USA > Illinois > Lee County > Recollections of the pioneers of Lee County [Illinois] > Part 19
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Albany, New York, and engaged in business here, preaching at places near home when a vacancy occurred. A more hospitable family than that of Mr. Ayres could hardly be found. They took great pleasure in entertaining and did it in a royal manner. Mr. Ayres died in 1882, having lived to celebrate his golden wedding with his six children present. His son, D. B. Ayres, is still a resident of Dixon. Mrs. Ayres, since her be- loved husband's death. has spent her time with her children.
Others who came with their wives in 1839 were Thomas March, a farmer living east of town; Herman Mead, father of Mrs. Sherwood Dix- on; I. D. McComsey (whose widow subsequently was married to Judge W. W. Heaton), and John Van Arnam.
Only one couple who came in 1840 will here be mentioned, for by that time so many new people were moving in that to speak of all would make this paper entirely too long. But the sweet face of one sweet woman who came in 1840 must be allowed as the last of this collection. Mrs. J. T. Little came from Castine, Maine, a young and beautiful bride. During the later years of her useful, Christian life. the curls of jet have gradually turned to silver, but now only serve to enhance the beauty of the dear, gentle face. Mr. Little was at first a merchant, having a store on Water street. His nursery, started a few years later, was the first nursery of Dixon. In all the vicissitudes of pioneer and after life, Mr. Little ever found in his wife a helpmate who brightened all the way as they have journeyed hand in hand toward their heavenly home.
On the fourth of July, 1840, were celebrated no less than three mar- riages in the old school house. The plan was to have all three take place at six o'clock in the morning, but one couple from Palmyra found the hour too early for them; the other two couples, Libbie Coggins and Daniel Stevens, and Annie Robbins and James Campbell were more determined, and at the appointed time were married by Rev. Luke Hitchcock. When the knots were both securely tied loud congratulations were, at the proper moment, unexpectedly sounded from the mouth of a cannon which had, unknown to the wedding parties, been placed close to the school- house door. Miss Robbins had come from New York in 1836.
Others of the young pioneer women, before marriage seemed to them desirable, succeeded in supporting themselves by teaching school. The first of these to teach in the "Bend" was Miss Ophelia Loveland, who afterwards was married to J. B. Brooks and was the mother of Dr. H. J. Brooks and Miss Madgie of this city. She received for her service the munificent sum of one dollar and a quarter a week and "boarded' round." Her successor, Miss Jane Wood, afterwards Mrs. Horace Preston, received
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the same amount, and where there were small children in the family with whom she was spending her week, she slept with the children in a trundle bed that was trundled out from under the larger bed. Mr. Pres- ton was at the tinie courting Miss Wood, and each week he hired a horse and buggy for $1.50 to go for her and bring her home. On considering the small profits of that arrangement it seemed to them better to go into partnership, which they accordingly did.
It is with the conviction that scant justice has been done in the pre- ceding pages to these noble pioneer women, that I take my leave of . them. Of their many virtues, of their useful lives, their hardships and
their joys, I have been able to say but little. Of some, entitled to the highest respect and extended eulogy, the limits of this article have pre- cluded me from giving more than a mere passing recognition. Doubtless this catalogue of names is incomplete. Nor can a history now be written which shall bring the reader into genuine sympathy with the lives of these pioneers. They are now all but gone, and their very names will soon perhaps be forgotten. But the foundation they laid, and the works they wrought, and the influence they extended upon those who follow in their footsteps, will endure.
BESSIE BOARDMAN WINGERT.
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Dr. Oliver Everett.
W HAT a fund of material I might have had for this little sketch of my father's early life in the west, had I treasured in my mind all that I have heard him recount. As it is, I fear it will be very meager.
My father, Dr. Oliver Everett, was born in Worthington, Mass., Sept. 12th, 1811. He was one of a family of fifteen children, ten of whom lived to reach man and womanhood. He received his education in the school of the neighborhood, working upon the farm in summer and attending school in winter. He then entered upon the study of medicine, teaching school in the meantime to pay his way through college. In June, 1836, he graduated from the Berkshire Metlical College connected with Wil- liams College. His old preceptor, Dr. Daugherty of Marlborough, N. Y., then offered him a partnership with him, but "Westward ho!" was the watchword then, and he declined, determining to seek his fortune in the much-talked-of but comparitively little known West.
Two years previous his elder brother and a married sister had pre- ceded him and located at Princeton in this state. I hope I may be par- doned a littls digression here, that I may relate an incident in my aunt's wedding journey. A year or two before her husband had come west and taken up a claim, on which he had built a log cabin. In 1834 he returned to Massachusetts and married her, and they made the journey to Chicago in the usual manner. When they reached there either the funds had run low or there was no conveyance to be obtained to take them the remain- der of their journey. He found her a boarding place, left her and walked to Princeton, got his ox team and wagon and proceeded to Chi- cago, returning to his little log cabin in triumph with his bride at his side in the ox cart. Thus were difficulties overcome by those old pioneers of the early days.
But to return to my father. He bought as large a stock of medicines and instruments as his very limited means would allow, and with a small but comfortable outfit of clothing, for all of which one chest was amply sufficient, he turned his steps westward, to see what fortune and the future had in store for him.' In those days the journey was made by stage or wagon from my father's home to Albany, thence to Buffalo via the Erie Canal, and from there by steamboat by way of the lakes to Chi- cago. When he arrived in the latter place he found there was no way for him to reach Princeton, where he intended visiting his relatives for
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a few days, except by walking. Leaving his heavy baggage there, he slung his carpet-bag over his shoulder on a stout stick and started on his long, lonely tramp-knowing nothing of the country or what dangers he might have to encounter. One hundred and five miles did he pursue his weary way over the trackless prairies in the heat of summer, suffering so . from thirst-for the streams were scarce-that he was glad to scoop with his hands the water from the hoof-prints of cattle, which recent rains had filled, and in that manner quenched his thirst. Think of it, you pampered young men of to-day, who think it a hardship to walk even a mile or two.
After spending a little time with his relatives in Princeton he bought a horse and started out to seek a location. On the third day of Septem- ber, 1836, he rode into "Dixon's Ferry" and here he decided to "pitch his tent" and "grow up with the country!" When my father came here Dixon had four log houses, a frame house, a blacksmith shop and two or three houses in course of construction. In a letter written a few years after he came here, I find the following description of the place as he first saw it. "This slope, where the heart of the town now is, was then covered with large, spreading trees, while the ground beneath, perfectly clear of underbrush, presented a smooth green surface, which with the ever-beautiful river at its base and the opposite bank rising gradually in the distance-also covered with trees and presenting a clean, park-like appearance, with the bluffs crowned with lofty trees and the islands dot- ting the river, appearing like compact, rounded masses of green foilage, veiled only by the silver lustre of the maple leaves, presented a scene of of beauty and loveliness which has passed away forever from this place. The woodman with his ax, the quarryman with his pick and crowbar- are sad despoilers of beauty."
When a mere lad my father had developed a great fondness for the study of botany and geology, which had been fostered by his friend and preceptor, Dr. Daugherty. Together they pursued these studies in leisure hours, and roamed the hills and vales for new specimens of flora and minerals. These western prairies, covered with such an endless variety of rare flowers which were strange to him, and the limestone formations hereabouts-so different from the sandstone of New York and the granite of his native state-were sources of enjoyment to him. Many an hour that might otherwise have been lonely they helped him to pass. From a child I can remember how, when going to make a country call, he always tucked under the buggy-seat a good-sized tin box, in which he was wont to bring home well moistened his specimens of flowers, as fresh, almost,
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as when gathered. In this way he acquired one of the most complete herbariums in this state. He continued this practice until within a few years of his death.
In those early days the country was very sparsely settled, and many places where my father was called to attend the sick were ten, twenty and sometimes forty miles away, but in summer's heat or winter's cold, he never hesitated, no matter how long the distance. He was forced by circumstances to perform many strange offices, aside from alleviating pain. Not a few times was he called where there was no neighboring woman to bear a helping hand, and he would, as tenderly as any woman, bathe and dress the tiny, helpless creature who had just begun its life's journey. One time he was called a long distance to see a man who was very ill. When he got there he found that he had but a few hours to live. The man had not realized his condition until that late hour, and was most anxious to execute a will before he died. There was no lawyer within many miles, and even if one were sent for, he could not get there in time. He begged my father to draw up his will. My father had no knowledge of such craft, and hesitated, for he feared it might not be valid, but later on consented. He drew up the will and had it signed and witnessed. The man died soon after with his mind at rest, and I will add that the will my father made that day held good in the eyes of the law.
When he had been here about six weeks he received a letter from his brother in Princeton, who all his life had been a great tease and fond of his little joke. I take the following extract from that letter: "We were very glad to receive your letter through Mr. Mosely, who has just returned from Dixon's Ferry. I understand that you have had a new patient, and that you had a most desperate case, inasmuch as you gave saddlebags and all at one dose. I have some curiosity to know whether the patient recov- ered or not. I expect you will immortalize your name if "successful in the case." My father was ever most easily teased, and I have no doubt the above had the desired effect.
In those early days the wolves were in great number, and it was no uncommon occurrence for him, on his long rides into the country, to be followed by a pack of the hungry creatures. At that time he had no knowledge of the use of firearms, and another alternative occurred to him for disposing of his troublesome bodygnard. Before starting to make a call a long distance away he would mix a quantity of strychnine into little balls of bread or meat and carry them with him in his saddle- bags. When the wolves began to follow him he would throw the balls
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out, one by one, and have the satisfaction of beholding some of his foes stretched lifeless before he had passed out of sight on the prairie.
In the summer of 1837 my father began the erection of a house. In Angust of the same year he was married. I cannot refrain from taking the following extract from a letter describing his wedding, written by an aunt in Princeton to another member of the family. It is so amusing that I copy it entire. "I have just returned from the nuptial ceremon- ies of Dr. Oliver and Cousin Emily. This morning at nine o'clock was the hour of their plighted vows at the hymenial altar. They were mar- ried at Mr. Bryant's, not, as is usual on such an occasion, in the house, but in the little grove near the house. There were six.couples present to witness the performance. The grove was clear from underbrush, and being of itself a peculiarly romantic character, together with the taste- fully arranged tables for the reception of the cake, wine, sangaree, lem- onade, etc., rendered it a spot delightfully interesting. Next I must give you a description of the bride. She was clad in a rich royal purple silk dress; on her neck was a blonde lace ruffle, plaited down to a point, and neatly enclosed with a bow of white satin riband; on her head was thrown an elegant white blond veil (presented by the doctor), that hung nearly to the ground: her hair hung in graceful ringlets, and round her head was tastefully entwined a wreath. artificial in form, but composed of natural materials, viz: oak leaves ornamented with flowers. The bridegroom also was dressed in superb style, and in short, the betrothed pair in point of splendor far exceded anything I have witnessed in this country." I never imagined my dear father could have been such a "'swell." They drove across the country to Dixon for their wedding journey. As his house was not completed they boarded until part of it was made habitable, when they went to housekeeping. From the time my father had a home of his own he had a garden in which he cultivated both flowers and vegetables, and in which it was his delight to work in leisure moments. Being called from home for a few days at one time he wrote his young wife a very brief letter, bidding her "be careful and keep the gate closed so that the cows will not get into the garden."
One of the gentlemen who boarded at Mr. Gilbraith's, next door, was the owner of a black bear, which was kept chained to a large tree in the backyard. My sister Emily was a baby at that time and her cradle had been brought into the kitchen that her mother might have her near while she was attending to her household duties. She was sleeping and her mother had gone to another part of the house, leaving her alone. A few minutes later my father entered the house and to his horror beheld the
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huge beast with his head over in the cradle snuffing at the unsuspecting infant, probably with the intent of ascertaining what sort of a cub sbe was. He lost no time in driving the bear out, and he was soon secured to the chain from which he had escaped.
In 1842, after five brief years of married life, my father lost his wife, who died quite suddenly, having been ill but a few days.
On the fifth of February, 1846, he was married to my mother, Bessie Law, by Rev. Luke Hitchcock. On account of my grandfather Law's death the preceeding December, it was a very quiet wedding, after which they drove from the farm to their home, and my mother at once took her new duties upon her by preparing their supper, of which they partook in the kitchen which is still a part of my home. I never saw a more united or happier couple than were my father and mother. They were indeed one in every respect; in their tastes, their feelings and in every particular. In all the years they lived together I can never recall one cross or even impatient word passing between them.
My father had been some years in the west before he learned to use fire arms. After that he never went into the country unaccompanied by rifle and shot gun, and many a deer he brought home, as well as quanti- ties of geese, ducks. prairie chickens and quail, so that the table was always bountifully supplied with game. I remember one of his anecdotes in regard to the game, which afforded him untold amusement, but brought woe to the hearts of the unoffending small maidens. He had been many miles away on a professional call and returned just at nightfall bringing into the house with him a large goose, which he laid at my cousin's feet, saying, "Here Kızzie is a goose for you to pick." My sister Emily clapped her hands and demonstrated great joy at her escape, for it was a rule in the family that the girls were in turn to pick the game, and they both detested picking a goose. Her joy was of short duration, however, for my father returned again to the house, bringing with him another goose, which he handed to Emily. He went to and from the buggy until he had presented each of the girls with five geese, and still one remained, which in all made eleven that he had brought down with one shot of his double- barreled shot gun. The girls were at first disgusted, then indignant, and finally became speechless from shere amazement and despair. Oh! no, you Nimrods of the present day, this is no "fish story," but fully wit- witnessed and duly sworn to by his much abused victims and others.
At one time when a large sum of money had been deposited in the land office, which was just across the street from our house, there were grave fears that a scheme was on foot to rob the office. Mr. Mixter, the
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land agent at that time, came to my father and asked his assistance in hiding the money. They dug a hole in one corner of our cellar and after nightfall the money was brought over and placed therein. They then replaced the earth and stamped it down until there were no traces left of the ground having been disturbed. There it remained until arrange- ments were made in the course of a few days for its removal to Chicago.
It is needless to say that my father's slumbers were none of the sound- est during that time, or that his rifle and shotgun were kept within con- venient distance, for the country at that period was infested with a band of robbers and horsethieves. My father was one of the sufferers at their hands, for he had a fine black mare stolen, and could never obtain the slightest trace of her or her abductors.
The county jail it those years was in the northwest corner of the lot nowowned by Mr. George Steel, and just across the street south from our house. Many were the alarms the family had from that quarter. When Croft, one of the men who committed those terrible murders on Green River in the early days, cut his throat, with a razor accommodatingly supplied him by his own wife, the sheriff rushed. over for my father. When he got there he at once saw that nothing could be done to save the man's life, and, indeed, it was but a few moments until he breathed his last, thus closing another chapter in that terrible record of crime. I will relate one other incident connected with the jail that occurred some years later when Mr. Porter was sheriff. One night Mr. Porter had neglected to lock in their cells the five or six prisoners, most of them desperate characters, confined in the jail. They planned among them- selves a sham fight, which would necessitate the sheriff coming into their midst, when they intended to overpower him and make their escape. Their plan worked well up to a certain point. When Mr. Porter heard the disturbance in the jail he at once entered fearlessly, telling his wife to lock the door after him. He was almost instantly struck down by one of the men, with two stove legs tied together as a weapon. Seeing this, Mrs. Porter lost no time in getting to the window and calling loudly for help, and adding that Mr. Porter was being murdered. My father, hear- ing her call, jumped from his bed, seized his gun from the corner of the room, and without waiting an instant, ran to the rescue in his night- clothes; entering the jail he saw Mr. Porter lying in the little narrow passage-way, bleeding and apparently lifeless, and the desperate men making every effort to break open the door. At once pointing his gun at them my father shouted, "Into your cells, every one of you, or I'll shoot!" The prisoners literally fell over each other in their haste to obey his com-
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mand. It hasalways been a question in my own mind as to what it really was which impelled such a precipitate flight on the part of the prisoners -the gun, or the extraordinary appearance my father must have pre- sented. Other neighbors by that time were at hand, well armed, and the jail door was opened, the men securely locked in their cells, and Mr. Por- ter carried out. His wounds, most of which were on his head, were dat .- gerous, but not fatal. Upon examination the following morning it was ascertained, not a little to my father's chargrin, that he had valiently gone to the rescue with a gun in which there was no load.
My mother was best known in her own home, and was among the poor and distressed, ever seconding my fathers's efforts for their relief. She cared little for society at large, but was warmly attached to her friends. Her unselfish devotion to her own family can never be expressed and is known only to those who experienced it through every day of her life, which came to a close, after a long and most painful illness, on the fourth of May, 1881.
The summer the dread cholera so devastated our little town we child- ren were sent into the country to stay at our grandmother's, but my mother refused all of my father's appeals to her to accompany us, and stayed at his side through it all. One man, a stranger here, without either home or money, was taken with the disease. My father put a cot in his barn and brought him there, while my father cared for and nursed him through that terrible illness, until death relieved him from his suf- fering. My father was called to see an Irish woman who lived in a little shanty below our house, and found she had been attacked by the same disease which had but a few short hours before carried off her husband. He did all that he could to relieve her that night. Early the following morning he went again, to find that the "Grim Destroyer" had been be- fore him. Nearly every one was paralyzed with fear, and the poor creat- ure was alone, except for her little child a few months old who lay in the bed beside her trying to draw nourishment from her cold breast, and patting with its tiny hands her dead face. He lifted the little, helpless thing in his arms, and carried it home to my mother. She kept and cared for it several days, until the priest, hearing of it, came and relieved her by sending it to a relative of its parents. One man, who was very ill, came to the house for some medicine. My father was not at home, so he sat down under a tree in the yard to wait for his return; my mother in the meantime doing all she could for his relief, but in vain, for death came to him where he sat. Such were some of the scenes through which my father and mother passed in that dread time.
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A Frenchman, whose name has escaped my memory, came here in the early days, bringing with him an old French woman as housekeeper. He remained but a short time, leaving the poor old lady to shift for her- self in this strange new country, and in destitute circumstances. She lived in a little log cabin on the corner of Galena and Second streets, where Mrs. Lewis now lives, and tried to support herself by making lace, an undertaking in which she was not successful. My father and mother furnished her with fuel, wood and other necessities of life, until her health failed completely, when they brought her to their own home, and cared for her for several years, until her death. Some of the early set- tlers now living will still remember "Old Madame Gabriel," as she was always called. Hers was the first dead face my childish eyes had looked upon, and I have a vivid remembrance of it even yet.
One night, while my father was away from home on an all night call, my mother had a very bad fright. About twelve o'clock two men came to the door, and demanded admittance. She asked them what they wanted, but repeated demands for admittance was all she could get in reply. When she refused, most decidedly, they threatened to break in the door, and immediately began to carry out their threats. My mother and the servant girl moved all the large pieces of furniture and piled them up against the doors, for the men would try first one door and then another. Then an interval of quiet would ensue, when only their voices could be heard, inuttering beneath the windows, which were protected by stout shutters. Again the attack on the doors would be renewed, and so it was during all the hours of that long night, which to my mother, in her terror, seemed endless. Just as the day was dawning, after a terrible onslaught, during which it seemed that the door must give way every minute, the disturbance ceased. Soon after my father returned, and when it was light two enipty whiskey bottles were found beneath the window-sufficient explanation of the occurrence.
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