the godly inhabitants of Mt. Vernon again slept the sleep of the just. FIRST AGRICULTURAL ASSOCIATION The Linn County Agricultural and Mechanical Association was organized in 1855, its first meeting being held at Cedar Rapids in May of that year. The organization was completed in July. The object, as stated, was "the encouragement of agriculture, manufactures and the mechanic arts." To accomplish this laudable purpose an annual county fair was to be held. The first of these was at Cedar Rapids in September, 1855, and the second at Marion the next year. These are reported as very creditable in exhibits, and fairly well attended. In 1857 the association was incorporated, and in consequence drew $200 from the state treasury. The third fair was again at Cedar Rapids, and the management took the public into its confidence in advance by revealing its slender resources. The premiums for '56 were not paid, but those of the next year were very promptly met, and a surplus remained over for the future. These annual fairs were recognized as something to be aided by all parties, and the various toll bridges notified intending exhibitors that all live stock taken to the fair would be passed free. The statement of the association for 1860 shows total income of $462.00, of which amount $259.00 represented the gate receipts. The expenditures were $414.95, including $146.98 for premiums. The indebtedness of the society had increased to $618.65. The amount received from the state each year was $200.00. Officers elected for 1861 were: President, Charles Taylor, Cedar Rapids; vice presidents, Andrew Safely and W. S. Gott, Marion; secretary, S. D. McCauley, Cedar Rapids; treasurer, Lysander Jones, Marion. FIRST TEACHERS ASSOCIATION Another organization, though having nominal existence before this time, was really made effective in 1857. This was the Linn County Teachers' Association. On October 31, on call of J. L. Enos, the teachers and others interested met in Cedar Rapids. Mr. Enos was then editor of the _Voice of Iowa_, the educational organ of the state. At this meeting a reorganization of the association was effected, and officers elected as follows: President, Rev. S. Weaver, president of Western college; vice presidents, Prof. S. M. Fellows of Mt. Vernon, E. A. Cooley of Marion, Ira G. Fairbanks of Cedar Rapids; secretary, Prof. N. W. Bartlett, Western; treasurer, Hon. E. N. Bates of Cedar Rapids. The executive committee consisted of M. Bowman, Franklin township; S. M. Bruce, Washington; William Parmenter, Western; J. L. Enos, Cedar Rapids; and A. Witter, Franklin. The work of preparing a constitution was committed to J. L. Enos, E. A. Cooley, and Ira G. Fairbanks. A further meeting of the association was held at Western, December 12th, at which time the constitution was adopted and the organization started on a very useful existence. [Illustration: STREET VIEWS IN CEDAR RAPIDS, IN 1910] FIRST TEACHER'S CERTIFICATE IN CEDAR RAPIDS The first teacher's certificate issued in Rapids township reads as follows: "This certifies that I have this day examined Miss Susan A. Abbe, touching her ability to teach, both in regard to her education and to her moral character, and I find her well qualified for a teacher of common schools. "This certificate shall be valid for one year. "Rapids township, Linn county, Iowa, July 16, 1847. "Alexander L. Ely, "Inspector of Common Schools for said Township." Alexander L. Ely was one of the early settlers of Cedar Rapids, was interested in the public matters of the new town, and early engaged in politics. He was also largely interested in real estate, and operated one of the first mills on the Cedar river at the dam, which he caused to be built with N. B. Brown and other leading citizens. Susan A. Abbe, the person to whom this certificate was issued, is still living in Hollister, California, and is known as Mrs. Susan Shields. She was seventeen years when the certificate was issued, and had then been a resident of the county ten years. She taught for a number of years in the public schools of this county. Mrs. Shields maintains that she was the first legally qualified person to teach in the public schools of Cedar Rapids, according to the laws then in force in the state. The evidence seems to confirm her contention. TEACHERS' INSTITUTE A teachers' institute, first of which record is made and notable in point of attendance, was held in Cedar Rapids December 26, 1859, and continued for three days. There was constant drilling for the pedagogues in common school branches. Some sixty teachers were present. Linn county teachers held their institute for 1860 at Western October 29-30, with Prof. F. Humphrey of Cedar Rapids, president. Some of the subjects discussed may serve to illustrate differences in the times. Question of teachers (presumably male) using tobacco came up, and a resolution was adopted expressing "disapproval of the use of tobacco by teachers, and recommend to those of Linn county to abstain therefrom entirely." Dr. J. Maynard of Tipton made an address on the subject of "Children's Rights." Prof. Wheeler of Cornell orated on "Demosthenes." Editor Jerome of the Iowa City _Republican_ urged teachers to use the press as an ally in the cause of education. * * * * * Mrs. Ruth A. Dale, of Cedar Rapids, sister of Elias Doty, now living near Bertram, where the family settled in the early days--1839--has distinct recollections of pioneer life in the county. She states that Aretas Crane and Daniel C. Doty, brothers of Elias and James M. Doty, the pioneers, settled at Ft. Stevens, now Davenport, in 1836 or 1837--1836 she believes is the correct date. Daniel Doty and his son, J. M. Doty, and his son-in-law, Aretas Crane, passed over the ground on which Cedar Rapids now stands in 1837. This being the fact, it is evident that these people were the first white men to look upon the present site of the city, with a view to finding a permanent settlement for themselves. They, however, after looking over the ground concluded that the site afterwards known as Westport, and somewhat later as Newark, was the preferable location. They returned to their home at Middletown, Butler county, Ohio, and arranged their affairs. James M. Doty and Elias Doty, sons of Daniel Doty, returned to the county in 1839 and took up a claim at Westport. There they started what was, without question, the first manufacturing plant within the limits of the county, and possibly in the state. This was a pottery. The date of its establishment was probably in 1840. Later the same year Elias Doty began the erection of the first saw-mill in the county. The Dotys were induced to come to Iowa through the fact that their brother, Daniel C. Doty, was at the time engaged in steamboating on the Mississippi, his headquarters being at Davenport. In this connection the following extracts from a letter written by Elias and J. M. Doty to their parents and dated May 2, 1841, are of interest: "I have my mill frame up, that is, the lower frame. The upper frame is almost ready to raise. The millwright work can be done in about six weeks from the time we raise the frame. I have commenced the race. I have three hundred feet in length of a race and two hundred feet dam. As soon as I get water to it, it will be ready to run. "There are hard times enough here for anybody. There is nothing that will bring cash that I know of. For my part I am hard run to live. I would like to have some money. It has not come yet. "I cannot say that we are all well, but we are able to keep about. We had a great deal of sickness last fall. I cannot say that I like this country, it is too cold for me, the ground freezes from two to four feet deep. The frost is hardly out yet. The trees look like winter time. I think I will leave this place as soon as I can get my business settled, and money enough to carry me away. I have between two and three hundred dollars coming but can't get enough to buy myself a shirt. I bought corn last fall at three cents per bushel. I have three claims and want to sell them. "Last night was a pretty moonlight night. Parmelia kicked up a fuss and after all night's watching about six o'clock this morning after a bright sunrise she was delivered of a prosperous looking son, weight nine pounds, seven ounces." VOTE OF LINN COUNTY 1910 The vote of the county in November, 1910, for governor was as follows: Twp. Rep. Dem. Bertram 33 75 Brown 209 102 Boulder 76 90 Buffalo 40 27 Cedar 133 127 Clinton 52 64 College 49 95 Fairfax 60 111 Fayette 94 35 Franklin 385 182 Grant 124 95 Jackson 166 51 Linn 57 57 Maine 225 79 Marion 519 391 Monroe 99 66 Otter Creek 67 63 Putnam 43 96 Rapids 1761 2443 Spring Grove 83 22 Washington 145 168 ---- ---- 4420 4439 In addition to the above there were 382 votes cast for other candidates. SOME MUNICIPAL FIGURES FOR CEDAR RAPIDS The net taxable value of property in Cedar Rapids for the year 1910, on the one-fourth valuation, is $6,579,183. In addition the city has a mulct tax revenue and an income from licenses, police court fines, etc., of about $60,000 per year, giving a little more than $300,000 available for city purposes. The real estate valuation for 1910 is $21,280,294, and the personal property is valued at $5,026,438. The valuation twelve years ago was one-half of the above amount. It has increased at the rate of one million dollars per year since 1898. This increase is largely due to improvements and new buildings. Land values have doubled in the past twelve years. For 1911 the valuation will go above these values as the city has increased in value so fast that it will be necessary for the assessors to raise the valuation on all property for 1911 at least three million dollars, which will bring the total valuation to nearly thirty millions by 1912. EARLY DAYS IN LINN IN CEDAR RAPIDS REPUBLICAN JUNE 20, 1910 Being in a somewhat reflective mood today I shall attempt to acquaint you of a few incidents in a life as memory unfolds them to me. It will be necessary before narrating these incidents to introduce to you my friend and acquaintance, Colonel McIntyre of Indian Creek bottom, familiarly known as "Pinkey" by his class mates at West Point. The colonel measured six feet two, symmetrically proportioned, tipping the scale at a trifle over two hundred pounds, eyes of steel grey, beard auburn, bordering slightly on the reddish and a military bearing in keeping with his long years of service as a disciplinarian. The incidents of this life take me back some years to that little cabin, that stood on the east side of the road running north and south past Indian creek bottom, built from roughly finished logs hewn from the trunks of trees cut from the nearby forest. Time does not seem to efface from memory recollections with the boys and girls of the sparsely settled neighborhood, attending spelling schools and such like. The unfolding of memory reveals to me versions of the old place and the childhood days spent beneath the clapboard roof as vividly as though it were but yesterday. A little farther on up the road from this cabin, perhaps a half mile, there is a fork in the road, one fork leading on to what was then known as Turkey Grove and now to feather ridge, the other on to the Inn dwellers cave on the "Pinican" bluffs. On the flat iron point where the road forks was erected the first school house in that vicinity and is still standing as a monument to the men who were not afraid to do what they knew to be right regardless of the whims and petty clamorings of dissatisfaction that continually sway committees from the paths of rectitude and right. From this nucleus of education there go forth its quota of youth each year to enter higher institutions of learning or grapple with the more serious problems of life. The impressions I received while attending this school by the pleasant grove have not been eradicated by the conquering of new worlds or by the glamour of political conquests. Youthful dreams and the bewitching smile of some fair maid were a source of great pleasure to me; a smile from Miss Rose LaBelle during school time would set my heart going at a two minute clip and detract materially from my studies and the routine of school work. From this miniature "college" have gone forth men and women who are now wielding an influence almost nation wide in its scope. Some are gradually wandering from the truths that were enunciated and make a cardinal principle of its teaching and are now searching in hidden paths of sociology for new light. I now recall an event that happened while attending this school that conveys to my mind another fact tending to establish the truth of the proposition, that "ingratitude" is no dream. One bright morning in early spring when all nature seemed aglow with freshness and beauty, myself and a number of girls were the first to arrive at school, the teacher, Miss Theresa McCurty, being a little later than usual. On entering the school house we were held spellbound and speechless for a moment by a strange musical yet weird sound which seemed to come from the rear of the room. It took considerable effort to muster up courage to make an investigation, but finally a search was started and on approaching the rear end of the room the same musical weird sound would be at the other end of the room. Now in order to discover what it was that was making this strange weird noise and put the intruder to rout and discover if possible what kind of a looking monster he was, it was decided that two of us would go around to the rear and the rest remain in front and keep a sharp lookout for whatever it might be, when all at once one of the girls let out an unearthly scream and pointing at some object in the corner of the room shouted, "There it goes." We all gave chase, although some of the girls were rather timid on the start, and succeeded in capturing the intruder alive. It turned out to be a large white wood-mouse. What to do with this new and unruly possession was the important question now up for solution. Some were in for dispatching it at once, others said let's turn it loose, but Miss Orrie, who always had an eye for business when there was any fun in sight, suggested putting it in the teacher's desk and the result was that Miss Orrie had her way and we proceeded with all haste to carry out her plan, the girls holding up the lid of the old fashioned teacher's desk while I dropped the musical wonder in. This done, we went about our play as though nothing was ever expected to happen, impatiently waiting for something to happen, but not quite sure what. We didn't have long to wait. Now the teacher, Miss Theresa McCurty, was of the type of spinsters who are apparently self-willed and thoroughly versed in the art of throwing round them an atmosphere of ability to convince others of their dependence only on themselves in case of emergency to take care of themselves. We had barely completed the capture and imprisonment in the teacher's desk of the musical wonder, when Miss McCurty arrived, ready for her day's work of training the youthful intellect. It seemed as if this morning in particular she was more precise than ever and went about her work very deliberately. It was her custom (a custom that the "Blasting at the Rock of Ages" ought not to minimize) to read a chapter from some book of the bible every morning to the scholars before commencing the further duties of the day, and that chapter which speaks about bearing false witness was the one chosen for this morning, a very fitting prelude too, to the further developments of the day. We were more prompt than usual in taking our seats after school was called this morning with an evident desire to impress the teacher as being very attentive to our studies, but at the same time keeping one eye in the teacher's direction, so as not to miss any of the movements of the teacher in case the anticipated fun was thrust upon us. Lowell Taylor, the boy who couldn't keep still if he had to, was bubbling over with mirth (every school has them) and was severely reproved for not keeping quiet and for disturbing the whole school by his antics. After delivering to Lowell this short lecture on disobedience she went to her desk to get her bible and as she lifted the lid out jumped the prisoner and such a screech as she let out seemed to almost freeze the marrow in your bones and sent the cold chills chasing up and down your spinal column as with one bound she made the first row of seats and in a jiffy was clean to the farther end of the room, perched upon the rear desk with her skirts tucked snugly around her shaking limbs and terror pictured in every line of her face. In this position she remained impervious to all efforts to induce her to come off her high perch, until a second chase had been made and the intruder ejected from the room. By recess time she had again settled back in the old well beaten path and assumed her usual calm and dignified way, her reason, which had been so suddenly dethroned by the advent of the harmless mouse, was again gaining mastery of the situation. With the return of reason came the tangled threads of suspicion, that perhaps she had been the victim of a designing bunch of scholars and that a huge joke had been perpetrated on her. With this object in view she began a systematic search for evidence and among the girls she struck a responsive chord. They were ready to convict any one in order to exculpate themselves. They gave the whole plot away and every last one of them persisted in their innocence so eloquently that the teacher was fully convinced of my guilt. She therefore proceeded to relieve her pent up feelings by putting into action several of her "suffragette" ideas about personal liberty. She restrained me of mine for the next two weeks during the noon hour. EARLY DOCTORS IN THE COUNTY The following extracts from a paper read in December, 1910, before the Iowa Union Medical Society at its meeting in Cedar Rapids, by Dr. H. W. Sigworth, of Anamosa, himself a pioneer physician in Linn county, is of interest: I left northeastern Linn county thirty-four years ago. In 1856 I commenced the study of medicine in Pennsylvania. After that I was a tramp schoolmaster, farmer, student at Wisconsin university, and U. S. soldier. I graduated from Rush in '63. After looking for a location in Indiana, Illinois, and Wisconsin, I located at Waubeek--think of it--in Waubeek, in Maine township, in 1863. I had tried it a month at Fairview, in Jones county, before going to Waubeek. By the way, old Dr. Ristine made his first start in Iowa in the same historic town of Fairview before locating in Marion. Northeastern Linn county at that time was very much on the frontier. There were no bridges on the Wapsie from Quasqueton to Anamosa, but at Central City; now there are five. At Waubeek we had a postoffice but no regular mail carrier. Any one going to Marion took the mail sack and brought back the mail. Our first mail route was on Friday morning. It left Quasqueton horseback, making Paris, Central City (which was formerly called Clark's Ford), Waubeek, Necot (Perkins), Anamosa. Saturday it would return over the same route. The earliest doctor of whom I can get any word of locating in this territory was Doctor Ashby at Paris. When I came in 1863, Doctor Patterson was at Central City. Dr. Lanning was at Paris. He sat next to me at Rush in 1861 and 1862. Dr. Stacy lived out the Anamosa and Quasqueton road at Valley farm. I never met him. He sent me my first case of fractured thigh in June of 1863; a boy, eight years old, who lived in a sod house with a board roof, two miles north of McQueen's (now Hill's Mill), now owned by Coquillette. The splints were made with an axe and pocket knife out of an old cradle found on the roof of the house. Extension on the ankle was by the top of an old shoe with strings through the foot-piece of the Liston splint. Results all right. At Paris, after Lanning came Drs. Byam, Mrs. Dr. Byam, and my brother, M. P. Sigworth, Fullerton, McTavish, and Ellis, all of whom I knew, and not one of them alive now. Where the thriving village of Prairieburg now is was a cross road, the northeast corner lying out to commons for years. The first doctor to locate there was Dr. Young. He drove a little sorrel horse in a light rig with one wheel dished, which made a crooked track, and his disposition was something like the track of his buggy. Following him at this place was Dr. Ellis, who went to that place from Paris. At Central City after Dr. Patterson came Mitchell, a state of Maine Yankee. At an early date a majority of the people here abouts were from the state of Maine, henceforth the name of Maine township. The Jordans, Friesons, Clarks, Waterhouses, were early settlers from the state of Maine. Dr. Mitchell was a good doctor and a fine man. Poor fellow, he lost his life by having administered to him by a mistake a teaspoonful of poison when he was to have a tonic. After his death at Central City the place was filled by Drs. Ristine, Fisher, McTavish, my son, Dwight Sigworth, and Percy, a scientific fellow. This field is now filled by Drs. Fisher and Woodbridge. Waubeek was in the field of Dr. Love, he going northwest to Nugent's Grove at times. Dear old Dr. Love was a splendid man, a first-class diagnostician and a good physician and surgeon. If he lacked anything it was aggressiveness in surgery. While at Waubeek I had for co-laborers Drs. Phipps, Scott, Bowers, and Grimm. Bowers tried to commit suicide by taking a teaspoonful of poison which made him very sick, but he ultimately recovered. Dr. Grimm was known as the Dutch doctor. While I was at Waubeek when the river was high I had a stable on the north side of the river and I used to cross in a skiff to feed my horse and attend to calls on that side. The north side of the river was all woods for three miles in those days, and my practice was largely on that side. I used to go into Delaware county, and I had a large slice of Jones county. And may I say it, there are some families in that county which have had no doctor but a Sigworth for forty-four years. After fourteen years I sold to Dr. Crawford and then in four years he sold to Dr. Woodbridge, who in ten years moved to Central City. At the present time Dr. Ward is in Waubeek. The practice in those days was fraught with a great deal of difficulty and inconvenience. Swimming the river on horseback was one of the experiences which I did not like. Many times have I been wet while fording the streams with my feet on the dashboard of the buggy, my attention being taken in guiding my horse to an opening in the timber or a safe place to land. Those were the days in which we drank brandy mixed with sorghum, which was browned in the oven. This served the place of coffee. Grape-nuts, I think, originated from this. Of all of the forty-two doctors whom I have mentioned in this article I have met thirty-five, and at the present time there are six doctors on this field. THE OLD MILL OF CENTRAL CITY One of the land marks of the county is the old grist mill on the banks of the Wapsie at Central City. For a history of this mill, as well as for other interesting matter relative to the neighborhood, we are indebted to E. S. Wetherbee, editor of the Central City _News-Letter_, which paper in its issue of May 2, 1907, contained the following sketch and reminiscence: There are in the history of every city or hamlet many incidents of early times which are interesting to the present day generation, and are often worth recording, otherwise they are apt to pass into entire oblivion. But few remain of the early settlers of this community to tell the story of those early days. Although not one of the first, yet being among the very oldest of those yet alive and living here is Mr. James Outing, and it is to him we credit the data of the contents of this article. [Mr. Outing died about a year after this interview.] Among the very first people to settle here may be named Chandler Jordan, who still lives on his farm southeast of town, old "Uncle Joe" Clark, who came in 1839, and other families by the names of Heubner, Crawley, Pond, Tisdell, and others who might be named who appeared here about the same time. For a number of years the only way of getting across the river, and that only when the water was low, was by fording it somewhere near what is now known as the upper bridge. From this the place received its first name, and whatever honor was attached to it was given Mr. Clark by calling it Clark's Ford. At that time Mr. Clark owned quite a large tract of land here, comprising all the land now inside the corporation west of Fourth street, the eighty acres lying east of Fourth street being owned by some land concern in Cascade. As did all his neighbors, Mr. Clark farmed in those days entirely with oxen. The place went by the name of Clark's Ford but a few years, however, for Mr. Clark and a few others conceived the idea of laying out a town, and the Cascade men came over and together they laid off the plat, and it was then decided to call it Central City. One of the first needs of the people of the little neighborhood was a more convenient way of crossing the Wapsie, and this meant that a bridge must be constructed. Accordingly one was built at the place where the north or upper bridge now crosses the river. It was not what in this day would be called an expensive structure or so very handsome when completed, but it represented much hard work, privations, and expense to those interested in the building of it. The county had but little to do with it, if any, the whole thing being done by popular subscription, and in those times, there not being many to subscribe, the task was indeed a big one for the little handful of people. There was some money raised, but more gave in work, others furnished lumber, a stick of timber, and so on, until finally it was completed and traffic over it was begun in 1857. This bridge did not stand the test long. In the summer of 1859 there came a big freshet and the bridge went down stream. With its going out occurred an incident, which, though possibly forgotten by others, yet still remains fresh in the memory of Chandler Jordan. He was on this side of the river and while the bridge swayed and was considered unsafe he concluded to risk it as he was anxious to get home. He was on horseback and over he started. When about half way across the bridge began breaking loose, and realizing his danger Mr. Jordan jumped off his horse and started on the run for the shore. The horse also made an extra effort to find solid footing and both succeeded in getting on the opposite bank just as the bridge swung out into midstream and started floating down the river. It was soon replaced by another wooden structure built by the county and costing about $4,000. This stood for many years but has long since passed away and been replaced by the steel bridge now spanning the river on the same site. But we started out to write about the old mill. It still stands, and with the exception of the necessary repairs which from time to time have been made, contains the same timbers and lumber it did when built. In the early fifties there came to this neighborhood two men, one by the name of St. John, the other by the name of John Peet, both men of push and ambition. Realizing the tremendous power to be obtained from the waters of the Wapsie, and the ease with which a dam could be constructed where it now is, with the rocky banks on either side, and knowing the great demand for lumber, in the then fast settling community, they begun the construction of a dam with the intention of running a saw mill with it. The work on the dam was begun in 1855 by the two men mentioned, but was not finished until the next year, the work being engineered by old Mr. Bowdish, father of I. P. Bowdish. It was finished in 1856, as was also the old saw mill which stood for many years on the south bank of the river and did a flourishing business. Like many other old land marks it is gone. But many a stick of timber and lots of the old oak boards sawed there may yet be found in the older buildings about town. The country all about here was fast settling up, and one of the principal crops was wheat. It was a long way to market, the nearest railroad station being at Marion. St. John and Peet concluded that a flouring mill would be a paying enterprise, and began the erection of the mill. The lumber was sawed at the sawmill, and the heavy timbers, of which there were many, mostly came from a forty on what now belongs to the Gus Hatch farm north of town. Mentioning these timbers calls to the mind of Mr. Outing an incident which he threw into this narrative. There was a character who lived here by the name of Henry Hutchins. He was fond of hunting and fishing and would be gone often for a period of several days, no one knowing of his whereabouts. About this time he disappeared, and his absence became so protracted that his many friends began to fear that something had happened to him. It was while a party of choppers was hunting for timbers for the mill on the forty mentioned that one day they found Hutchins' lifeless body and beside it lay his gun with every indication that he had committed suicide. When the timbers were all on the ground, hewed and framed, everybody for miles around was invited and came to help with the raising. It was a mammoth job and occupied the better part of a week. Mr. Outing was there from start to finish. The mill was completed and began operations in 1859. St. John and Peet ran it for only about three years when they sold it to E. R. Burns, who ran it until 1867, when it passed into the hands of Hatch & Co., they paying for it the sum of $16,000. They conducted it for five years when it again passed into the hands of Mr. Burns who owned and operated it until sometime in the latter eighties. Since then it has changed hands several times, but the valuation for many years has not been one-fourth of what it originally was. For a great many years it did a big business grinding thousands and thousands of bushels of wheat each season, the flour being hauled across the country to Marion by teams. As the raising of wheat played out so the value and popularity of the mill depreciated until finally, as now, it was used only as a grist mill. The building is now owned by parties in the east and is being run by T. J. Liddington who runs it and any day may be found there taking care of any demands made upon him. He works alone, surrounded by a vast amount of empty space that was once filled with piles of grain, machinery, and the several men required to look after the big business.[O] LAND ASSESSMENTS Statement showing total acreage, valuation and average equalized actual value per acre of land in Linn county for 1909 and 1910. Township Acreage Valuation Average Bertram 15,816 $ 705,880 $44.63 Brown 22,689 1,226,160 54.04 Boulder 22,275 1,149,447 51.60 Buffalo 14,985 568,850 37.96 Cedar 13,268 1,002,296 75.54 Clinton 20,689 1,256,772 60.74 College 22,361 1,350,511 60.39 Fairfax 22,852 1,451,070 63.50 Fayette 15,463 770,599 49.83 Franklin 20,621 1,222,768 57.92 Grant 22,267 1,030,492 46.27 Jackson 22,090 1,016,365 46.01 Linn 22,874 1,278,324 55.88 Maine 29,537 1,345,650 45.55 Marion 46,922 2,779,332 59.23 Monroe 22,025 1,044,440 47.42 Otter Creek 22,423 1,206,721 53.82 Putnam 17,467 786,950 45.05 Spring Grove 22,558 1,086,186 48.15 Washington 18,026 797,423 44.23 ------- ----------- ------ Totals 437,208 $23,076,236 $52.78 COMPARATIVE TABLE Showing actual and taxable valuation of Linn county, 1899-1909. Actual value Taxable value 1909 $67,148,140.00 $16,787,035.00 1908 64,391,760.00 16,097,940.00 1907 63,806,912.00 15,951,728.00 1906 59,215,180.00 14,803,795.00 1905 57,547,092.00 14,386,773.00 1904 59,404,000.00 14,851,000.00 1903 57,505,160.00 14,376,290.00 1902 51,864,092.00 12,941,023.00 1901 50,501,132.00 12,625,283.00 1900 48,876,016.00 12,219,004.00 1899 48,083,716.00 12,020,929.00 * * * * * The history of the settlements in Linn county has been a history of struggle, of privation and of endurance. It was not an easy matter to have to go to Muscatine or Dubuque to mill and market; to travel by night on horseback some fifty miles for a doctor, and equally far to find a drug store. There were no roads passable for a greater part of the year; the rivers were not bridged, and the streams oftentimes were swollen so that the only means of crossing was by swimming or by making some temporary raft. The pioneer settler who wandered out over the prairie in a winter blizzard no doubt many times looked for the "smoke that so gracefully curls above the green elms" to indicate that a cabin was near. The new settlers found Iowa as they had so often heard of it as "a wilderness of prairie land." It was well watered, and along the streams could be found enough timber to erect fences and furnish fuel and rails. They generally located in the edge of the timber and along the streams, and hesitated about locating on the prairie till much later. There they found richer land than along the timber. These first settlers came from the far east and south, Ohio, Indiana, New York, Virginia, South Carolina, and the New England states. They came from Maryland, from Kentucky, and Tennessee. Some walked, like Ellis and Crow. Still others came in canvas covered wagons, in which the family were housed. They brought enough utensils to cook their scanty meals. The wagon was drawn by horses or oxen, followed by a few cows, an extra horse or two, and several dogs. At night they would camp by the side of some stream or near an oak tree. Not till the fifties and sixties did the foreigners arrive in any large numbers. As soon as they had been here a short time they wrote home their first impressions, and from that time a steady stream of foreign immigration poured into Iowa. These early pioneers waited long for railroads, for steamboats, and for good roads. Their produce was cheap and money was scarce, while interest was high. But they held on to their claims, ever looking for the brighter day. They possessed courage, hope, and the ability to wait and struggle till the times would change for the better. While many of the first settlers did not live to see their plans realized, later descendants sing their praises and embalm the memories of those who made the county, the cities, and the towns what they are today. Truly it can be said of the settlers of Linn county that they were a sturdy class of men and women, of whom their descendants may be justly proud. And the old pioneers who remain--when they reflect on the past and recall the days of old lang syne--cannot refrain from shedding affectionate tears for those who have gone hence. They call to mind the lines of the poet: "Two dreams came down to earth one night From the realms of mist and dew, One was a dream of the old, old days, And one was a dream of the new." Pioneer days in Linn county were days of hardships, often of exposure, but their trials only served to develop the manhood and womanhood of the early settlers who never thought of returning, whose "only aim was to wait and see." Certainly Kipling's lines apply to conditions as they existed in Linn county in pioneer days: "To the far flung fenceless prairie Where the quick cloud shadows trail, To the barn in the neighbor's offing, To the land of the new cut rail, To the plough in the league long furrow, To the gray lake gulls behind, To the weight of half a year's winter, To the warm, wet western wind." INDEX Abbe, Augustus: letter from, 53 Abbe, William: mentioned, 10, 92, 102; government agent, 11; mentioned, 32, 33, 34, 35, 44; first settler in the county, 51; member state senate, 52; Ellis speaks of, 147 Abbe, Susan: probably first teacher in Cedar Rapids, 198, 481 Agassiz, Louis: quotation from, 1 Agricultural Association: first in county, 480 Albrook, Rev. J. B.: 209 Alderman, A. B.: gives information as to schools, 200 American Fur Company: 14 Atkins, John W.: superintendent of schools, 418 Attorneys: those now practising in the county, 188 Austin, Leonard: first settler in Spring Grove township, 289 Avery, E. H.: president Coe college, 227 Banks and banking: history of in the county, 435 ff Bardwell, T. S.: early Marion physician, 87, 467 Barnes, William H.: Cornell professor, 204 Barry, Justin: writes history of Grant township and Walker, 279 Bassitt, James: comes to county, in 1839, 148 Bates, E. N.: tribute to, 112; lawyer, 178 Beales, Hiram: builds saw mill, 462 Belt, A. Sidney: lawyer, 179 Bench and Bar: chatty mention of, 177 ff Bennett, Henry: early settler at Quasqueton, 101 Benton, Thomas H.: reference to, 19 Berry, James M.: county judge, 56 Berry, John C.: clerk of commissioners, 33 Bertram township: history of, 270 Bishop, Homer: postmaster at Cedar Rapids, 84 Blair building: 232 Blair, John I.: 232 Blair Town Lot and Land Company, 239 Black Hawk: mentioned, 9, 12 Black Hawk Purchase: mentioned, 14 Black Hawk War: 14, 31 Boggs, Governor: of Missouri, 15 Bohemian Element in Cedar Rapids: 121 ff Bottorf, Andrew: lays out Center Point, 290 Bowling, O. S.: came to Cedar Rapids in 1838, 152 Bowman, George B.: founder of Cornell college, 201 Bowman, H. G.: brilliant lawyer, 186 Boulder township: history of, 278 Boye, Nels C.: first Scandinavian settler, 159 Brice, S. M.: postmaster at Center Point, 82 Bridges: the Cedar Rapids, 420 Brodie Gang: 38 Broeksmit, John C.: treasurer Coe college, 226 Bromwell, James E.: writes history of Marion, 460 Bromwell, James E., Sr.: early settler, 46, 257; makes first coffin in county, 466 Brown, Alpheus: school fund commissioner, 196 Brown, N. B.: mentioned, 11; lays out town site of Cedar Rapids, 43; buys portion of town, 49; a progressive citizen, 150 Brown, N. E.: speaks of railroad to Cedar Rapids, 64 Bryan, B. S.: 267 Bryan, Hugh L.: 267 Bryan, Michael: 267 Buffalo township: history of, 279 Burke, Thomas: 163 Burkhalter, E. R.: writes history of Coe college, 215 ff Burlington: first capital of Iowa, 14 Burrell, H. A.: quotation from, 103 Butler, Isaac: first postmaster in Brown township, 84 Calhoun, Senator: quoted, 18 Calvin, Samuel: quoted, 1 Camburn, Dr. J. H.: an able justice, 189 Carroll, G. R.: his _Pioneer Life_ quoted, 92, 93, 215 Carroll, Isaac: came to Cedar Rapids in 1839, 152 Carpenter, Gabriel: buys much land in Cedar Rapids, 160 Carpenter, S. D.: early physician, 88; quoted, 154; writes of early banking, 435 Carondalet: Spanish Governor at New Orleans, 13 Catholicism in Linn county: 401 Cavanaugh, Mr. and Mrs. Matthew: first graduates Cornell college, 210 Cedar Rapids: townsite surveyed, 43; figured in county seat fight, 57; the postoffice in, 84; early schools in, 198 ff; beginnings in, 207; Robert Ellis reaches, 307; N. B. Brown here in 1839, 308; surveyed in 1841, 308; the Listebargers build log house in, 310; Rev. Carroll's reminiscences of, 310; railroad reaches, 312; ferries established in, 313; first brick building in, 314; first store, 314; first newspaper, 314; first mayor, 314; first school, 316; Dr. Carpenter's reminiscences of, 317 ff; early hotels in, 328; business of the city in 1856, 328; sketch of the city from an early directory, 332; sketch of Mrs. N. B. Brown, 333; Cedar Rapids today, 335; the railways of, 337; manufacturing in, 339; the street railways of, 341; Commercial club, 345; who paid the taxes in, fifty years ago, 347; text of incorporation act, 353; first city officials of, 356; second election in, 356; first tax levy in, 357; election of 1851 in, 357; first sidewalk ordinance, 357; election of 1853 in, 358; the cemeteries of, 358; election of 1854 in, 358; election of 1855 and 1856 in, 359; officials of the city from 1857 to 1910, 359; the city fifty years ago, 365; how the first railroad came to, 370; some of the early brick houses in, 374; some strenuous days in, 376; Mrs. Rock's reminiscences of, 379; when land was cheap in, 382; first decoration day celebration in, 384; first labor union organized in, 390; story of a mountain howitzer, 391; a fortunate tumble, 392; interesting bit of ancient history, 393; churches and fraternities in, 395; history of Catholic churches in, 402; bridges, 420; some municipal figures, 482 Cedar Rapids Clearing House Association: 442 Cedar Rapids & Marion City Railway Company: 344 Cedar Rapids and Missouri River Railroad: 233 Cedar River: early steamboating on, 423 Central City: 284; old mill at, 486 Center Point: 290 Cemeteries: some of the old, 242 Child. J. J.: lawyer, 172, 182 Clark, Joseph: arrives at Central City in 1839, 148 Clay, Senator: quoted, 18 Clinton township: history of, 278 Coe, Daniel: founder of Coe college, 217 Coe college: history of, 215 ff Colby, Farnum: early settler, 153 College township: history of, 287 Columbus (now Cedar Rapids): 43, 48 Commercial Club: of Cedar Rapids, 345 Company C, Cedar Rapids: brief account of, 477 Condit, R. A.: principal Coe Collegiate Institute, 223 Conkey, John P.: first member of legislature from Cedar Rapids, 158 Conklin, C. H.: judge, 173 Conway, William B.: territorial secretary, 14 Cook, Isaac: nominated for secretary of state, 158; mentioned, 170; lawyer of ability, 177 Cooke, Harriette J.: dean of women at Cornell, 204 Corbett, Thomas: 176 Cornell college: historical sketch of, 201 ff Cousins, Robert G.: quoted, 20 ff; elected to congress, 305 Craig, John: 162 Crane, Joseph: early settler at Bertram, 159 Crocker, L. D.: 234 Crow, Edward M.: 45, 48; came to county, 56; mentioned, 92, 161 Crow, John: one of first permanent settlers, 48, 161 Dale, Mrs. Ruth A.: interview with, 481 Daniels, Addison: has first store in Marion, 461 Daniels, John J.: quotation from, 55, 270; early teacher, 148 Daniels, L.: postmaster at Marion, 82; at Cedar Rapids, 84 Daniels, Samuel: early settler, 462 Davenport: 44 Davenport, J. G.: postmaster at Cedar Rapids, 84, 108 David, John: 176 Davis, William: early settler in Grant township, 280 Dawson, James: 45 Deacon, Charles J.: quoted, 220 Deem, Hiram: early settler, 153 Democratic party: organization of in county, 260 Devendorf, Thomas: article on taxes in Cedar Rapids by, 347; article on first railroad to Cedar Rapids by, 370 Dinwiddie, J. M.: treasurer Coe college, 226 Dodge, A. C.: mentioned, 31; senator, 82 Dodge, Henry: mentioned, 31, 82 Donnan, Helen R.: writes of Masonic Library, 248 Doty, Elias: helps on court house, 34 Doty, Elias: a constant litigant, 188 Doty, James: helps erect court house, 34, 35 Doty, James M.: plats Newark, 143; first pottery maker in Iowa, 146 Doty, Susan: kind to the Indians, 11 Downing, Thomas: early settler, 152 Dows, S. L.: 263 Dows, W. G.: his military record, 477, 478 Dubuque, city: mentioned, 13, 20, 44 Dubuque, Julian: obtains grant of land, 13 Dudley, J. W.: 172 Durham, S. W.: letter to from Col. Merritt, 58; as to postoffices, 82; letter by, 143; address by, 164 ff; honored pioneer, 464 Eastman, A. V.: secretary Coe College, 225 Edgerton, Asher: gets contract for Court House, 34, 35 Ellis, Robert: knew the Indians, 10; agent for the government, 11; walked to Iowa, 45; meets Bill Johnson, 101; oldest living settler in county, 146 Elkhorn Land & Town Lot Company: 240 Ely, Alex. L.: 47, 50 Ely, John F.: early physician, 88; mentioned, 233 Endicott, W. I.: quoted, 335 Engle, Peter H.: letter written by, 19; referred to, 31 Enos, J. L.: newspaper articles by quoted, 84, 86 Evans, George A.: captain Company C, 477 Ewing, Senator: quoted, 18 Fairbanks, Ira G.: superintendent of schools, 196 Fairfax: Catholic church at, 407 Fairfax township: history of, 271 Fellows, Rev. S. N: 202 _note_ Ferguson, Henry V.: 233 Ferguson. Jason D.: killed in Civil War, 474 Fifth Iowa Battery: 478 Fifty-third regiment: 477 Fisher, A. W.: writes history of Spring Grove township, 288 Fiske, John: quoted, 8 Florida: admission of, 15 Flynn, Rev. P. J.: contributes article on history of Catholicism in county, 401 Fordyce, Emma J.: writes of early schools, 198 ff Fort Atkinson: 10, 11, 12 Fort George school house: 143 Fortner, Catharine A.: early Cornell teacher, 204 Foster, Sidney A.: 17 _note_ Freer, H. H.: professor Cornell college, 208 Fremont, Elkhorn & Missouri Valley Railroad, 237 Gainer, Thos.: came to Cedar Rapids in 1839, 152 Garrow, Peter: first citizen to be naturalized, 464 Geer, C. M.: quoted, 13 Geology of Linn county: 24 ff Gillilan, James: 45 Glass, J. P.: early settler, 46 Good, James W.: elected to congress, 305 Goudy, John, family of robbed, 38 ff Grant township: history of, 279 Gray, George W.: builds present court house, 35 Gray, Hosea W.: 33, 35, 47, 48, 49; takes first census of county, 95, 463; first sheriff, 463 Gray, Miss Pethenia: early school teacher, 285 Grafton, Dr. S.: early settler at Ivanhoe, 159 Greene, George: school teacher, 34; member legislative council, 48; buys portion of Cedar Rapids, 49; letter to Col. Durham, 61; lawyer, 178, 465 Greene, Joseph: first postmaster at Cedar Rapids, 84 Grist mill: first in county, 257 Gunn, Thomas F.: 404 Hagey, Joanna: writes of Cedar Rapids library, 250 Hahn, Daniel S.: claimed to be first settler, 55 Hall, O. S.: a pioneer, 461 Hall, P. E.: 233 Hall, Samuel: early settler, 276 Haman, Geo. C.: tells of coming of railroad to Cedar Rapids, 64 Haman, Mrs. George C.: gives her recollections of society in the early days, 261 ff Hamilton, John T.: elected to congress, 305 Harlan, James: senator, 82; state superintendent, 201 Harlan, James E.: president Cornell college, 208 Harland, Ambrose, early settler, 143; early politician, 300 Harman, Peter D.: did brick work on present court house, 35 Harper, Bill: a noted character, 181 Hart, Caspar J.: 159 Hart, J. A.: 159, 269 Hartigan, Father: in charge of the Catholic church at Marion, 410 Haskins, C. C.: 92; early settler at Mt. Vernon, 159 Hazeltine, E. D.: early settler in Grant township, 280 Headley, J. T.: early practitioner, 164 Heins, B. F.: lawyer, 183 Henry, John: operates store at Westport, 42, 92 Hershey, Christian: pioneer minister, 292 Higley, Harvey G.: 158 Higley, Henry E.: 158 Higley, M. A.: 158 Higley, W. W.: 158 Hoffman, John: postmaster at Springville, 84 Hollis, C. M.: editor of _Times_, quotation from, 111, 112 Hook, Samuel F.: early settler, 152 Hoosier Grove Settlement: 46 Hormel, Frank: able lawyer, 183 Hotchkin, James K: first postmaster of Walker, 280 Howlett, G. M.: postmaster at Cedar Rapids, 85 Hubbard, N. M.: eminent attorney, 179; anecdotes of, 180; Decoration Day address of, 387; mentioned, 467 Hubbard Smyth: political contest, 302 ff Hull, Philip: 44, 147 Hunter, James: helps build court house, 34, 35 Hunter, John: helps build court house, 34 Humphrey, Joseph: early settler, 276 Illinois: admitted, 31 Indians: account of, 8 Indian nomenclature: 22 Ingham, W. H.: 163 Isbell, N. W.: first county judge, 169, 176, 468 Ivanhoe: 43 Ives, C. J.: pioneer railroad developer, 161 Iowa: a prairie state, 1; first inhabitants, 3; history of, 13 Iowa City: constitutional convention at, 15 Iowa Conference Seminary: founding of, 202 Iowa Falls & Sioux City Railroad: 236 Iowa Rail Road Land Company: 239 Iowa State Gazetteer: quoted, 47 Iowas: mentioned, 9, 13 Jackson township: history of, 285 Jenkins, John: first settler in Maine township, 282 Johnson, Alexander: early settler, 276 Johnson, Bill: hero of Canadian rebellion, 101 ff Johnson, Kate: 101 Johnson, S. S.: early carpenter and builder, 154 Joliet, Louis: discovers Iowa, 4 Jones, Geo. W.: mentioned, 31; senator from Iowa, 82 Jones, Stephen M.: 109 Jordan, Chandler: early settler in Maine township, 282 Jordan, Charles: early settler, 163 Jordan, L. D.: early settler in Maine township, 282 Justices: early Linn County, 199 ff Keeler, C. B: lawyer, 186 Keeler, Rev. R. W.: early president Cornell college, 204 Kelsey, J. H.: early settler, 152 Kephart, Cyrus J.: his history of the United Brethren at Lisbon quoted, 291 Kimball Building, 233 Kimbal, L. C: 233 King, David W.: came to Cedar Rapids in 1839, 152, 161 King, William Fletcher: president of Cornell college, 208 Kirkwood, Governor: dispatch from, 471; calls for additional troops, 475 Kynett, A. J.: helps found Cornell college, 201, 208 Knott, Richard: commissioner to locate county seat, 32, 33 Knox, Rev. James, 224 Kurtz, John E.: one of the founders of Lisbon, 161 Labor: first union organized in Cedar Rapids, 390 Lake, E. W.: early Marion physician, 87 Langworthy, L. H.: quotation from, 104 Lawyers: early, 169 Lazell, F. J.: author of article on newspapers of county, 106 Laylander, O. J.: quoted, 17 Lea, Albert Miller: quoted, 19 Lee, Guy Carleton: his _History of North America_ referred to, 13 Leffingwell, William E.: candidate for Congress, 179 Legare, Margaret S.: 267 Leverich, James: arrives in 1839, 148 Leverich, Joel: becomes owner of Mound Farm, 46; arrives in 1839, 148; Dr. Carpenter on, 148; Geo. R. Carroll on, 149; early politician, 301 Libraries: Masonic, 248; Cedar Rapids, 250; Coe college, 250; Mt. Vernon, 251; Marion, 251; Bohemian Reading Society, 251 Lichtebarger, Jos. H.: early settler, 148 Linn County: act organizing, 32; first survey, 34; first court house in, 34; names of townships in, 35; judiciary in, 35; circuit court in, 36; noted trials in, 36; outlawry in, 37; early settlement of, 42; first marriage in, 46; organized, 47; first election in, 48; first settler in, 51; county seat contests in, 57; first railroad in, 58; old settlers of, 66 ff, 145 ff; postoffices and politics in, 82 ff; physicians of, 86 ff; material growth of, 92 ff; first reaper in, 93; newspapers of, 106; early Bohemian settlements in, 121 ff; early marriages in, 127 ff; historic roads and monuments in, 142; early lawyers and courts in, 169 ff; chatty mention of bench and bar, 175 ff; early justices in, 189 ff; schools in, 194 ff; old cemeteries in, 242; libraries in, 248; wages and prices in, from 1846 to 1856, 253; some first things in, 256; first grist mill in, 257; early land entries in, 258; organization of democratic party in, 260; early society in, 261; history of townships, 270; politics in, 298; statistics for 1856, 332; Catholicism in, 401; population of, 416; early votes in, 417; members of legislature from, 417; banks and banking in, 435 ff; list of county officers, 451 ff; in war, 470; vote in, in 1860, 479; tornado in, 479; account of Western, 479; of Mt. Vernon, 479; first agricultural association in, 480; first teachers association in, 480; teachers' institute, 481; vote in, in 1910, 482; early days in, 483; early doctors in, 485; land assessments in, 488; taxable valuation in, 489 Linn County Medical Society: 89 Linn, Dr. Louis F.: mentioned, 32; Linn county named after, 47 Linn township: history of, 286 Lisbon: 291; camp-meetings at, 296; Catholic church at, 411 Loughnane, Rev. P. M.: Catholic priest at Marion, 411 Louisiana Purchase, The: 13 Love, J. S.: early Springville physician, 89 Lowry, Father: 403 Lucas, Robert: territorial governor, 14, 15 Lucore, R. H.: early settler, 148 Lund, Mrs. E. J.: early Cedar Rapids teacher, 199 Lynch, Jerry: a resourceful lawyer, 182; anecdotes of, 183 Lytle, James: early settler in Jackson township, 285 McCabe, Bishop C. C.: 163 McClelland, Freeman: 88 McCloud, Ross: county surveyor, 34 McConnell, N. A.: early minister, 289 McCormick, Samuel B.: president Coe college, 228 McDye, William E.: colonel, 475 McIntosh, D. M.: lawyer, 177; erects early brick house in Cedar Rapids, 267 McKean, A. J.: appointed constable, 33; clerk of circuit court, 36; early politician, 158; first constable and first assessor, 464 McKean, Thomas J.: first mayor of Marion, 466; sketch of, 470 McKinney, Ed: early settler in Maine township, 282 McKinnon, William: early settler, 277 McRoberts, Peter: chosen commissioner, 33 McVay, Luther: pioneer minister, 293 Maggart, Rev. C. W.: his sketch of the Cedar Rapids churches, 397 Maine township: history of, 281 Mann, Jacob: one of first settlers, 45, 48, 160 Mann, Sally: probably first white woman to settle in county, 160 Mansfield, E. L.: 88; came to Iowa on horseback, 162 Maple River Railroad: 238 Marion: named county seat, 33, 57; U. S. land office, 34; district court of U. S. and territorial court meets at, 35; railroad meeting at, 62; Catholic Church at, 409; history of, 460 ff; first house in, 461; first store, 461; first hotel, 461; first jail built in, 461; plat of town recorded, 363; first court held in, 465; fire department organized, 466 Marquette, Jacques: quoted, 4 Marriages: early ones in county, 127 ff Marshall, James: president Coe college, 227 Mason, Albert A.: superintendent of schools, 196 Matsell, G. W.: early settler, 163 May, J. M.: files plat of Mayfield, 143; a stirring man, 157; lawyer, 178 Mayfield: now portion of Cedar Rapids, 143 Maynard, H. H.: field secretary Coe college, 228 Mekota, Jos.: contributes article, 121 ff Melton, George: and Center Point postoffice, 82 Mercy Hospital, 413 Merritt, W. H.: storekeeper at Ivanhoe, 11, 153; writes political letter, 59 Mexican veterans: in county, 470 Miller, Wm. E.: judge, 173 Mills, J. G.: his _Handbook_ mentioned, 144 Mills, Mason P.: lawyer, 183 Minnesota: admitted, 31 Missouri: admitted, 31 Missouri Valley & Blair Railway and Bridge Company: 238 Missouri Valley Land Company: 240 Mitchell, Israel: lays out Westport, 33, 146 Mitchell, James: early settler, 275 Mitchell, John: lawyer, 177 Mitchell, John: early settler, 275 Moingona Coal Company: 240 Montrose: 20 Mound Builders: mentioned, 3; account of, 4 Mt. Vernon: account of, 479 Mulford, Charles R.: early merchant, 153 Murray, F. G.: contributes chapter on physicians, 86 Muscatine: 44 Muskwaki: mentioned, 10 Newark: extinct town, 143 Newberry, J. S.: quoted, 7 Newhall, J. B.: quoted, 47 New Lindon: defunct town, 84, 143 Newspapers: history of, 106 ff Neutral Grounds: 14 Norton, William Harmon: contribution on geology of Linn county, 24 ff; writes of Cornell college, 201 ff Nye, Benjamin: commissioner to locate county seat, 32, 33 Old Settlers' Association: members of, 66 ff Otoes: mentioned, 9 Otter Creek: settlement of, 46 Otter Creek township: history of, 286 Owen, Dr. Norman W.: 467 Oxley, Marshall: 257 Oxley, Perry: early politician, 300 Parker, N. H.: quoted, 17, 144 Parvin, T. S.: 162 Patterson, William: does carpenter work on present court house, 35 Phelps, Stephen: president Coe college, 226 Physicians: of the county, 86 ff Plummer, John: first justice in Spring Grove township, 289 Politics: county and district, 298 Pollock, S. L.: early settler, 153 Population: of county and towns, 416 Postoffices: early politics concerning, 82 Powell, J. J.: lawyer, 183 Powell, Major J. W.: quoted, 7 Practitioners' Club: 89 Prairie du Chien: 20 Prairieburg: Catholic church at, 407 Preston, I. M.: 171, 468 Public Instruction: superintendent of created, 195 Railroad: first in county, 58; letter from Merritt on, 59; Iowa Central Air Line, 63; Dubuque and Southwestern, 63; letter from C. H. Branch on, 64 Reiner, W. Fred: his experience as express messenger, 244 ff Richardson, Rev. T. F.: 406 Risley, A. P.: postmaster at Springville, 84 Ristine, Henry M.: early county physician, 86, 89, 467 Roads: early ones laid out, 142 Roberts, Robert G.: chosen legislator, 33 Rock, Mrs. R. C.: early teacher, 198; mentioned, 261; reminiscences of, 379 Rockingham: 44 Rogers, Wm.: early settler at Rogers Grove, 163 Rood, H. H.: quoted, 210 Rothrock, James H.: judge, 173, 181; anecdotes of, 181, 182 Runkle, Jesse A.: quoted, 196 Sac and Fox, The: 10, 13 Sacred Heart Academy: 414 Safely, Robt.: 163 Sampson, A. E.: lays out town of New Lindon, 84 Sanford, Julius E.: one of platters of Cedar Rapids, 162, 176 Schools: early history of, 194 ff Scott, General Winfield: concludes treaty with Sacs and Foxes, 14 Seerley, H. H.: 209 Shambaugh, B. F.: quoted, 19 Shane, John: judge, 174 Shaw, L. M.: quoted, 213 Shepherd, Osgood: 46, 49, 149 Sherman, E. A.: quoted, 341 Shields, Mrs. Susan: daughter of William Abbe, 10, 51 Sigworth, Dr. H. W.: address on early doctors in county, 485 Sinclair, Thomas M.: helps Coe college, 225 Sisley Grove: 279 Sisters of Mercy: 412 Sioux City & Iowa Falls Town Lot and Land Company: 239 Sioux City & Pacific Railroad: 235 Sioux Indians: mentioned, 10 Skinner, Rev. Elias: candidate for county judge, 57; letter from, 164 Smith, E. W.: Cornell professor, 204 Smith, Judge Milo P.: contributor, 169; early teacher, 194 Smith, W. H.: appointed constable, 33 Smith, William Wilberforce: president Coe college, 229 Smyth, Robert: an enterprising man, 161 Smyth, William: first county attorney, 170, 179, 468 Snouffer, J. J.: 84, 269 Snyder, Justice: 189 Society in the early days: 261 Southern influence: 267 Soutter, C. B.: president board of trustees Coe college, 228 Speake, John K.: early settler in Grant township, 280 Spring Grove township: history of, 288 Steamboating: on the Cedar, 420 Stephens, R. D.: builds elevator at Marion, 97; mentioned, 171; financier, 177; tribute to, 467 Stewart, J. O.: quoted, 109; commissioned captain in Civil War, 475 Stewart, Samuel C.: chosen commissioner, 33 Stewart, William: early blacksmith, 154 Stoddard, Jos. C.: in Civil war, 473 Stone, William: had store at Westport, 42, 46, 49; probable first settler in Cedar Rapids, 151 Stookey, S. W.: acting president Coe college, 228 Strong, L. M.: chosen commissioner, 33; builds first house in Marion, 461 Sullivan, John C.: surveys southern Iowa boundary, 15 Taylor, A. C.: 85 Taylor, Dr. Robert: 269 Teachers' Association: first in county, 480 Teachers' institute: first in county, 481 Tecumseh: 9 Thomas, Dr. Cyrus: 7 Thompson, Henry: erects saw mill, 460 Thompson, William G.: lawyer, 172, 186; anecdotes of, 187; tribute to, 468 Trans-Mississippi Exposition: 20 Troup, Reverend C.: first minister in county, 48, 291 Troy Mills: founded, 290 Tryon, S. H.: 86 Union Medical Society, 89 United Brethren Church: beginning of in Iowa, 291; at Lisbon, 292 ff. United Presbyterian Church: origin of the Fairfax, 272 Ure, James: early settler, 275 Ure, Robert: early settler, 272 Ure, William: brings first reaper to county, 93 Usher, Dyer: first divorce action in county brought by, 36; ferries people across the Mississippi, 46 Vardy, John: erects first frame dwelling in Cedar Rapids, 49; arrives in Cedar Rapids in 1841, 152 Vinton, Samuel F.: attitude toward Iowa, 16 Walker: history of, 279; Catholic church at, 409 Washington township: history of, 290 Waubeek: 284 Weare, Charles: early contractor, 154 Weare, John: early banker, 154 Webster, C. L.: quoted, 8 Weld, L. G.: 3 _note_; 13 _note_ Western: stage line to, 47; account of, 479 Westport: 33, 43, 46, 48, 143 Wetherbee, E. S.: gives account of old mill at Central City, 486 Wheeler, David H.: Cornell professor, 204 Whittam, I. N.: pioneer lawyer, 178 Whittlesey, Charles: chosen senator, 33 Wick, B. L.: writes on early steamboating, 423 Williams, Joseph D.: judge, 35, 41 Williams, Horace: 239 Willis, James W.: first county commissioners meet at house of, 33 Wilson, George W.: noted attorney, 187 Wilson, Gen. James: 103 Wilson, Judge James: surveyor-general, 31 Wilson, T. S.: 82 Winnebagoes, The: account of, 9 Wisconsin: admitted, 31 Witter, Amos: early physician in Mount Vernon, 87 Woodbridge, Ward: writes history of Maine township, 281 Young, Joseph B.: lawyer, 177, 468 Zumbro, John: postmaster at Marion, 82 FOOTNOTES: [Footnote A: L. G. Weld, _Iowa Journal of History and Politics_, vol. i, no. 1.] [Footnote B: This is the view of nearly all the writers and historians, but Professor Weld in vol. i, no. 1, _Iowa Journal of History and Politics_, holds to the opinion that the landing was made at the point in Louisa county where the Iowa river enters the Mississippi and gives cogent reasons for his belief.] [Footnote C: Hon. Sidney A. Foster, Des Moines.] [Footnote D: N. H. Parker in _Iowa As It Is in 1855_, p. xiv.] [Footnote E: _Iowa As It Is in 1855_, p. xv.] [Footnote F: Response to a toast at a banquet in Waterloo in honor of Hon. Horace Boise, ex-Governor of the State.] [Footnote G: _Notes on the Wisconsin Territory_, pp. 14-15 (1836).] [Footnote H: Letter written by Peter H. Engle, of Dubuque, in 1838.] [Footnote I: _The Constitutions of Iowa_, pp. 23-24 (1902).] [Footnote J: Rev. Dr. S. N. Fellows, _A Record of the Fiftieth Anniversary of Cornell College_, p. 91.] [Footnote K: The pioneer settlements about Mount Vernon had sent several flat boats down the Cedar and Mississippi to New Orleans with cargoes of wheat, corn and potatoes. With the proceeds of sale of boats and cargo, sugar, molasses and other goods were purchased and shipped by steamers to Muscatine. Col. Robt. Smyth was one of those who thus made the voyage from Stony Point, three miles south of Mount Vernon, to New Orleans.] [Footnote L: During the melee a farmer from north of town gave a stentorian yell for Jeff Davis and was promptly knocked down by a federal soldier home on furlough. The soldier was afterwards arrested for assault. On the day of the trial before Judge Preston of Marion some thirty Mount Vernon men were present armed with various weapons, including corn knives. The case was dismissed.] [Footnote M: See _Minutes of Iowa City Presbytery_, Lyons, May 9, 1856.] [Footnote N: This is according to Lawrence's history, and in harmony with statements from Dr. A. W. Drury. Mrs. Elizabeth Harner, daughter of Bro. Troup, says he came to Iowa in 1838.] [Footnote O: Chandler Jordan, mentioned above, died about a year ago, and Mr. Liddington was killed in the mill in the winter of 1909-10 by getting wound up in the shafting, and since then the old mill has stood idle.] * * * * * Transcriber's Notes Obvious typos and misprinted punctuation have been silently corrected. Spelling and hyphenation variations have been retained to match the original book when no major preference could be determined. Added to Contents: FOOTNOTES, End of document Added to List of Maps: Reproduction of the First Map of Cedar Rapids, (Part 1) and (Part 2) 316. Page 11: The Muskwaki Indians were probably the Meskwaki, also spelled Mesquakie or Meskwahki Indians. (a large number of Muskwaki Indians were camping) Pages 67-81: Some names in the Members List are not in alphabetical order, but match the order in the original book. Page 113: The following sentence was incomplete in the original book: The grain rates from Cedar Rapids to Chicago were thirty cents a hundred pounds and the noise of protest which was made then was quite similar to the noise which is sometimes Page 131: John B. Taylor may be a typo for Joel B. Taylor, as this is the only mention of John B. Taylor in the book. (May 26, John Zumbra to Angeline Eggleston, by Rev. John B. Taylor.) Some illustrations and text have been moved slightly to avoid breaking up paragraphs. This might cause a few Index entries to be one page off.