USA > Iowa > Scott County > Davenport > History of Davenport and Scott County Iowa, Volume I > Part 44
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We reached Carthage, the county seat, at noon, and stopped and got dinner, by which time a heavy storm of rain and sleet set in. The men wanted to lay over until the next day, but I insisted upon pushing on ; so we all put out during the afternoon and traveled until dark, when we put up at a farm house. I over- heard the boys, in the afternoon, saying I could not stand it long-that they would soon have "my hide on the fence." I thought to myself. "We shall see." We started out next morning in a snow-storm, calculating to make Monmouth that
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night. When we got within five or six miles of that place the men began to give out, saying they could travel no farther. George Hawley and myself were the only ones to get through, which we did about 9 o'clock that night. I hired the landlord to send out a two-horse wagon and pick up the other men and bring them in. He found them scattered along the road for miles, completely exhausted. I said nothing but wondered whose hides ornamented the fence. The next day we arrived home safely, having walked the whole distance in a heavy storm, all travel-worn, sore and weary. It was about as hard a trip as the one I made from Prairie du Chien to Dubuque some years before.
I had been packing considerable pork for a few years and I sold it mostly to the Fur Company and to parties filling Indian contracts. The wheat I handled, from 1840 to 1845, that I did not get made into flour, I bought on commission for a large mill in Cincinnati-C. S. Bradbury & Company. Our business had now (1847) become well established, large amounts of produce coming in from the counties of Cedar, Linn, Jones, Clinton and Jackson. Our store was well patronized and we hardly ever closed until midnight. In the forenoons the farmers in our county, from the Groves and points within a circuit of ten or fifteen miles, would come in with their grain, etc., and by the time they had un- loaded and done their trading, another section would begin to arrive from Clinton and Cedar counties and the territory still farther distant-a big day's travel- and would not all get in until near bedtime. They wanted to unload and do their trading, so as to start home early next morning, that they might reach home the same day. This made our business very laborious.
One of the enterprises in which I was interested and which I recall with satis- faction because it will be a permanent benefit to the city of Davenport, is the establishment of Oakdale cemetery; and I propose to devote this chapter to a history of the undertaking, that the facts, never before all stated correctly, may be put on record.
Some time after all the land in this section was supposed to be entered, I heard that the eighty-acre tract where Oakdale is situated had been overlooked. This was about 1845. I think. I sent up to the Dubuque land office and entered the tract. A year later I sold it to John Mullen, an Irish drayman, for $5 an acre. About ten years later (in 1856) some half-dozen gentlemen and myself agreed that Davenport ought to have better accommodations for her dead-some- thing that would be an honor to the city in years to come. The City cemetery was inadequate, besides being badly situated. Pine Hill was a private specula- tion, which we did not approve. We organized a company and looked about for suitable grounds. After thorough examination we selected the ground now called Oakdale and bought half of it (forty acres) back from John Mullen, paying him $100 an acre. George B. Sargent and myself contributed the largest amounts. The company also borrowed $1,250 from some one in the east. When we bought Mullen's forty acres, land near the city was high. Davenport was having a "boom." As we could not be incorporated until the legislature met, which would be two years, the directors had Mullen deed the land back to me and I held it for the company until the legislature met, when I conveyed it to the company. We employed an expert landscape gardener, of Washington, D. C., to lay out the cemetery and paid him $500 for his work. He had planned and laid out some of
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the finest cemeteries in the United States. The first two or three years our company was very much embarassed. We were passing through the hard times of 1858-59 and were hard put to it to collect money for necessary expenses. The loan of $1,250 had to be paid, as the lender threatened to foreclose. George B. Sargent and myself each loaned the company $500. The remaining $250 Antoine LeClaire, at my solicitation, loaned us, I giving him my individual note for the money, as he would have nothing to do with the company. I believe the affairs of the company have been very prosperous for several years.
Oakdale is a beautiful place and will, from year to year, become much more beautiful. All moneys received from sale of lots, with the exception of necessary expenses, are to be spent in beautifying and improving the grounds. The orig- inator and the most indefatigable man in pushing this enterprise was William H. F. Gurley, Esq., long since dead, and who sleeps, I believe, in the cemetery at Washington, D. C.
REV. JOHN O. FOSTER ON EARLY DAYS.
When an old-timer begins to spin his yarns, people often say, "Let him alone, poor fellow! He can't well help it, and if it will do him any good, just let him go on ; it will not hurt us." Now that is very kind, and if you will listen to the story for a few minutes, and then are not interested, throw the article aside and read something else.
"Black Hawk Purchase!" Whew! How that brings up old memories Yes, father got the fever in 1837, and he talked about it day and night for nearly a year. Then, in the spring of 1838, as soon as the grass was large enough for the teams, long lines of prairie schooners started for the Far West though Indiana was also the far west at that time, but neighbors were getting too thick around Michigan City, Indiana, and father decided to move to the Mississippi.
The battle of Bad Axe, Wisconsin, had settled the controversy with the In- dians, and the whole land once belonging to the Sac and Fox Indians was thrown open for settlers.
The rush for the new lands was nothing like the tremendous boom of late years when new territories are opened, but for that day there was some excite- ment not to be overlooked. The route lay, as we afterward learned, through Joliet, Ills .; thence over the long, bleak prairie, without the sign of habitation for miles and miles, save at certain crossings of rivers, like that at Dixon, where, if the waters were low enough, the streams were sure to be forded; if not then the new ferry was used, for which great prices were charged. In due time our new home was made on the shore of the Father of Waters, about two miles below the town of Port Byron, Ills. There the strong arms of the new comers soon threw up comfortable homes for the families destined to settle there and begin the battle of life for subsistence. And it was a battle and no mistake, for every thing edible, such as salt, sugar, tea and coffee, and all articles of cloth- ing, were held at exorbitant prices. At our late home in Indiana game had been somewhat plentiful, but here it had been so generally killed off that there was no great supply left. When you talk about fish, then the waters of the upper rapids, as this part of the river was known, could furnish enough to supply the
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nation. I have been at the mouth of the St. Lawrence, the straits of the great lakes, and have fished in the pools for bullheads when they were so plentiful that a tubful would not bring a dollar, but to describe the abundance of fish in this mighty stream at that time would stagger the credulity of any common be- liever. Think of a sixty-pound catfish, a ten-pound bass, a pike four feet long, and a muskellunge-well, no matter if he was never weighed or measured, for he was big enough and good enough for any of the friends of Isaac Walton to admire. Father set a trout line one night below the mill, and next day had fish enough to supply the neighborhood. On a hot summer evening we used to go down to the bank and see the great fish jump up after flies, and it was a sight which has never faded from my memory. Hundreds of great, gamy fish made this their feeding time, and when the water was a little low, the sight was marvelous. It may be that something of the scene of other days may now and then appear, but the wanton slaughter of fish has gone on so long that they have become scarce in these later years.
It was a bright day in 1840 when the great flat boat, a sort of scow, anchored just before our home, and the belongings of the family were put on board and we pushed off for the other side of the river, into Iowa territory. That short voyage of a few miles made a deep impression on my young mind, for, like all other boys, I had a great liking for boats and this one, the Young Hickory was a model. It was the year of the presidential campaign of William Henry Harrison, and as he was called "Old Hickory," it was well to name this boat Young Hickory. We landed in Scott county, and made our home in a beautiful grove about ten miles northwest of Davenport. The little stream that ran through the grove seemed large enough for a mill-site, and here it was de- termined to build a mill. But there were not enough inhabitants to support such an expensive undertaking, and so father sold out.
A call came from a place called Rockingham, on the river just below Davenport, where there was a mill owned by Sullivan & Moyer, who wanted a steady black- smith to whom steady employment would be given. That was just the opening for father, and teams soon conveyed us to the place. But like many other new towns, there was not a house to be had, not a shanty to be rented. To be com- pelled to build a home on such short notice was something of a task, for, unlike many other places, there was no timber at hand, lumber was expensive, car- penters were not to be had, and the men at the mill wanted the blacksmith to go to work immediately. That great steam saw and gristmill was something of a curiosity in the mighty west. It was probably the largest of its kind on the river north of St. Louis. It was a large building, not far from the bank of the river designed to saw logs or grind the grists of the farmers and do a general milling business. The proprietors had spent thousands of dollars in the plant and, for some reason, the sawmill part of the works was not a success, probably as no good anchorage for logs could be made on that shore.
Father thought it best to call on the proprietors as soon as possible and secure the proffered employment. He was pretty closely examined, as the head man wanted one who could do almost anything in the blacksmith line from mak- ing a horseshoe nail to mending or reconstructing any of the complicated machin- ery. He was taken through the mill and shown all the parts. The new motor
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force of steam was fully explained, and he was assured that a man who could meet any special emergency when a break-down occurred, would find steady em- ployment at $1.50 a day. Father did not tell them that he had studied steam power from the day he saw Robert Fulton launch the Clermont, the first steam- boat ever made, or that he was present at the foot of Fulton street, New York, when the boat started off upon her maiden trip for Albany, and the application of steam power to boats was an accomplished fact. He had long desired a chance to see and work in machinery of this kind, for he had constructed a model locomotive in 1831 at Rob Roy, Ind., that was large enough to pull two men over the circular track laid within his large blacksmith shop. The history of that first locomotive this side of the state of Massachusetts I have lately put in print.
So John I. Foster secured the job of blacksmith and general repairer of broken machinery for Sullivan & Moyer in the town of Rockingham, in the county of Scott, Iowa territory. That same town was the county seat of Scott county at that time, and there was a young earthquake coming on, the mutter- ings of which were only a shade less than a cyclone. Davenport was the can- didate for the permanent county seat, and Rockingham declared she would fight for her rights to the death. The mill men saw in the movement the ruin of their business. The store keepers declared the change would bring disaster to them. The farmers were content to go to Rockingham for their grists, and Dav- enport had not a corn cracker in its neighborhood, and why should the county seat be moved? There really was no call for the action.
But there was one argument more powerful than all else combined and this was the theme on which Davenport had determined to win. Back of Rocking- ham there was a swamp, a big, deep morass, and when the river was high, there was no way to get to the bluffs. The city authorities saw the point, turned out en masse, and made a long, high causeway to the high ground back of the town. But the Mississippi had a fashion of laughing at such jokes as that, and proceeded to wash away the obstruction during the next rise in the river. The citizens fell to again, and made a more formidable embankment, fixed a bridge over the deepest place and in the end beat the river out of its old channel. Once more the high water arose in its might and carried away the bridge, and I, poor fellow, happened to be over at David Sullivan's and had to stay there two days before I could get home; and then only by the kindness of the said Sullivan who took me over in a skiff. It was painful to be in sight of home and mother and yet unable to cross the dark, deep stream flowing between me and the loved ones.
The county seat went up stream, and the old town practically went out of existence. The Rockingham hotel, the largest and finest hostelry on the upper Mississippi followed the departing greatness of the town and fell away piece- meal, to be seen no more. And the mill-well, that stood the longest of all the original structures, for that stout frame bade defiance to winds and weather for many years. The old engine was taken out and made to do service on a river steamer, and the building was left to decay.
But to return. The skillful mechanic heard of a vacant house down the river, nearly half way to Buffalo, owned by Joseph N. Robinson. Thither Father Foster made his home and here ended his days.
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I have wandered over many lands, seen the sun rise over the plains of Lom- bardy, run through the whole length of France, skirted the Rivieri, climbed to the summit of Vesuvius and watched the play of lights and shades in the Alps, but where, in the wide world, can a more beautiful spot be found than that high bluff jutting down toward the river about four miles south of Davenport? You, who are denizens of that land, go some day to the top of that beautiful hill where the modern house now stands and look for yourselves. I have been there of late years and taken testimony from those who know how to judge, that this spot has some of the greatest attractions of any one in western lands. Not a great mountain range, not the frayed edge of an ocean washed shore, not the bee- tling crags of Niagara's gorge, not the windings of Bonny Doon, but the clean- est sweep of beautiful vistas imaginable. How did it look in those days? Well I will tell you. Here to the right down the stream was old Buffalo. Over yonder was Camden. Here to the left was the fading village of Rockingham. Up the river, three or four miles, was the young city of Davenport. With its long white row of soldiers' barracks close by the hill at the lower end of the village, across the river was Stephenson, now the city of Rock Island. (Why was that name changed?) And still farther up the stream was the little town of Moline. In those days there were no great, dingy factories ; no tall smokestacks to puncture the sky line, and no bridge to tie the states together. And yonder, clear and white, was the fort at the lower end of the island with its old log block houses, stock- ade and loopholes, through which we used to crawl when we went picnicking over there, and the beautiful white house of William Cook about half way this side. Then look at the islands, three in number: Rock island, Credit island and Horse island, all in a row, covered with beautiful trees. Then the winding river, with its broad sweep of more than a mile in width and fully ten miles in length; while over there almost in front, comes in the mouth of the clear, deep Rock river, from the northeast, while yonder, on that high tongue of land just above the mouth of Rock river is the old Indian camping ground which Black Hawk prized more than all his other possessions, and for which he fought till fully overpowered. And here, just above old Rockingham, was where the troops had a bout with the redskins in an early day, where my sister found an officer's beautiful sword, somewhat rusty, yet just the thing for father to cut up and make three or four good butcher knives.
Is this not enough to convince anyone of the beauty of the place where my father's pure spirit fled for the other and brighter world? The owner of that home on the hill has not given me a reward for writing thus, but I wish he would send me an invitation to come some day and sit on his front porch and let me muse over the scenes of sixty odd years ago; then maybe I might learn his name and wish him as many pleasant memories as have come over the writer.
From Left to Right: JAMES THORINGTON. Mayor, Congressman, First District School Teacher. HARVEY LEONARD. Mayor and Long-Time Sheriff. DR. E. S. BARROWS-When he began to practice medicine in Scott county, the nearest physician on the south was at Burlington. on the north at Dubuque. JUDGE W. L. COOK, Judge of the County Court in early days.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE MEDICAL PROFESSION.
THE PIONEER PHYSICIANS OF SCOTT COUNTY-THEIR HARDSHIPS AND SELF-RELI- ANCE-MANY OF THEM PRACTICAL MEN OF GREAT FORCE OF CHARACTER- REMINISCENCES OF DR. E. S. BARROWS-SCOTT COUNTY MEDICAL SOCIETY- MINUTES OF THE BYGONE MEETINGS-THE SOCIETY HAS TAKEN ADVANCED GROUND WHILE CONSERVATIVE IN CHARACTER-DR. PRESTON WRITES.
The pioneers of the healing art in Davenport and Scott county were the guardians of a widely dispersed population. Aside from their professional duties they contributed their full share to the material development of a newly opened country. Some were men of culture who had gained their medical education in college; the great number were of limited educational attainment whose profes- sional knowledge had been acquired in the offices of established practitioners of more or less ability in the sections from which they emigrated. Of either class almost without exception they were practical men of great force of character who gave cheerful and efficacious assistance to the suffering, daily journeying on horseback scores of miles over a country almost destitute of roads and en- countering swollen, unbridged streams, without waterproof garments or other now common protection against water. Out of necessity the pioneer physician developed rare quickness of perception and self-reliance. A specialist was then unknown and he was called upon to treat every phase of bodily ailment, serving as physician, surgeon, oculist and dentist. His books were few and there were no practitioners of more ability than himself with whom he might consult. His medicines were simple and carried on his person, and every preparation of pill or solution was the work of his own hands. The services of the pioneer physician were fittingly recognized in the following reminiscent article, written by Dr. E. S. Barrows, which appears in an early history of Scott county, and follows below :
DR. E. S. BARROWS WRITES.
"In compliance with your request as the first and oldest physician of Scott county, Iowa, I will proceed to say something of the medical profession from the early part of 1836 to an indefinite period, traveling toward 1860. If I say
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too much relating to self, it will be from a matter of necessity, for I alone, the first year and a half, represented the profession west of the Mississippi for 100 miles north and south and 3,000 miles west. Therefore be it observed I should not have anything to talk about but territory, without people or doctors, and nothing at all, leaving out myself as one person answering to make up my quota of the social aggregate forming the early history of that domain now enclosed by lines giving bounds to Scott county.
"Whoever essays to narrate past events of the world will find that no nation can be found which was so rude that it was neither blessed nor cursed, as the case might be, with a profession proposing to deal with the ailings of the body, originally emanating directly from that other class of pretenders who assume to care more particularly for ailments of the soul. All through the course of human destiny both professions seem to have formed an essential element of the culti- vated and the uncultivated, the civilized and the uncivilized, going to make up the human aggregate. Health and duration of life may be considered the result of intelligent action, and as there is a general desire to preserve the one and pro- long the other beyond the accidents of time and place, it seems but reasonable that the early settlers of Scott county should have encouraged a profession which assumes to give the community the benefits of the accumulated medical skill of all the preceding ages. And who should have been the first to demonstrate the fact that such wisdom was at hand, and ready for business ?
"With becoming modesty (if not becoming it is at least consistent with the pretentions of that class of professional men who deal mostly with the hidden secrets of human ills), that first doctor, the first between Dubuque and Burling- ton, located at Rockingham early in 1836, is the writer of this article.
"In the autumn of 1836 the first physician who drew a lancet on a prostrate patient was located at Rockingham, and the patient was Antoine LeClaire, of Davenport, who was seriously ill with inflammatory rheumatism. His physician was Dr. Bardwell, of Stephenson, now Rock Island, a reputable physician and politician from Indiana, who subsequently located and successfully pursued the practice of medicine in the northeast corner of Buffalo township. After two years' residence he sought more room and a better field for work, at Marion, Linn county, Iowa, where, after a few years, he died lamented. I was called in council with Dr. Bardwell, November 15, 1836, and hastened to Mr. LeClaire's residence, lo- cated where the freight depot now stands. Found the doctor present, waiting a little impatiently, and received a formal introduction. Dr. Bardwell expressed a desire to proceed to business, for he had engagements elsewhere, 'not however, professional,' he said, 'as you may see by these articles' (simultaneously raising with each hand a light shoe from both side pockets of his coat) ; 'there is going to be a dance tonight and I have the honor of being a manager.'
"The engagement referred to was a formal celebration of the opening of the first hotel which Davenport was ever favored with, or perhaps that other word, cursed, would be as appropriate, since the locality soon became known as 'Brim- stone-Corner.' Old settlers whose dates go back to that period, when that name is mentioned do not become confused as to the whereabouts of the locality. If the mind of a patriot of the Missouri war loses its serenity when he communes with himself, and perhaps fights over the battles of that day, when the first and
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last drill of the Scott county volunteers paraded on the commons, between the new hotel and the river, the glory achieved then and there will fade into a con- viction that this was a new country and the less said by way of apology for the peculiar manner by which we formed new friendships out of very raw ma- terial the better it will be, even for 'Brimstone-Corner.' The building is occu- pied at present as Steffen's headquarters for lime, cement, sewer pipe, etc.
ANTOINE LE CLAIRE A PATIENT.
"To return to the subject of my first patient, Dr. Bardwell asked me to give Mr. LeClaire my attention, by a system of prognosis best known to the trade. To quote his language, 'I have been examining him for about a week and have come to the conclusion that it is a plain case of abdominal dropsy, and, thinking it expedient to be in time, I have brought along my box of instruments with the intent of relieving him of a gallon or two of water by tapping.' I pro- ceeded to the examination of the case and asked if I might see Mrs. LeClaire. She came into the room and gave me the history of the case. Then the council commenced, by my saying, to my mind it was an unmistakable case of inflam- matory rheumatism, and the tapping had better be done in the arm. The dif- ference of my opinion so far as related in the diagnosis did not seem to create any surprise, but my suggestion of bleeding astonished greatly. He asked if I was candid in my view of the subject. 'Most certainly I am,' was my reply. Dr. Bardwell then spoke thusly: 'Mr. LeClaire, here are two doctors, one may be taken and the other left, which will you have?' Mr. LeClaire's reply was, 'Dr. Burrows may bleed me.' I did bleed him and Dr. Bardwell was kind enough to hold the bowl. and then hurried off to the ball. From that day forward to the day of his death, twenty-six years later, the patient was mine.
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