FOR several years, beginning with 1828, heavy falls of snow were
experienced, of which the early settlers have vivid remembrances. In that
year Thomas Gallaher, Sr., brought up from Dillon's settlement 150 head of
cattle, eighty sheep, and 100 hogs, known as the Shaker breed, having been
brought from Ohio. He had secured a crop of hay, but it was beneath the deep
snow that everywhere covered the around, and could not be reached. There was
an abundance of "mast" that season, and his hogs took to the woods, and
rooting beneath the snow, fared well. Many of them escaped to the bottoms
and became in a measure wild. His cattle and sheep fared worse, many of them
dying.
Seeing the necessity of procuring feed for his stock, Mr.
Gallaher sent his son Thomas, Jr., and a young man named Kelly to Crozier's,
in LaSalle County, where it was reported feed could be had. They had a
single horse between them, which they alternately rode. They did not succeed
in finding corn, and were returning by Bailey's Point, when they struck a
swampy place north and east of Granville, where Kelly got wet and froze both
his feet. The locality was long after known as Frozen Point.
Mr.
Gallaher's stock became so weakened toward spring, by reason of scanty feed,
that he feared their entire loss unless more nutritious food could be had,
and the nearest or most feasible place where it could be procured was some
distance below Peoria.
He and Mr. Kelly went to Hennepin, (the young
man's feet still much swollen, the result of the freezing), where they hoped
to get boats from the Indian traders, but none were to be had. He next
visited Shick-Shack's camp, hoping to obtain canoes, but the chief and his
men had gone to "Coch-a-Mink," as the Indians called Fort Clark, with his
boats loaded with furs. Although unsuccessful in both these attempts, Mr.
Gallaher was not a man to be discouraged. His cattle and sheep were not only
on short allowance, but his family were "out of meat," and he felt that
something must be done at once; so he determined to push on to the probable
land of corn. Young Kelly, though suffering severely, insisted on
accompanying him, and together they started on foot. The river was high, and
the streams emptying into it were swollen by the melting shows. They had
neither guides nor assistance, but reached their destination safely.
They found there plenty of corn and meal, but no boats. Here again Mr.
Gallaher's grit was put to the test, and getting a couple of axes, he and
his man went into the woods, and cutting down a suitable tree, made and
launched a large dug-out. Purchasing one hundred bushels of corn, fifty
bushels of corn-meal, a barrel of salt and some groceries, they started for
home, and after many days of hard work, they reached the head of what is now
the Sister Islands, and landed. This was about the second week of April.
Grass had begun to grow, but as yet there was but little feeding for stock.
Having no way to haul his grain to the farm through the woods, he drove his
cattle to the boat, and there fed such of them as could get to the river,
and others were assisted until all were able to sustain themselves.
But the great snow was in 1829-30, according to some, and in 1830-31
according to others, though it is possible both seasons were noted in this
respect, and each statement is correct. It made the prairies one uniform
level, over the frozen surface of which footman easily traveled; but the
sharp hoofs of the deer cut through and made their capture easy. Stock was
kept in groves convenient to the cabins, and subsisted on the tender tops of
trees cut down to "browse" upon. There was much suffering among the few
settlers in the vicinity. A man traveling on horseback was reported lost in
the snow, and his remains were found the following spring, south of Peru.
According to Mr. Smiley Shepherd's recollection, it came between Christmas
and New Year, falling constantly and drifting for three days, and then
crusted over so that the Indians were enabled to run upon the surface. It
lasted until February 16, the day of the total eclipse of the sun. The next
day the weather turned warm, and the snow melted and disappeared four days
thereafter.
A man traveling in a wagon, near Florid, was caught in
the snow and had to abandon his vehicle, where it remained till spring.
Another person named Swainford, in attempting to cross from Granville to
Florid, had to abandon his horse. Returning next day he found it had been
killed by the wolves. Another man started with a hog in a sled to go from
Gallaher's to Hennepin, and got fast in the drift. He went to a neighbor's,
and on his return the hog had loosened the cords that bound her and struck
out for itself. He cut off its tail as a mark, and let her go, and the next
season found her and a litter of nice young pigs doing well. She had managed
for herself in a creditable manner.
The summer of 1836 was
exceedingly cold and backward. Corn in the neighborhood of Hennepin, and
especially on the bottoms and low places, was cut down when from eight to
ten inches high, on the 16th of June, but as the stalks had not yet jointed,
they grew again. The weather continued cold until fall, which came early,
with freezing spells, and but little of it matured. The following spring the
farmers had much difficulty in procuring seed corn, and many sent to the
southern part of the State for supplies.
The settlement of a country is usually preceded by a lawless,
ungovernable, uncivilized race, that hang on the verge of civilization and
seem to think their free and easy existence the acme of enjoyment. As a rule
they are open-hearted, brave and generous, and their vices all "lean to
virtue's side." They have a weakness for poor whisky, a contempt for danger,
are prompt to resent an insult, and ready at all times for a fight. Usually
they are honest, but being tempted, are liable to fall, and often become
bandits and robbers.
A representative man of this class was Dave
Jones, of unenviable notoriety. He was brave and fearless, and when news
came of the massacre of the Hall family, and all were paralyzed with fear,
he saddled a horse and rode alone to the scene of murder. He once ran a foot
race with an Irishman for a sum of money. They were to go to a certain point
and return, and the Irishman started off at his best, while Dave walked
leisurely down the track until meeting his opponent on the return, he
knocked him down, came in first and claimed the stakes. The Irishman
determined to get even with him, and when Dave was drunk, beat him so badly
that, believing the man would die, he fled the place. But Dave recovered,
and lived for many a day after. For years there was not a session of court
in which he did not figure as defendant in cases where the people were
plaintiffs. He was the first occupant of the Hennepin jail, and its frequent
tenant afterward. For several years he lived in the timber west of
Granville, where he raised a family as wild and untamed as himself. He had a
stout, healthy daughter, a dozen or more years old, whom he undertook to
send to school, but with the perverseness of her sire, she refused, telling
him flatly she wouldn't go. She was fleet of foot, and when Dave essayed the
persuasive virtues of a healthy-sized whip, she ran away, with her irate
sire in hot pursuit. Not far from the house was a pond of water with a
substratum of deep mud, round which she skipped, but Dave, hoping to cut her
off on the opposite side, dashed through. The depth was greater than
expected, and he emerged covered with mud and half drowned, though he
continued the race to the school house, where pupils and teacher set up a
laugh at his plight, in which Dave too joined, his hopeful daughter shaking
her sides with mirthfulness, and exclaiming, "Golly! I out-run dad."
"In the spring of 1832 a dead Indian was found in the creek, near the
present site of the Bureau Valley Mills, with a bullet hole in his back,
showing that he came to his death from a rifle shot. The corpse was taken
out of the water by Indians, buried in the sand near by, and the affair was
soon forgotten. Jones said while hunting deer in the creek bottom, he saw
this Indian setting on a log over the water, fishing, when all of a sudden
he jumped up as though he was about to draw out a big fish, and pitched
headlong into the water, and was drowned when he came up to him. Two other
Indians disappeared mysteriously about the same time, who were supposed to
have been murdered, and on that account it is said the Indians contemplated
taking revenge on the settlers.
"One warm afternoon Jones, with a
jug in one hand, came cantering his old mare up to the Hennepin ferry,
saying that his wife was very sick, and would certainly die if she did not
get some whisky soon. In great haste Jones was taken across the river, and
on landing on the Hennepin side he put his old mare on a gallop up the bluff
to Durley's store, where he filled his jug with whisky. Meeting with some
old chums, he soon became intoxicated, forgot about his wife's sickness, and
spent the afternoon and evening in wrestling, dancing 'Jim Crow,' and
fighting with some of his friends.
"It was long after dark when
Jones started for home, but on arriving at the ferry he found the boat
locked up, and the ferryman in bed. Jones rapped at the door of the
ferryman's house, swearing if he did not get up and take him across he would
pull the house down, and whip him besides. But all his threats were in vain;
the ferryman could not be moved. Jones went down to the river, took off the
bridle reins, with which he tied the jug of whisky on his back, then drove
his old mare into the river, and holding on to her tail, was ferried across
the river, as he afterward expressed it, 'without costing him a cent.'
"One afternoon, while Dave Jones was engaged in cutting out a road from
Hennepin ferry through the bottom timber, his coat, which lay by the
wayside, was stolen. Although the value of the old coat did not exceed two
dollars, it was all the one Jones had, and he searched for it throughout the
settlement. At last Jones found his coat on the back of the thief, whom he
arrested and took to Hennepin for trial. The thief was at work in Mr. Hays'
field, immediately west of Princeton, when Jones presented his rifle at his
breast, ordering him to take up his line of march for Hennepin, and if he
deviated from the direct course, he would blow his brains out. The culprit,
shaking in his boots, started on his journey, while Jones, with his rifle on
his shoulder, walked about three paces behind. On arriving at Hennepin, the
thief plead guilty, being more afraid of Jones than the penalties of the
law, and was therefore put in jail. After Jones had delivered up his
prisoner, he got drunk, was engaged in several fights, and he too was
arrested and put in jail. At that time the Hennepin jail consisted of only
one room, being a log structure, twelve feet square, and Jones being put in
with the thief, commenced beating him. Seeing that they could not live
together, the thief was liberated and Jones retained. At this turn of
affairs, Jones became penitent, agreeing to go home and behave himself if
they would let him out. Accordingly, the Sheriff took him across the river
and set him at liberty; but Jones swore he would not go home until he had
whipped every person in Hennepin, so he returned to carry out his threats,
but was again arrested and put in jail.
"A short time after the
Hennepin ferry was established, Dave Jones was on the Hennepin side of the
river with a wild yoke of cattle, and wished to cross over, but was
unwilling to pay the ferriage. He swore before he would pay the ferryman's
extravagant price he would swim the river, saying that he had frequently
done it, and could do it again. Jones wore a long-tailed Jackson overcoat,
which reached to his heels, and a coonskin cap, with the tail hanging down
over his shoulders, the weather at the time being quite cool. He drove his
oxen into the river, taking the tail of one of them in his mouth, when they
started for the opposite shore. Away went the steers, and so went Dave
Jones, his long hair and long-tailed overcoat floating on the water, his
teeth tightly fastened to the steer's tail, while with his hands and feet he
paddled with all his might. Everything went on swimmingly until they came
near the middle of the river, where the waters from each side of the island
come together; here the current was too strong for the steers, they turned
down stream, and put back for the Hennepin side. Jones could not open his
mouth to say gee or haw, without losing his hold on the steer's tail, and
was therefore obliged to go where the steers led him, but all were safely
landed some distance below the starting place. Jones was in a terrible rage
at his failure to cross the river beat his cattle, and cursed the bystanders
for laughing at his misfortune. After taking a big dram of whisky, he tried
it again but with no better success. Three different times Jones tried this
experiment, each time whipping his cattle and taking a fresh dram of whisky.
At last he was obliged to give it up as a bad job, and submit to paying the
ferryman the exorbitant price of twenty-five cents to be ferried over."*
The influx of settlers and the establishment of law and order made it
too sultry for Jones, who returned to Indiana, where he was hung by a party
of regulators for his numerous crimes. He died as he vowed he would, "with
his boots on."
Another family of semi-outlaws were the Harts, living
in the bottoms below Henry, between whom and the Bakers, living on Ox Bow
Prairie, desperate war waged with varied success. They were of the class
known in the South as poor white trash, and were idle, vicious and
pugnacious, quick to take offense and prompt to resent an insult. The
question of supremacy was never fairly settled, victory inclining first to
one faction and then to another. At one time a Baker challenged a Hart, and
the fight was arranged to come off on a certain day. Hart perhaps feared the
result and was inclined to back down, but when his wife heard of it she
declared with an oath, if he did not fight Baker and whip him too he should
not live with her another day. Like most borderers, he wore his hair very
long, and in preparation for the contest she sheared it close to his head,
divested him of everything but his pants, smeared his body all over with
soft soap, and sent him forth to battle. Baker came on the ground stripped
likewise to the buff, with a handkerchief "girt about his loins," and in the
expressive language of the ring, "just spoiling for a fight," and vowing he
could whip any two Harts on the ground. The latter was arrayed in a long
camlet cloak that completely hid his warlike preparations, and when asked if
he was ready, said "He guessed not; he had no quarrel with Mr. Baker, and
didn't think he could whip him." This still more excited the latter, who
pranced round like a mad bull, saying Hart was a coward and dare not fight
him. At last the preliminaries were arranged and a ring formed, into which
the men stepped; and Hart, throwing off his cloak, displayed his
gladiatorial form and careful preparations. Baker's tactics were to grasp
his antagonist, hold him fast and bite or gouge, as circumstances warranted;
but the latter was slippery as an eel, and pounded his antagonist severely,
easily winning the fight.
About 1835, a negro was sold in Hennepin under the operation of the
infamous black laws of the State. He was a refugee from below, and probably
reached here on board one of the many steamers plying on the Illinois. He
possessed "no visible means of support," and either cared not to work or
could not get the opportunity, and at the instigation of interested parties
was arrested under the provisions of the vagrant act, and advertised for
sale for his keeping and costs. There was an active Abolition element at
Granville and elsewhere in the County, and on the day of sale the members
were present, but finding there was no claimant present for his person, nor
any arranged plan to return him to slavery, they allowed the sale to go on,
and he brought, we believe, one dollar and costs. William M. Stewart, of
Florid, became the purchaser, who put him in the harvest field and paid him
regular wages. The "man and brother" earned a suit of clothes besides his
freedom, and some money to take him on the road to Canada.
A slave
was brought to Union Grove in 1830 by Saml. D. Laughlin, and remained some
time. He was taken to Chicago by Thomas Hartzell, and sent on his way.
In 1833 there were eleven families, all told, in Hennepin, half a dozen
marriageable females, and about forty eligible bachelors and widowers. Of
course the former were in good demand among the young settlers wanting
wives, but the widowers had the inside track and carried off the best ones.
In those days an extensive outfit and wedding trip were not thought
of, for both parties "meant business," and proceeded in a business way. The
groom prepared his cabin for its new occupant, and she, dressed in a clean
calico gown, with hair nicely combed, was ready for the ceremony. Next the
services of a minister were invoked, a few friends called in, and a
bountiful supper of venison and johnny-cake concluded the festivities, after
which the bride was conducted to her future home, and their new life began.
For ten years there was a marked scarcity of marriageable women, and the
first indictment in the County (as stated elsewhere) was found against a man
for having two wives. The culprit, a man named Hall, lived in the vicinity
of Hennepin, in a small cabin, and claimed to have been lawfully married to
the two women with whom he lived, and that his religious views justified his
conduct.
The jurymen, most of whom were bachelors, thought it
smacked too much of monopoly, and some favored hanging as an example for the
future, but their advice was not taken.
What was strange about it
was that the women seemed satisfied, and on hearing what had been done by
the grand jury, voluntarily followed their much married husband elsewhere.
Somewhere about 1831, a minister named Jesse Hale came to Hennepin to
establish a mission among the Indians. He was a man of simple faith and very
earnest, believing himself able to convert and civilize them if only a
hearing could be obtained.
Old Louis Bailey was sent for as an
interpreter, and the Indians came from far and near. Hale mounted a stump in
the woods below Hennepin, and harangued his dusky audience for an hour. When
the intrepreter had translated the last sentence into the Pottawatomie
dialect, old Shaubena came forward, and motioning silence, made reply: "To
what white preacher say, I say may be so! Are all white men good? I say may
be so! Do white men cheat Indian? I say may be so. Governor Cole gave me,
Shaubena, hunting grounds, and told me to hunt. Your big White-sides
(General Whiteside) come along and tell Shaubena puck a chee (clear out)."
Here the angry chief exhibited his papers, bearing the signature of the
Governor and the great seal of the State, and throwing them upon the ground,
stamped them under his feet. Hale tried to pacify the indignant chief by
saying that "Whiteside is a bad white man;" whereupon Shaubena retorted, "If
white man steal Indian's land, hang him!" Hale thought this meant himself,
and he fled through the bushes for town, nor ever sought to convert an
Indian again.
During the year 1830 the Gallaher boys caught a fawn, which was easily domesticated, and became quite a pet. They tied a strip of red flannel about its neck, and turned it out to roam the woods at will. It grew rapidly, and the neighbors soon got to know it as the "Gallaher deer." It rambled through the woods, and even the Indians, though constantly hunting, never molested it. But one afternoon it ventured too near the smoke-house of a certain parson living near Union Grove, and was never after seen alive. It was not best to insinuate the minister afterward lived on venison, but his influence with the Gallaher boys was gone from that day.
As previously stated, Mr. Gallaher's sheep did not suffer so much from scanty feeding as the cattle, and "came through," though in a very lean condition. Their worst foe was the gaunt and hungry wolves, which required continual watching. One day the boys on whom devolved this duty allowed them to range beyond their sight, and stray over the hill into the woods beyond. At night they failed to appear as usual. Search was made, and soon the cause was apparent, as scattered along the course were the dead and mangled carcasses, but no living sheep. Several days later they came upon a ewe alive and unhurt, several miles from home. How she had escaped the fangs of the destroyer was a mystery. She was taken home and a bell put around her neck, and for several seasons she ran with the cattle, unmolested by dog or wolf, as if possessed of a charmed life. She was the only survivor of the flock of eighty originally brought to the country by Mr. Gallaher.
When the news of the Indian outbreak, the massacre of the whites on
Indian Creek, and the killing of Phillips in Bureau had been promulgated,
the white settlers, with very few exceptions, turned out promptly to fight
the savages. They had no arms save fowling pieces and squirrel guns, but
hastily arming themselves with these, they hurried to the front.
Mr.
Gallaher relates how he met about sixty of these brave defenders under
Captain Hawes. They had no uniforms, each soldier coming out in such
clothing as he had, and consequently no two were dressed alike. They came
singing and shouting, yelling and cat-calling, like so many boys on a
jamboree, and altogether presented a sight that would have inspired
unlimited mirthfulness instead of fear, even in a savage.
This
manner of marching became all the more ridiculous when it is remembered that
they had started out on a "still hunt," to surprise a foe the most cunning
and cat-like known to history.
One evening during the Indian war excitement, while the rangers were searching the woods near the mouth of Bureau Creek, they were hailed in a weak, piping voice, and found a poor, emaciated fellow in soldier's uniform, barely able to walk, who told his pitiful story with much difficulty. He was at Stillman's defeat, on Rock River, and had been hiding in the woods, with very little food, ever since, and was nearly starved. He believed himself the only survivor, and thinking the country in the possession of the Indians, had not dared to venture in the vicinity of the white settlements. He was taken to town and well cared for until he recovered and joined his company.
The Hennepin Jail was set on fire and burned down September 27, 1842. A fellow named Frederick was confined in it for burglary, having broken open the store of Pulsifer & Co. and stolen valuable goods, for which he was under indictment. It was built of brick at a cost of $3,000, was lined with heavy timbers, and supposed to be burglar proof. While burning the prisoner was placed in the Court House for safety, but gave his guard the slip and escaped. The enraged tax-payers however turned out and hunted him down, keeping him safely until his trial.
Before the introduction of steamboats upon the Illinois, business was
carried on by keel-boats or pirogues, manned by adventurous boatmen, who
made regular trips to St. Louis, stopping at intervening points and
transacting such business as was required. For many years a couple of
half-breeds ran a light batteau on the river, taking furs and light produce
to market and filling orders with scrupulous fidelity. When they first began
the trade they were but boys, and they continued until the more rapid
steamboat drove them from the river.
In the absence of banks of
exchange, they were sometimes entrusted with heavy sums and commissioned to
make valuable purchases, which they did with entire satisfaction, accounting
for every dollar.
Oiir of the first merchants of Hennepin was John Durley, and the following incident in which he was an actor, though occurring elsewhere, is told by his descendants. Previous to his removal to Putnam County, he resided in Madison County in this State, where in 1824 they were greatly annoyed by a band of thievish, impudent Indians, encamped in the vicinity. Having previously sold their lands to the Government, and consented to emigrate beyond the Mississippi, application was made to the Indian Agent, who sent a company of soldiers to order their removal. The former were few in number, while the Indians were well armed and supplied with ammunition, and the advantages, if force were resorted to, would be all on their side. In this predicament a ruse suggested by Mr. Durley was tried, and proved entirely successful. Accompanied by his son James, now of Hennepin, he rode over to the Indian village, with the chief of which he was on friendly terms, and told him the purposes of the Great Father, who had sent a thousand warriors with orders to kill all Indians who had not left the country as agreed in their treaty, adding that in half an hour they would pass in front of Sugar-loaf Hill, a small conical eminence a mile from the Indian village, and near which they were to camp. He advised the chief to leave, or, doubting his word, to hide among the trees and count the soldiers.
Soon after the troops appeared, marching slowly in front of the hill, and running at full speed on the opposite side, so as to keep the show in front continuous. In this way the duped chief was deluded into counting thirty or forty men over and over until they numbered a thousand or more, when he broke for the camp, hastily packed the ponies, and left helter-skelter for the Mississippi River, followed by the soldiers at a safe distance all night. While crossing the Illinois River, the Indians were fired upon by the troops and several killed. A pony on which was strapped seven little children, while swimming the stream, was shot, and its load of helpless infants all drowned.
Hotel accommodations in 1834-5 were not what they are at present. There
was plenty to eat, such it was, but French cooks had not been imported, and
cook-books were unknown to our grandmothers. Hog and hominy, coffee and
molasses were the staples, and the traveler who could not appreciate them
after a six hours jolt in Frink & Walker's "mud wagons" was set down as "too
nice for anything." For lodgings, a blanket, buffalo robe, or a sheepskin
was provided, and the traveler told to select the softest plank he could
find. As landlords grew in wealth they increased their accommodations, and a
single large room was devoted to sleeping purposes, filled with beds, upon
which was a "shake down" filled with prairie hay, and a blanket. Sheets were
a decided luxury, and it was not every "hotel" that afforded them. The
traveler was expected to share his bed with others, and this "custom of the
country" was accepted as a matter of course, though occasionally some
fine-haired individuals objected.
Captain Hawes, of Magnolia, once
entertained a choleric fellow who claimed to be "a gentleman," said he never
in all his life slept with any one but his wife, and rather than do it, sat
up all night. At intervals he would groan and wish himself out of the
barbarous country, to which the unfeeling lodgers would respond with a
hearty "Amen!"
Indian boys affiliated readily with the whites of their own age, and joined heartily in the sports common to both. They were athletic and "springy," but usually under size, and could not cope in a fair rough and tumble with the pale faces. They did not easily take offense, but when once angered, their wrath was fearful. Mr. William Gallaher tells an amusing story of one who was his frequent playmate. Mr. G.'s business was hauling logs with a yoke of oxen, one of which, a very quietly disposed brute, he used to ride, while his mate was wild and vicious. The Indian one day wished to ride, and G., in a spirit of mischief, put him on the wild animal, at the same time releasing him from the yoke. The ox has an instinctive fear of an Indian, and unused to such treatment, started off at a desperate pace, setting up a bellow that infected every animal on the place with a like frenzy, and away they started in pursuit. The Indian was good rider and held on like grim death, while the ox tore through the fields, brush and briers until he reached the larger timber, when a projecting limb brushed his rider off unhurt. But the Indian never forgave this too practical joke, and sought to kill young Gallaher, who was careful ever after to keep out of his way.
Extracted 14 Apr 2017 by Norma Hass from Records of the Olden Time, 1880, by Spencer Ellsworth, pages 177-191.
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