The history of Polk County, Iowa : containing a history of the county, its cities, towns, &c., biographical sketches of its citizens, war record of its volunteers in the late rebellion, general and local statistics, portraits of early settlers and prominent men, Part 88

Author: Union Historical Company, Des Moines, pub
Publication date: 1880
Publisher: Des Moines, Iowa : Union Historical Co.
Number of Pages: 1074

USA > Iowa > Polk County > The history of Polk County, Iowa : containing a history of the county, its cities, towns, &c., biographical sketches of its citizens, war record of its volunteers in the late rebellion, general and local statistics, portraits of early settlers and prominent men > Part 88

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

Here roamed at will the aborigines- Crept through the grass or skulked amid the trees; Here formed their plans against their enemies, Sang songs of war, or smoked the pipe of peace: And while the squaws grew corn and young papoose, Here raised her brood the migratory goose, And the wild turkey found a quiet roost; The massassauga, by its den laid close, Basked in the sun in undisturbed repose. Here often, too, the fire with forked tongue, Placed by the hunter's hand the grass among, Swift from the wind forth blazed and sprung Far out upon the prairie's level face, Pursuing the buffalo in furious chase- The ready rifle causing oft to fall The larger and fiercer of them all; Which, while they struggled in the throes of death, Breathed yet defiance with their fleeting breath. And still the flames rushed on, and, blazing high,

Were back reflected from the hazy sky. And they who looked abroad the following day Saw the white smoke still rising far away; While the scorched earth gave back a curious scent And showed the path the red destroyer went.

So long the Indians had owned the land With all its forests and savannas grand, So long had clung with superstitious loves To their old villages and shady groves Where the warrior wooed his favorite maid, The brookside where their infant braves had played, The burying-ground where their dead fathers laid; So long their light canoes they'd paddled o'er The Mississippi's tide from shore to shore- So long with deer skin thong its fishes caught, Or on its banks the honey tree had sought- That in the minds of these wild sons of nature, The love of home became a leading feature.

But destiny within her hand concealed A scheme to take away their wide-spread field With all its level plains, its tangled brakes, Its rapid rivers and its pearly lakes, Where long their fathers lived, and with the bow The prairie wolf brought down, the elk laid low -- For when their hawk-like eyes they upward raise, The pale-face stands before their 'stonished gaze. And soon they saw, as fast as white men came, Their trees cut down, and scared away their game.

Let what may be of the Indians said, All must admit that they were only paid For what contains our swarming population, With its worth compared, small compensation. And can it be to us a source of wonder That it was hard so suddenly to sunder The ties which e'er since infancy had formed; Or that their swarthy cheek with anger warmed When bands of reckless, wicked pioneers Which always have infested our frontiers, Becoming monsters in their greedy haste, Burned up their wigwams, and their fields laid waste; . And while the braves upon the prairies hunted, Fenced in and plowed the fields the squaws had planted, And did such numerous acts of crying shame As never yet disgraced barbarian name ? Such insults made the red men undergo As brought on deeds of blood and scenes of woe,

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

For in them still the untamed spirit burned, And on their pale-faced enemies they turned. What wonder, then, with hungry vengeance fired, That blood for blood the savages desired! When the white men were thus in turn assailed, Their craven, coward hearts in terror quailed; And loud they called the government upon For aid, in dangers they themselves brought on. And soon the Indians, with their wildest whoops, Engaged in combat with the advancing troops; Fighting for their fields and native wildwood, Where in security they'd dwelt in childhood, Determined each to win or sell his life Dearly as he could in the desp'rate strife.

Yet, though led on by a chieftain bold, They strove their native fastnesses to hold, The white man, by his numbers, guns and skill, Made them fly before his imperious will- Retreating toward the inclement north They were slain or starved as they wandered forth, While on rude rafts, or in the birchen boat, Adown the river they, escaping, float, The wives and children of the broken band Made ready victims for the marksman's hand.

When the poor red men met their foes again, Again were routed and their warriors slain, Their warlike implements they then threw down And yielded up the long contested ground. Then, obeying the hard decree of fate, For a small annuity sold their late Hunting grounds to their now victorious foes, And prepared in peace to gain repose. And, when the papers signed, the treaty made, Not long in moving west the tribe delayed.

Now pass we o'er a few fast-fleeting years, With their joys and sorrows, their hopes and fears, Till once again a treating time is set, And whites and Indians are in conclave met. And once again the Sauks and Musquakies For some additional annuities, And protection against their enemies, The envious Siouxs and Pottawattamies, Of patriotic spirit all bereft Sell "for a song " the lands which they had left; But government added this recompense For three years more a peaceful residence.

On something change is written every day, And time in passing, placed along the way New men and scenes upon the lowa stage, Which still are living on historic page.

To this end, then, was made all this digression- To show by what means we obtained possession Of all these grandly beautiful domains, These pleasant groves and these luxuriant plains, Of which our city is the crowning glory, As well as proper subject of our story.

Now cast with me the retrospective eye Adown the winding river. Let it spy " A thing of life " slow moving o'er the waves, Bearing the frontier soldiers, pale-face braves-

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

Startling the forest with its sounding cough; Meanwhile its misty smoke, back rolling off, Hovers for a moment the tree tops o'er, Then vanishing in air, is seen no more. Steadily to the shore it now approaches, Until the water's brink its hull encroaches, Then to some friendly tree the line's made fast- Its tedious upward voyage is o'er at last. And there the soldier's feet first press on sod Which covered soil as rich as e'er man trod; And that little band, near the spot instated, For the arrival of their comrades waited.

Two moons had come and passed away again, And now another still was on the wane, When also came the long expected forces, With their wagons, accoutrements and horses. Not long they'd loitered on the prairies broad, But hastened o'er the yet unbroken road Until they'd reached the spot the streams between, Had gazed awhile upon the lovely scene -- Greeted their companions who stood around, And pitched their tents upon the rising ground.

Next morning all were in due preparation Clearing off the ground to build up the station; Cheerfully to his task went every man, And with alacrity the work began. Briskly they toiled, and when their labor done- Looked on their finished work the smiling sun -- Gathered the company near the river's bank, Without regard to discipline or rank, And shouted one deafening, rousing cheer, As even did themselves surprise to hear. And some of them, their polished muskets fired, The sound receding as it far retired Lent answering echoes from each neigh'bring hill, Then lingering, died away, and all was still. The Indian heard the sound with practiced ear; And, starting from its lair, the graceful deer Stood for awhile with ear distended wide, Then, arrow-like, sped down the riverside; The black bear, lurking in the adjoining brake, Gave a low growl and followed in its wake; The prairie hen and her affrighted brood, With whirring wings flew swiftly through the wood; And all the people of the country round Seemed well to know the token of that sound.

Such, in accordance with our old tradition, Or, what's more likely still, with supposition, Was the novel effect of that report Heard at the christ'ning of the new-born Fort.

The soldiers have but little now to do, When with their morning exercises through, Unless their inexpressibles to mend Or catch the fishes in the river's bend; Some spend their time in games; and some, meanwhile, With jokes and songs the tedious hours beguile. The savage man, with a nonchalant air, In greasy blankets dressed, came often there- Looked on the place with curious intent, In subdued grunts his feelings finding vent- And closely scanned whate'er his fancy caught, or Smoked with the men and drank the fire water.

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

This last, with some such other graces, They'd learned from the more refined pale-faces.

Beside the retainers of our government, Few whites yet resided in the settlement, Though at an early time the trader came, And finding the red men such easy game, Sold to them knives and strips of calico, Trinkets and beads, and as you all well know, They fleeced him of his various furs and skins, Nor thought of doing penance for such sins, But for some years continued in the trade, And then retired with all their fortunes made.

Men, too, were here, who always haunt the border, Outlaws, both to virtue and to good order; Came to indulge in all their evil courses, Adepts at selling rum and stealing horses. The Indians suffered then in double sense, By giving for strong drink their confidence; For while mean whisky made their senses dull, The cunning thieves their finest horses stole. And hither, too, other stragglers wandered, Who, in roving round, time and money squandered, Of whom 'tis said, "They, like the rolling stone, Gathered no moss" but still kept rolling on- A race of idle drones, of vagrant elves, No credit to the country or themselves.

Other and better men were also here, Came Industry and Thrift to pioneer; Far-sighted men who saw with prophetic vision, These wilds reclaimed and made almost elysian, Saw what has proved to be no idle dreaming, A beauteous land with happy thousands teeming.

Now come we to another period in our rhyme, To the settlers then, a long looked for time, When, was announced by the sharp-ringing rifle, The expiration of the Indian Title. And then by the moonbeams, or torchs' flames, They met to measure off and stake their claims- To this end working all the livelong night, For fear delay might lose some wished-for site; And after each his fav'rite choice had made, Still within the neighborhood there laid As beautiful and seemly situations As e'er were found on Nature's broad plantations.

All through the country round the stakes were seen Standing with tops above the verdure green; And here and there a little space was cleared On which the rude claim cabin should be reared; Then fell the trees before the magic axe, Cabins were reared, with mud daubed up the cracks, And chimneys were built up of oaken sticks, The settler's ready substitute for bricks.

Here let us not the well-known fact ignore Of many a quarrel had some good claim o'er, Because some one had set his stakes athwart That on which another one had set his heart. And envy and jealousy made men irate When friendship oft was turned to bitter hate, And a war of epithets and knock-downs rude, Served not to cure them of their wrangling mood, Or to exterminate the angry feud.

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

The demon Greed invaded now the land. Plainly his work was seen on every hand- Well was it done and cunningly 'twas planned. Here some poor man who'd toiled for all his life His children to support, and patient wife, Had found him means to bring them to the West, Had claimed his share of land 'long with the rest, And dreamed of the time when, by Fortune blest, Large wealth, and happiness, should be his hoard, And Plenty, Peace and Joy should crown his board.

What poor unreal things are dreams, asleep Or awake! how very little do we reap Of all that comes before our dreaming eyes! How many of the images that rise To lure us on with promises all bright, Which, as we clasp them, vanish from our sight Like meteors that blaze in starry night!

So 'twas with some like him of whom we speak, When after so much lean they thought their streak Of fat had come, some moneyed human hog Snatched it easy as falling from a log, Simply by paying of the entrance fee -- Presto! Change! 'twas yours, now't belongs to me. And much it seems that brave and honest men, If ever angry, would be desperate them.

So have we seen the lank and starving beast Of swine persuasion, think to have a feast On an ear of corn by some good wagoner dropped, Stop to eat it where the nubbin stopped; When some fat porker, curly-tailed and sleek, With gluttonous intent did on him sneak, Sieze and devour his nubbin, scanty meal, And gallop from his angry sorrowing squeal.

But so much more does peaceful rhyming please, That from these jarring scenes we beg release, And hasten, after so much condensation. To whence commenced the march of emigration.

At this time in the distant states were heard Of Fort Des Moines full many a boasting word, And many a man the Iowa fever stirred; They talked of it and of the weary journey As we do now of that to distant Kearney -- Dreamed of the much-longed-for Utopia Which to them should prove a cornucopia Of all they could wish for in field or store, Such as ne'er had blessed their toils before, Until their longing could be no more controlled, When their effects were gathered up and sold, And neighbors gathered in from every grove To help the emigrants prepare to move, And, when arrived the appointed starting day, Went with them several miles upon the way, And then, amid the sorrowing tears that fell, They shook each other's hands and bade farewell.

Trains of wagons crept the long road over, "For Iowa " painted on each dusty cover; Scores of children, black-headed, red, and white- The latter oftenest coming into sight- Looking from the wagons, a mixed-up mass, To see the country as they slowly pass; The wagon's rear end held the spinning-wheel, Oft its companion, too, the winding-reel;

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

But oftener still the rude split-bottomed chair, With or without rockers, was fastened there. The travelers were in fitting dress arrayed, Which by their own industrious hands was made- Fathers and sons in brown jeans hunting-shirts, The mothers and daughters in linsey skirts, Each having their allotted part to do, Driving the teams, and gentle cattle too.

Such were the men, and such the women were, Who came through trials and vexatious care, To people up this splendid, grassy plain, And change it into fields of waving grain. Hopefully from their forest homes they went, Where they had toiled for competence and content, Working earnestly many a weary day, Striving to clear the trees and brush away, Which formed a standing guard above the soil Only to be subdued by hardest toil. When thus for many years their strength they'd spent, The farms they'd made were meager in extent; 'Twas thought their labor handsomely did yield, If they'd secured one twenty acre field Of girdled trees and charred and blackened stumps, And roots remembered from the painful thumps That were inflicted on the shins of those Who oft pursued the plow through crooked rows- Here, skipping a spot 'neath some sturdy tree, There, dodging stumps with skill we seldom see; The ploughman often jerked from side to side With violence not easy to abide.

Truly 'tis seen that they had chosen well In concluding that they'd no longer dwell In places where Dame Nature must be wooed So long and wearily for so little good; In going forth a better lot to seek, Where this same Nature, in a kindly freak, Had neatly cleared the rich and seemly land, And left it waiting for the ploughman's hand; Another favor unto him she'd granted In broad, expansive meadows, ready planted, Decked with such flowers, doubt it you who can, As surpassed the glory of King Solomon.

But these were the people, as said before, Who well the early settler's burden bore.

Time fled apace; the lands were in the market, And speculators came with rocks in pocket, Entered it up by quarter and by section, Then conned the matter o'er with the reflection That they had made a brilliant speculation, And reckoned often that the operation Would insure them a very large per centum, Which thought, indeed, did very much content 'em.

And came the man whose well-spent working time Had secured him many a hard-earned dime; Then when his little all he had invested, He settled where he was most interested, And brought his wife and children, jewels rare, With him his new-found prairie home to share.

And individuals then laid foundation For what has brought them since both wealth and station.

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

Seasons had come and gone, and with them went Wild beasts and birds, and scarce the Indian's tent Became as erst the white man's house of logs, Or snakes and frogs in Ireland's marshy bogs; And for these years had steadily went on Improving rapidly, the infant town --- Extending outward with resistless force It crossed both rivers in its growing course, Until on all the hills that gird it 'round The dwellings of its citizens were found; Until was heard, where silence dwelt of old, The noise of trade, where things were bought and sold, And hundreds daily toiled for glittering gold.

Then was the place the tradesman's paradise, And all made money who were half-way wise; The rattling change was heard in each man's pocket, And cheerful thrift was seen each door you'd knock at; The merchant measured off his calico,

And made for every yard a dime or so. Here the busy carpenter pushed his saw, There hung the sign of him who practiced law; Divines, land agents, bankers and physicians, Speculators and a few politicians, All had their time and functions in demand, All were well paid by what they had in hand.

From many a tall chimney did uprise The steam that moved some goodly enterprise; The blacksmith's ponderous sledge, swinging round, Came down upon the iron with ringing sound; The mechanic then, of every class, Found customers for his work at last; The mason's trowel, the mechanic's plane, Unceasingly were heard, and not in vain; Houses were reared for business and for homes, And churches to which on the Lord's-day comes An army of children to the Sabbath-school, To read of Christ and learn the Golden Rule; And where the children some years older go, To attend the meeting for an hour or two- Some, the good preacher's words to criticise, And some, to doze with heavy, sleepy eyes; Some, to show off their new and costly dresses, And some, to hear the truth which mankind blesses.

So extensive then was Good Time's dominion That there obtained only this one opinion- There never was a place more blessed in Fortune's tricks Than Fort Des Moines in eighteen fifty-six.

'Ere this time it behooves us to relate That the assembled wisdom of the state, Attending to the wants of great and small, Resolved to re-locate the capital; A wise determination, some would say, And all will say it at some future day; Commissioners to do the work were sent, By whom some weeks in looking round were spent Canvassing rival sites, as time afforded, Until to Fort Des Moines it was awarded.

And as the place became of some import, Her citizens with one accord dropped off the "Fort"; And now, behold! on yonder sloping hill, Built with money and determined will, Looms up a building of proportions fair, Which once was but a castle in the air;

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

Where members of various mental stature, Who constitute Iowa's legislature, Convene to look after the common weal- New laws to pass and old ones to repeal, But whose foremost great duty to the Nation Consists in aiding each appropriation; And where is seen an anxious looking band, Each individual with his axe in hand Waiting a chance to grind the instrument, And the more he grinds the more is he content.

We all remember, how, in fifty-seven. All enterprises seemed to have a leaven Of failure in them. Then came the panic, That scattered banker, merchant, and mechanic; Professors, christians, sinners-people all Participated in the general fall.

At first there came the end of "Life and Trust," Then the mercantile world went on a bust; Blest was he then, and free from all this shocking, Who made a banker of his wife's long stocking, And kept his shiners all from out the way Of the per cent monster, which then held sway, And, like the great and universal "Co.,' In every business had a share or so; Nor could a city like our own, so fast, Hope the infection to escape, that passed, Leaving unwelcome footprints all around Where'er a business enterprise was found. With its effects, then, everybody met; Could we enter water and not get wet? Or handle money without getting bit ?

Then some of the citizens of the town Went up at the same time that they went down; Others, who'd e'er been generous with their money, Discovered then this phase of life so funny, That they lost their friends when their funds had lost- Let us not say they learned it to their cost.

What a strange thing in human nature this is When our friend his calculation misses! We turn our backs upon him and forget That unto mortal man 'twas never yet Vouchsafed to be so cunning and so clever As to succeed in every tried endeavor.

There is nothing in the extended range Of human powers, or well known or strange, Which men have not aspired to attain And strived for with their might, but all in vain; And when we look back on our lives and see Of those we long have known, how few there be Among them all whose labors bear impress Of often sought for, seldom found, success; And when we see, in ventures of our own, How very oft the crafty bird has flown, And rendered to us of but small avail The salt we strove to sprinkle on its tail, Then should we put our tongues to better use Than load the unsuccessful with abuse.

This was the season, too, when gold was found Above the old float bridge in clayey ground, And loads of dust were carted to the branch Where machinery was placed, stout and staunch,

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

To separate the lucre from the dross, And save the yellow particles from loss; The miners wrought with industry and skill With blue shirts on, and rubber boots, until There came a flood, the works away were torn, And all the gold they had was-in a horn.

Why should we laugh at this? Men every day Labor at that which brings no better pay.

Now though Des Moines felt the revulsion's force During its withering, unrelenting course, She has not, like some others, backward grown, But through it all has bravely held her own; And had she yielded to the general strain, Like truth, though crushed to earth, would rise again.

In each season that since has circled through, Her citizens have something found to do; And whenever Providence so has willed That our river should be with water filled, Is seen the hot breath from the smoky throats Of numerous heavily laden boats, Discharging goods of divers style and grade That shall supply us for the season's trade.

And now truly 'tis proper here to tell, Considering all things we have prospered well- Our industry has met no parallel, For every household is so thronged within That to relax our efforts would be sin. And they who think must come to this conclusion, That Iowa raises children in profusion; And as it seems to be by hard times willed That the country shall not so soon be filled By any welcome rush of immigration, It behooves each one of us, what'er our station, To show abroad to each state of the nation, 'Tis not our fault if she lacks population.

As evidence of goodly situation And of future importance in location, Des Moines has ever been upon the road Which the great westward emigration trod. Some going to that rugged distant field Whose rocks and soil give up the golden yield; And some, to make a lasting happy halt, Far downward by the wondrous lake of salt Where Brigham rules both over souls and lives, And men run crazy after numerous wives, And women strive to get, as best they can, Rather than none, a fraction of a man.

And who is there among us that shall say When the good time comes, and the iron way Stretches from the east to the western coast, Enterprise worthy of a nation's boast, By which shall two great empires be connected, That our own city shall not be bisected !

Of recent memory is the court-house war, Which many friendly feelings served to mar; But time in life can many wrongs erase And will again call smiles unto the face Of those who lost them in that jangling time (Sure, difference of opinion is not crime);

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HISTORY OF POLK COUNTY.

So let good nature shine on every phiz The house is built, and who cares if it is?

Now while we rhyme in desultory phrase, Here is a subject that deserves a place- We mean the glorious types and printing presses, Like which no other power a people blesses, With information sound secured by reading To him who takes the paper, man of good breeding; Some other and more gifted one has said (His heart was right and so likewise his head): "Show to me the newspapers of a nation And I will tell you of her wealth and station." Therefore all ye who have it in your mind, That Iowa shall not remain behind The other states in our confederation, In building up a reading reputation, For every paper that you can subscribe And help support the needy, hungry tribe Who grind a living from a wearied brain (Some nose the grindstone for it all in vain), Always remembering support to give To those who can the best without it live, For so it has been done throughout all time, In every country and in every clime; To give to him that hath so much the more, Take from the lacking what he had before. But this is good advice, and no mistake- Every man should his city papers take.

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The history of Polk County, Iowa : containing a history of the county, its cities, towns, &c., biographical sketches of its citizens, war record of its volunteers in the late rebellion, general and local statistics, portraits of early settlers and prominent men, Part 88

Author: Union Historical Company, Des Moines, pub Publication date: 1880 Publisher: Des Moines, Iowa : Union Historical Co. Number of Pages: 1074

Author: Union Historical Company, Des Moines, pub
Publication date: 1880
Publisher: Des Moines, Iowa : Union Historical Co.
Number of Pages: 1074