History of Kossuth County, Iowa, Part 23

Author: Reed, Benjamin F
Publication date: 1913
Publisher: Chicago : S. J. Clarke Pub. Co.
Number of Pages: 879

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Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).

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much used at the time the earliest settlers discovered it. Inkpadutah with his band crossed over this ford when he changed the location of his village in 1855. from the west side of the river to the east side. That old-time crossing is sel- dom referred to now as the Indian ford. Old Mike Smith, Young Mike Smith, Old Crockett, Young Crockett, Dutch Henry, Badger Easton, Devil King. Ox Hallet, Horse Hallet, Big foot Foster, Government Foster, Sweet breath Foster, Stinking breath Foster, Sawmill Foster, Squealing Hodge, Monkey Leland and Scum-eyed Smith were names by which certain well-known citizens were called in the early days of the county. None of them are residents now. It is known that death has claimed the most of them.

PIONEER ANECDOTES

While there are those who are yearning to hear the songs that never die, there are also those who have a fondness for recalling events in their experience that occurred in the long ago. In hearing the one or recalling the other, associa- tions of a hallowed nature pass in review before the mind and cause the heart to be filled with feelings of gratification. The memory clings tenderly even to incidents of a humorous nature, that transpired at a period when conditions were materially different from those of the present age. The stories of such incidents, occurring in the early settlements of a country, live longer than those based upon similar events which happened in later years. This becomes evident from the fact that when there are but few people in a community humorous events are related in story more often, and are thus better fastened upon the memory than if the events had transpired when the community was more populous and more incidents of that nature were occurring.

The joke-incidents of early Kossuth have their legitimate place on the pages of history as do the Greek and Roman legends which form an interesting por- tion of the history of those countries. They constitute the "memory string" by which the names of pioneers and their peculiarities are enabled to be re- called and by which the past, with its mingled pleasures and privations, can be reviewed like a panorama of scenes which have long since disappeared. Fol- lowing are some of these stories familiar to the settlers during or before the war.

Rev. D. S. McComb was one of the early-day preachers who used to conduct religious services at Algona and at Irvington. He was well educated and sincere in his work but had no personal pride about his attire. He was a slave to tobacco which he chewed lavishly, both out of and in the pulpit, and which brought him disrespect. His peculiar tone of voice made him an easy target for all the jokers in the community, especially at Irvington, where the boys feasted with delight in playing pranks on innocent victims who possessed strange peculiarities. One day while he was conducting services at that place in the old town hall. Tommy Clark, who was up to such tricks, got a long pry pole and ran it under the southeast corner of the building. After placing a fulcrum under it near the hall he mounted the other end, "teetering" preacher and con- gregation while the building squeaked. The giggle that followed was by no means smothered. After the preacher had been sufficiently rocked for a while he remarked in his sing-song style: "When I entered the hall to day I noticed the devil in Tommy Clark's eye."

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As he could not sing he was always on the look-out for someone to lead in the music. This furnished a source of amusement frequently. One Sunday afternoon while he was conducting services at this same old hall, a load of young people drove up with a yoke of cattle, which were turned out to graze while the meeting was going on. Presently one of the oxen getting loose from the yoke started for home across the prairie. The young driver noticing this per- formance through the window started for the door on a run. Before he reached it the preacher gave him this well-remembered advice, "Better let John go after that ox, I want you here to start the tune." That settled it. John went but Frank (?) didn't.

Malachi Clark was one of the earliest settlers of Irvington township, living on what is now the John Gaffney farm. He was a droll fellow from North Carolina, and had brought all his southern peculiarities along with him. He was a good old man but used singular expressions and did things in an odd manner. Many stories floated through the community relating to him. One of the best of these which is now remembered is the one about his experience with Ned and Berry, when they turned the yoke. Anyone who sees for the first time an ox-team perform this trick gets the mysterious surprise of his life. To understand how they do it has puzzled even those who have seen it done many times. The cattle put their noses close together while their heads are down; then widening out behind as they give a peculiar twist to their necks, the oxen not only changed places but they end the performance by heading in the opposite direction from the way they were standing before the trick was begun. Furthermore the yoke turns up side down and gets under their throats and is held in place by the bows over their necks. If they are hitched to any vehicle which has a tongue it is impossible for them to accomplish this puzzle.

As the story goes Malachi was plowing one day along the edge of the timber with a yoke of oxen, while his son was chopping in the timber not far away. All went well until the plow struck a red root and the driver went over the plow handles. The steers then backing up a trifle turned the yoke, and Malachi after viewing the situation ran to the fence and after mounting the top rail informed his son in a loud voice in this way about the strange predicament : "Holy Jerusalem ! son Thomas come here. The off ox is on the near side, the near ox is on the off side, the yoke is up side down, the chain is wrapped around the yoke, the ring is sticking up in the air and the steers are hitched up backwards. Run here quick with the handspike."

Levi Maxwell and wife were 1854 settlers over on the Cresco side and lived in their little log hut on the edge of the timber where the old Robe house stands. They were pioneers in other sections of the country before coming here, the latter being a Kentuckian. They were used to mingling with the Indians and generally knew how to handle them. One dark night, soon after they came. a solitary Sioux appeared at the cabin and wanted to stay all night. They hesi- tated about complying with his wishes but thought it decidedly unwise to turn him away. A pallet was finally made for him in one corner of the room on the puncheon floor. He was told to lie there and keep quiet until morning. Now Levi had a big pet cat which had the habit of coming in and going out of a hole in the puncheon door at its pleasure. He also had the habit of sleep- ing just where Mr. Indian was dozing that night. Coming in and finding a

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bunch of. red humanity rolled up in its corner, it evidently determined not to deviate from its usual custom. Thomas Cat began the assault. Then the Max- well family heard a terrible yell, a whoop and a jabbering of unintelligible language as the wandering Sioux plunged through the door and disappeared in the dark.

H. C. Kellogg was the proprietor of the townsite of Cresco. He had two well known sons in the army-Elias and Charley. During the time they were in the service, he used to come over to Algona frequently, and when he came he always had some good news to tell concerning his sons of whom he was especially proud. One day while up town he was very much elated, as he said, over the intelligence that Elias had been promoted. On being questioned as to what office his son had been elevated, he said, "I don't exactly remember, but its colonel or corporal or something like that."

Old Luther Bullis used to bach it in his shanty on what is now D. W. King's east quarter section. He kept himself amused by playing the fiddle and bragging about old Marg, his wonderful bay mare. But he had other lines of amusement, one of which was to teach his pet beaver curious stunts. This little shingle-tailed pet was always securely tied to one of the legs of the bedstead at night for safe keeping. One night it performed a stunt that was not on the regular program. It simply gnawed off one of the legs of the bedstead and then down came Luther bed and all. Dickory, dickory, dock.

Riley Mason was the sole Irvington landlord during the early years of the war. He persisted in using the word "heft" for lift. Now Riley had several girls, all of whom were fat and chunky, and of all of whom he was very proud. Their unusual amount of adipose tissue seemed to gladden the heart of the father to such an extent that he couldn't refrain from boasting about their weight wherever he went in the community. He frequently invited the boys to his house to "heft" Sophia, to see how much she had gained. The boys, strange to say, were not at all backward in accepting the invitation.

Doctor Armstrong in teaching used to make sentences for his younger pupils to spell as a part of the recitation. In the winter of 1860-1, he had a red headed, stubborn boy in his Ridge school by the name of John Knouf. One day the teacher gave him to spell the words "Lazy John Knouf." But John balked and refused to proceed. It was then a test case to see which was the boss, the teacher or the pupil. After John had received a little larruping with a piece of bark he said "Let me go and then I'll spell it." Then on being re- leased he shouted with great defiance "L-a-z-y-D-o-c-k-A-r-m-s-t-r-o-n-g." Scenes still more interesting followed.

The Irvington Juvenile cornet band was the first band of any kind ever organized in the county. The performers were of course amateurs, but the organization paved the way for a better band at the county seat, a year or two later. Many jokes about that pioneer band have been told over and over again. Some of them were partly founded on fact, but most of them were made up out of whole cloth. Here are some of them: Addison Fisher was always able to tell when Yankee Doodle was being played by listening to the beat of the bass drum. Some one stuffed a wad of cotton in one of the horns and the player didn't find it out till he was told about it an hour later. The rats in all the straw stables in the township left on the run when the band began to play.

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At a fourth of July celebration the boys were asked to play Yankee Doodle, but they replied that they had just played it for the sixth time that day. About the best one told was the one about the performer on the tuba having a boy put his ear near the bell of the instrument to determine whether or not any sound was being made. These stories and a dozen others of a similar nature are fre- quently heard by the jokers after nearly forty-five years have elapsed since that first band organization was formed.

Kinsey Carlon was one of the sturdy farmers of the Irvington community. For years he and Doctor Armstrong were good friends as well as near neighbors. One winter while the latter was in Des Moines he sent a telegram to someone in Algona. Kinsey happened to be at the county seat when the telegram came, and on being shown the message exclaimed, "That's not from Dawk for I know that it is not his writing."

Old Badger Easton, who used to come out of his cave across the river south of Algona to peddle whiskey, was a regular Johnny Bull orator when he got well started. On one occasion he was addressing an audience at the Algona town hall on the subject of issuing bonds for some proposed project, and in doing so became very demonstrative in his gestures. The spectators began to giggle when they caught sight of a whiskey bottle in his hip pocket, which came to view as the tail of his threadbare Prince Albert parted when he bent for- ward to give his remarks greater force. The giggle suddenly became a general laughter when the stopper came out and the famous Kentucky brand of Old Rye began running down his trousers. He was the same old peculiar English- man who came to the Jacob Wright cabin in the summer of 1855 and remained for supper. He stowed away victuals in such quantities that the family were amazed. He called for coffee, one cup after the other, till a new supply had to be made. Finally that was about exhausted and the coffee pot was filled with cold water. On taking a swallow of the weak mixture he said with much emphasis, "I want my coffee 'ot." The daughter, Minerva, (Mrs. Charles Harvey) who was waiting on the table told him with just as much em- phasis that he could have no more coffee that night either 'ot or cold.

Over on the Boone river, at Luni, there existed before the war what was known as the Packard settlement. Among the men of that neighborhood were Cyrene, Art, Charley and Inrank Packard and several others of that name. They were a jolly crowd and lived in a happy-go-easy manner. They kept lodgers frequently and proved to be very entertaining landlords. They were great on jokes, relishing them even when they were the victims. They could fiddle, dance, sing and do numerous interesting stunts whenever occasion pro- duced the opportunity. For many years the early settlers of this county in going to and returning from the grist mill at Belmond used to make that settle- ment their regular stopping place. One cold winter's morning before the war, three substantial farmers of Irvington township started for the old Belmond mill with their grists and snow shovels. The next day three of the Packards brought their machine over into the Irvington community to do several jobs of threshing. In a short time they started a sensation that fairly rocked the township, and one that took many days before normal conditions could be re- stored. They declared that W. T. Crockett, Riley Mason and Albe Fife on their way to mill had imbibed so much whiskey that it made them beastly drunk and

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that they were acting like rowdies of the lowest class. The Packards went on to say that on their return from a dance, at two o'clock in the morning, they first found Crockett trying to pull a stump out of the bank, and yelling like an idiot. Nearer the house they declared they had seen Fife, with a bottle of whiskey in each hand, standing on a rail fence making a political speech. As for Mason they had found him in the hog pen between two fat porkers swearing like a pirate. Now 'as Crockett had never been known to drink liquor, and Mason was a prominent pillar in the Baptist church, the story traveled with such rapidity that when the three teamsters returned home, a few days later, they were given a cold reception by their friends and a storm of abuse by their families. Even after the Boone river parties had confessed that the story was a fake, many persisted in asserting that they believed the first story to be the correct one. It later developed that the three teamsters on their way to miil had reached the Packard settlement after dusk. They found no one at home, for all had gone to a social dance. The doors being unlocked they went in and dozed by the fire till the dancers returned, along about two o'clock in the morn- ing. After breakfast, the Packards on starting for Irvington remarked that they could easily fix up a nice story about their house being entered at night without their permission, and have some fun when they reached the "east fork." Fife in reply to this remark told them not to start a story unless it was as big as they could possibly manufacture. In complying with his request the thresh- ers set the story afloat.

Before D. W. King realized that it is not well for man to dwell alone, he spent many lonesome hours in his little cabin home, with no companion except his faithful dog. One evening the dog saw a face against the window pane and sprang with great force to drive away the impudent intruder. He barked and growled and refused to be quieted. By this time the solitary bach be- came interested. He could not understand the motive for any one to be peek- ing in the window. So grabbing a heavy hickory fire poker he went out to look for large game. Seeing no one about the premises he returned to the cabin. In a few minutes the dog went through the same performance again. Mr. King was not a little surprised as well as chagrined. on further investiga- tion, to find that what the dog really saw was the reflection of his own caninc self on the window pane.

The old settlers about Algona used to refer to Alex. Brown, Sr., of Cresco, as old Lamaky Brown, while the pioneers of Irvington referred to Malachi Clark as old Smelex Clark and invariably called Philip Crose, old Mullock. These three received their strange appellations from the same incident, in the latter 50's, but who the parties were that caused these names to be used cannot now be remembered. There are several different versions of the story, but the one here related is the one the writer first heard fifty years ago. Someone desiring to get timber with which he could make "shakes" for his cabin was told by someone else that he could probably get what he wanted of either Alex. Brown, Malachi Clark or Philip Crose. Getting these names confused he re- marked to still another party that he was going to try to get his shake timber of Lamaky Brown, and if he did not succeed he was going to see Smelex Clark or Mullock Crose. No matter how the story got started or who the spokesmen were, the fact remains that the three substantial pioneers of the

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county had names given' them which were known to all the settlers of that period.

Red whiskered John Brown, who settled north of the Black Cat in Union township, belonged to one of the early threshing crews. He was a great cut-up and noted for his quick replies. One day while the crew were waiting for din- ner the girl of the house starting down cellar called to her mother: "Shall I bring up the good butter or the other?" Said old John loudly, "Bring up the dirty butter you always use when you don't have threshers." At another time he heard some people telling of a certain woman who was always apol- ogizing for the condition of her victuals, even when she knew they were as good as could be made. Old Red-whiskers broke out with: "Just let her try that game on me and I will break her from sucking eggs." In the course of a few weeks the threshers were at this woman's house and an opportunity came to test his veracity and courage. During the meal the woman handed him a plate on which was an elegant roll of butter, yellow and firm, remarking as she did so: "My butter isn't very good this week, Mr. Brown." At this mo- ment there were some side glances and some smothered smiles. Undaunted, John lifted the butter up and grinning in triumph said: "That's so, it smells like thunder." The company went wild and the dishes fairly rattled when the offended woman said with fire flashing from her eyes: "Mr. Brown, you're a dirty liar."

Alex. Brown, Sr., used to tell a story about a near neighbor who created a good deal of merriment among the settlers of the early days. After the Spirit Lake Indian massacre in the spring of 1857, forts at Algona and Irving- ton were built as a protection to the settlers in case a similar attack should be made on the river settlements in this county. Several families moved into the two villages so as to be near the forts if danger seemed certain. The Greshington Jones family was one that temporarily came to Algona from the old Cresco set- tlement, now Riverdale. Some of the members of that family one day thought they would venture down to their farm to get the ground ready for making a garden, and as the wind was blowing hard and the air chilly they put shawls over their heads, as they rode along on horseback. On the Cresco side near Mr. Brown's lived a man and wife by the name of Horton. The head of the family had come from New York where he had lived among the Mohawk Indians. He boasted that he wasn't afraid of any redskin and that he didn't intend to move into town, so as to be close to the fort. He and his wife, however, happened to be a half- mile away from their home when he caught a glimpse of the strange looking beings coming on horses. Immediately he started on a run for home yelling at the top of his voice to his wife who was far in the rear, "Run, Polly, run or the Injuns will git ye, run, Polly, run!" He never was heard to boast again about not fearing the savages.

Among the numerous peculiar characters that settled in the Irvington com. munity in the latter 50's, was William Carter who was not excelled by any of his neighbors for genuine worth as a citizen. His unusual tone of voice and his strange expressions were known far and wide by all who became acquainted with him. There were more joke stories told concerning him than any other of the early settlers.

One morning he went over to a neighbor's where they were killing and

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scalding hogs. Charley Barber, who was there, used to tell what Mr. Carter said when he came in this way: "Boys, I suppose I'm the best man in the county to scald hogs. Kinsey and I came from Pennsylvania where they know how to scald hogs. Now just let your uncle tell you how. Put in more hot water ; now a little cold; put in a pan of ashes; now some more hot water; a little more cold water; now stir the ashes. All ready, now boys, souse in your sow ; pull her back to give her air. Let her go again ; don't be in a hurry let her soak, boys, let her soak. Now pull her back and go for the hair." The joke came when the soaking so set the hair that not a bristle could be removed. On noticing this condition Carter's remark was, "I am the best man in the county to scald a hog, that is when I'm a mind to."

On another occasion a sleigh load of young people going to spelling school overtook him on the road and he got in as he was going to the same place him- self. He listened for a while to these youthful sparkers, giving each other conundrums to solve. Finally he said, "I have no education, but I suppose I can do some sums in my head that you can't do with a slate and pencil. For instance how much corn will an ordinary wagon box hold that is fourteen inches high." One of the boys said that he couldn't figure it out unless he had a pencil and paper. "Well," said Mr. Carter, "that's easy. Every inch high one bushel, fourteen inches high, fourteen bushels, that's all." The boy then put a poser to him in this question: "Suppose the box was eighteen inches longer and ten inches wider, how many bushels would it then contain?" The Pennsylvanian settled the matter by quickly replying, "Yes, but it aint though."

The story that had the widest circulation concerning Mr. Carter and one that was the most often told, was one which had no real foundation in fact but which was invented by the fertile imagination of Oliver Fill, who could imi- tate his victim's voice to perfection. Going to the school house one morning he said, according to the Fill version: "I'm a cousin of Kinsey Carlon and we came from Pennsylvania. I've been school director for nineteen years and have now come to interrogate the school to see how pert you are. Yan boy, at the head of the class, stand up, and look me in the eye. How far do you sup- pose it is from earth to Jerusalem? Whow? I see you all laugh. To tell the truth I don't know as I quite know myself, but in round numbers I should say it is a hades of a ways. Now I'll try you on one more interrogation and then I'll go and feed old Bill and throw some hay over the fence to the steers. Yan girl, with the pink apron arise, and look me in the eye. Speaking categor- ically tell me which is the longest bone in the body?" According to the story after each member of the school had guessed a dozen times and given un- satisfactory answers the girl said, "Which is it yourself if you know?" Carter's answer was "why your backbone, ye fool ye. Whow?"

In the palmy days of old Irvington several young men were the occupants of the bach hall in the village. Three young ladies of the neighborhood- Nancy Allison and the two Cogley girls-made three soap pies and sent them to the hall on the first day of April, 1858, so that the boys could April fool their friends. Before sundown nearly every man on the townsite had been led into tasting the "delicious pumpkin pie." Those wifeless pioneers desired very much to induce Doctor Armstrong to partake of the delicacy, but how to get him to the hall and how to inveigle him into taking a bite of the April fool pie

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were questions that were difficult to solve. Leicester Fox finally hit upon a plan that succeeded. Kendall Young, one of the proprietors of the town, lived about a quarter of a mile away. He and the Doctor were good friends and on the most intimate terms. The boys sent for Mr. Young to come to the bach hall, and after he arrived he entered into the conspiracy to trap the cunning early-day dentist. A messenger was sent to inform Armstrong that Kendall Young was at the bach hall and that Young wanted to see him about some busi- ness matters. When Armstrong came in, as had been previously arranged, the boys were at their places around the table eating supper, while Mr. Young was seated on the side of a bed close by. The two friends being seated side by side on the bed engaged in conversation about various matters. In the mean- time the diners occasionally spoke about the good qualities of the pie. Accord- ing to the prearrangement the plate was handed to Mr. Young and he was asked to taste the rare dessert. Young purposely declined the offer and passed the plate over to his friend who also refused to partake. In a few minutes the plate was handed over to the town proprietor again. This time he took off a piece and pretended to take a bite, at the same time handing the plate to his friend saying, "Doc better take a bite with me, its really fine," Armstrong then took the only piece from the plate saying, "Kendall I never allow myself to eat any kind of pie, but as this is your treat I'll indulge just once for friendship's sake." Then he bit off about one-fourth of his treat while a burst of laughter came from all the jokers. But the victim to their surprise took another mouthful and then another until the pie was all devoured. Rising to go home he said, "Boys that is the best pie I ever tasted. When you get any more like that let me know and I will come up and help you eat it. Good night."

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History of Kossuth County, Iowa, Part 23

Author: Reed, Benjamin F Publication date: 1913 Publisher: Chicago : S. J. Clarke Pub. Co. Number of Pages: 879

Author: Reed, Benjamin F
Publication date: 1913
Publisher: Chicago : S. J. Clarke Pub. Co.
Number of Pages: 879