USA > Indiana > Madison County > Historical sketches and reminiscences of Madison county, Indiana : a detailed history of the early events of the pioneer settlement of the county, and many of the happenings of recent years, as well as a complete history of each township, to which is added numerous incidents of a pleasant nature, in the way of reminiscences, and laughable occurrences > Part 39
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He was subsequently tried, and a jury in the Circuit Court acquitted him, on what ground it seems hard to tell, as all the circumstances appeared to be against him.
This occurrence took place near the iron bridge that crosses Killbuck at the old Sam Forkner ford, in the neighborhood of the farm that was so long owned by John Nelson and was for many years used by Madison county for a poor farm.
Mr. Fossett is yet living some place in Madison county. John Nelson died at Daleville a few years ago, and the where- abouts of Trudelle is now unknown. Trudelle and McGuire were old cronies and were nearly always together, spending much of their time about Anderson, when not at work in the country.
Fossett was an inoffensive sort of man, with no murder in his make-up, and this affair was in no way premeditated on his part. It was one of those occurrences that often happen when a man is in his cups, that cause remorse and regrets as long as life lasts.
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John J. Sims, who held the inquest, is now a resident of Anderson, and has a grocery store on Brown street.
It was in the trial of this case in the Circuit Court, before the Hon. James O'Brien, Judge, that John Nelson got in his quaint answer to a question propounded to him.
There was some sparring among the attorneys and wit- nesses. Nelson was being cross-questioned pretty severely, when the Judge broke in : " Mr. Nelson, you mean to say to the jury that the man was dead when you got there?" " Dead; he was deader ne'r hell," John replied, without noticing that he had broken or transgressed the rules or eti- quette of court. Nelson's earnest manner convinced the Court that he meant no harm, and was not fined for his rudeness.
BURNING OF JACOB BRONNENBERG'S HOUSE.
In the earlier days of Richland township the people who lived in frame houses were few and far between ; in fact, there were but very few who made such pretensions. Jacob Bron- nenberg was one of the prosperous farmers who had grown rich enough to abandon his log cabin and build for himself what was then considered a very fine frame residence, into which he moved his family and had just begun to enjoy life, when, on the 16th of November, 1857, it was swept away in a jiffy. Fire having caught through a defective flue in the rear of the house, and there being no way to fight the flames. it was soon laid in ashes, and Mr. Bronnenberg and his family were homeless. He had, fortunately, left standing the old Indian cabin that he vacated when he moved into his new home, and he removed the remnants of his household goods saved from the ruins, into it, where he remained that winter. The house that burned was a large two-story frame and stood on or near the site of the brick residence now standing on the farm, owned and occupied by Benton Bronnenberg. As soon as spring time came Mr. Bronnenberg commenced the making and burning of a kiln of brick and erected the handsome brick house that he so long occupied prior to moving to Anderson. The brick residence built by him was by far the largest and handsomest in Richland township at that time ; and, in fact, it was with scarcely a rival in the county. The loss to Mr. Bronnenberg was about $2,000. He lost many of his household goods and valuables that he could not replace. He was a man to easily overcome such a disaster, and in a very few years he was so well and comfortably fixed that it was
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not noticeable, even to himself. This fire was the largest that that locality had witnessed up to that date and of course was talked of for a long while in the community.
JAMES W. HOLSTEN ACCIDENTALLY KILLED.
On Sunday morning, September 9th, 1894, a most dis- tressing accident took place at the residence of J. A. Holsten, of Richland township, in which James W. Holsten lost his life.
He and a young man by the name of William Kinyoun, who was employed by Mr. Holsten as a farm-hand, roomed together, and had gotten up in the morning and gone to the barn to feed the stock while the family were preparing the morning meal. In a short time they were followed by Mr. Holsten, who chatted with the two companions for a few min- utes and then went about his work.
After the young men had completed their labor they begun scuffling, and had taken out their revolvers and were flourish- ing them in a friendly manner, when in some way the pistol in Kinyoun's hand was discharged, taking effect in young Holsten's heart, killing him instantly.
Mr. J. A. Holsten heard the shot and hastened to the scene to see what was the cause, when, to his horror, he found the victim in the last agonies of death.
The neighbors were aroused by the ringing of the farm bell, and soon two hundred people had assembled at the place of the accident. The Coroner, Dr. C. L. Armington, was notified and an inquest held. It was shown that young Hol- sten and Kinyoun were the warmest of friends, and that the fatal shot was purely accidental. Kinyoun was acquitted of any criminal intent by the Coroner, and no arrest was made.
Young Holsten was the son of ex-Sheriff David II. Wat- son, of Anderson, who was killed February 2, 1862, and was adopted by J. A. Holsten when a small child and took his name. He was a brother of Mrs. John L. Forkner, of Anderson. He was a popular young man among his associates, and had no bad habits. Ile was devotedly fond of his adopted parents, Mr. and Mrs. J. A. Holsten, and always made his home with them, never having married. He was thirty-five years old when the accident occurred. He was a member of the Alex- andria Tribe of Red Men, and was buried by that order in the Anderson cemetery.
Mr. and Mrs. Holsten, the adopted father and mother of
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the unfortunate young man, deeply mourned his death, and as long as they live they will not fully recover from the shock.
CONFIRMED HYPOCHONDRIAC.
On the 25th day of October, 1883, a most distressing occurrence took place in the quiet precincts of Richland town- ship, which shocked the citizens of that locality. Mattison Hitt, a young man of that neighborhood, who had been an invalid for a long time, committed suicide by shooting himself. Hle lived with his mother, Mrs. Mary J. Hitt, a widow. He was about thirty years old when he committed the deed, and no reason could be given for his actions other than dispondency. He at one time had a severe spell of sickness and to all out- ward appearances had recovered, but would never have it that he was well. He kept his room constantly for seven years previous to his suicide ; although he seemed at all times quite sane, it is quite certain that he was not. When he first took to his room he was only a medium sized youth, but grew so fleshy in his self imposed confinement that he weighed about 200 pounds at the time of his death.
HURT IN A HORSE RACE.
In speaking about Madison county's old-timers, there are few who date back much farther or who are more worthy of notice than Michael Bronnenberg. Michael now lives in peaceful retirement in the refreshing shades of the classic stream of Killbuck, where he can sit in the twilight of a sum- mer's evening, as the sun hides itself behind the western skies, and look upon his 1,000 acres of Killbuck bottom, the best land in Madison county's borders, nearly all of which he has accumulated with his own hands. Michael has worked hard in his lifetime, but has had lots of fun. The world has but few cares for him. His motto is,
"Let the wide world wag as she will, I'll be gay and happy still."
Michael's residence in Madison county dates away back to the early '20s, when his father, Frederick Bronnenberg, Sr., camped upon the banks of White river, near what is now the town of Chesterfield, upon the land owned by Carroll Bron- nenberg. It is said that while there in camp a child of the Bronnenbergs took sick and died and was buried in that then dismal locality. The family could not reconcile themselves to
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moving farther on and leaving the child in the wilderness, so they permanently located on the spot, purchased the land and made it the future home of the Bronnenbergs.
The father of the Bronnenberg family built a mill on White river, near the original camp, which served for years to furnish corn-meal and other feed for the early settlers of that neighborhood. There he reared a large and respectable fam- ily, obtained a goodly store of riches for himself, and finally ending his life, at a ripe old age, on that camping ground. Michael Bronnenberg was one of the best boys the old man had. That is, he had lots of " git up and git." He never let the grass grow under his feet. He loved recreation and amusement as well as hard labor. While he was piling up his riches he was also having good times and laying up treasures in Heaven. One of Michael's early pastimes and enjoyments was horse racing. It is one of the traits of the Bronnenberg family to love a good horse. Some of the fastest running horses of this country have been bred by the Bronnenbergs. Michael, when young and active, would rather straddle a horse and ride a race than to eat a meal when hungry. But horse racing, like all other sports, sometimes has a serious. ending. So it did in his case. He nearly always had a good horse and never allowed any one to ride the length of a " neck " ahead of him.
One cold wintry day, away back in 1852 or' 53, Mike and Wm. Nelson, had been to Anderson together. After spend- ing the day together in town they took up their journey for home. They being neighbors they had to travel over the same road together. There had been a big rain, after which it had turned cold, the ground freezing up suddenly, but in many places there were holes in the road that were not solidly closed up. The two rode and chatted along together until they came to a nice, straight stretch in the road when one of them ban- tered the other for a chase of a " quarter." No sooner said than off went hats, spurs applied, and away they went up the road neck and neck at a mile a minute gait. Each rider plied the bud, whooped and hallowed, their horses with nostrils spread and leaping for life. The end of the stretch was near at hand when in an instant Bronnenberg's horse plunged head- long upon his fore quarters, plowing his head along the ground catching for a new footing. At last regaining himself he sped on, dragging his rider at his side with foot fast held in the stirrup until his almost lifeless form released itself in some way 60
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from the saddle and lay upon the ground in a badly mangled condition. His companion by this time had reined up his horse, dismounted, and picking Bronnenberg up discovered that he was still alive, but unable to speak or move. He was taken to his home but a short distance off and medical aid immediately summoned. It was ascertained that he was most frightfully battered and bruised. His jaw was broken and other serious injuries sustained. It was thought for a while that he could not recover. His jaw was set in shape and a modern appliance placed in his mouth holding it in position until the bones knitted together, during all of which time Mike had to be fed through a hole in the wooden bandage.
After his recovery he sold his racers and has never done much in that line since.
Mike is now away up in his seventies. Ilis jaw is a little crooked from the mishap in the horse race, but his tongue and faculties are all right, and there is not a livelier old man in the United States or one who enjoys himself better than he does. Since writing the above Mr. Bronnenberg died, on the 22nd of October, 1896.
BURNING OF SIMS GARRETSON'S BARN. .
One dark night away back during the days of the Rebel- lion, when party strife ran high ; when one neighbor eyed and scrutinized every act of another; when to do a crime was more lightly thought of than now, on account of the turmoil and strife going on throughout the country, it was, perhaps, the year 1863, the heavens became aglow with the flash of fire north of Anderson. An investigation of the matter disclosed the fact that the large barn owned by Sims Garretson, upon Killbuck, on the Alexandria pike, was on fire. How did it get on fire? Was it the work of an incendiary? If so, what could be the cause of it? Sims Garretson was an honest, upright citizen, without a known enemy in the world. The neighborhood was soon aroused and came to the scene of the conflagration, but no aid on earth could save the barn and its contents from destruction. As the crowd gathered two dark objects, supposed to be men, were seen to disappear across the small swamp or low grounds in front of the Garretson homestead toward the old canal that ran toward Alexandria. Pursuit was made and in due time the persons were captured. They proved to be Saul Nelson and William Howard, who lived farther north in this county. They were placed under
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arrest with the charge of arson against them. The grand jury indicted them and they were tried in the Madison Circuit Court. Howard, before the trial was ended, weakened and "turned State's evidence," thereby saving himself, but let Nelson go over the road. He was convicted and served a long term in the State's prison, while Howard escaped.
It was shown at the trial that they had been to Anderson together and got drunk. Going home that night they reached Garretson's place, and, without any cause whatever, touched a torch to the barn that soon doomed it to the flames.
They never had any grievance against Garretson, and why they should burn his property was a mystery to all at that time. Many tried to make politics out of it, attributing the cause to that, since Garretson was an open-out Republi- can, an old-time Abolitionist and a strong war man, and not in the least reserved about making his views known to his political opponents. But the men who did the burning were not men who took stock in the politics of the country and were not in the least interested in that way. It was urged at the time that they were put up to it by the Democrats, but that was evidently a mistake as no such things were developed on the trial, and had not the fever of war been ripe in the country and friends and neighbors arrayed against each other through political excitement, no such thought would have entered people's heads. It was purely a drunken freak that took possession of the men, who would in sober moments never have dreamed of such an act.
Time has effaced and obliterated all hatred and ill-feel- ing between people who lived in those stormy times, and now those who were deadly enemies for political causes are the best of friends.
REMINISCENCES-WHERE DAVID T. THOMPSON THREW HIS QUID OF TOBACCO.
. David Thompson, Marshal of Anderson in 1872-3, was one of the boys. He was what might properly be called "a rough diamond." A better heart never beat within a human breast. Ile would get up at the dead of night to attend a sick friend, and would do anything in his power to relieve distress or help his fellowman. He was rough in his manners and seemed to take delight in his uncouth way of addressing peo- ple, but that was all that was bad about him. The writer has seen him stand beside a dead friend and weep like a child. his
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tears coming from real sorrow and not for show. He was raised near Prosperity, in Richland township, near where Uncle Sims Garretson lived. Uncle Sims was a local preacher and a great success at a prayer meeting. A protracted meet- ing was being held in the neighborhood. Uncle Sims was one of the leading spirits. One night the house was crowded to suffocation. Uncle Sims was leading in prayer. He had a habit of swaying to and fro when praying. On this occasion he was rolling from side to side. his voice was at its highest pitch, and the deacons and elders were chiming in with loud amens ; his mouth was wide open and he was just uttering the words, " beyant the grave, ah," when David Thompson, who was present, could not stand the temptation, took a large quid of tobacco and tossed it down Uncle Sim's throat. This stopped the prayer, as well as the meeting. Uncle Sims coughed and sneezed, and rocked and tossed, but prayed no more. Many of those present saw Dave throw the tobacco, and he was now in the closest place of his life. A prosecu- tion was commenced against him. His only way out was through mercy. The next night he attended church again, was converted and joined the congregation, got happy and became one of the leading members. He was diligent in his devotions to the church for a period of two years, when he publicly informed the brethren that two years had now elapsed, the statute of limitations barred any action against him and he would now bid them good-bye. Dave stepped out into the cold world and never afterward belonged to any church, but in his goodness of heart and kindness to the sick and dis- tressed, did many acts that would be a credit to any Christian.
THOMAS THORNBURG AND THE LIGHTNING ROD PEDDLER.
Old Uncle Tommy Thornburg, who recently died in Anderson, was one of God's noblemen. He was honest as the day is long, lived for what life was worth, was cheerful with his family, and hospitable to the outside world. The writer has many times gone out to Uncle Tommy's on Sunday, for the sole purpose of getting a good dinner and a whiff of his hard cider. He was droll in his ways and at all times " up to snuff." It was a very slick citizen that took him in on a wild scheme. One time a lightning rod peddler called at his house. He por- trayed all the good qualities of his rod, and explained its superiority over all others. Uncle Tommy listened very atten- tively, with an occasional "yes, yes." The peddler said he
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had put one on the court house and many private houses in Anderson. While explaining the benefits of lightning rods. he said they would protect buildings for three miles around. About this time the dinner bell rang. Uncle Tommy kindly invited the peddler to dine with him, and had his horse put up and fed. After eating a good dinner and smoking a cigar, the peddler thought he had Uncle Tommy solid. " Well, Mr. Thornburg, I guess we might as well put up this rod, had we not?" " Let me see, how far did you say it would draw the lightning?" " Three miles." said the peddler. " Well, I guess that one you put on the court house will do for me, as it is only two miles and a half from here," chimed Uncle Tommy. This settled the whole business, and Uncle Tommy went on through the journey of life without any lightning rods on his house.
Among the many old-time people produced by Madison county, William Shelly, who used to live at Prosperity, the capital of Richland township, was as good as the best of them. William was " an old soldier with a wooden leg." but he could run, jump and hop in about as lively a manner as though both his legs were flesh and blood. William's great forte was horse trading. The man who traded horses with Bill Shelly never died rich, especially if he kept it up any length of time.
Bill had many odd ways about him, but was, on all occa- sions, equal to the emergency. After " doing " every one in his own county in the horse trading line, he sought other fields and pastures green-other foes to conquer, being for a long while absent, as you might say, without leave. His neigh- bors did not know where he was. Many supposed he had mounted the pale steed and flown to the fields of the long here- after, until some one from Madison county happened in Wash- ington City, and was looking through the capitol building, when who should he run across but Bill Shelly, standing guard in the treasury department.
The meeting of the two old Madison county acquaintances, of course, was very cordial. Bill told his story of how he got there about as follows :
" I was roving around, out of a job. I came to Wash- ington as a matter of sight-seeing, more'n'any thing else. I, of course, took in all the sights. I strolled into the depart- ments looking around. I concluded I would like a job as one of the guards. I tackled our Indiana congressmen, but did not seem to do much good. They put me off from time to
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time, giving me taffy, until I was disgusted with congressmen as well as myself.
"Hon. John Sherman was Secretary of the Treasury. One day I saw him coming down the hall and I thought I'd tackle him, ' make or break.' I hustled up to him ; saluting him, I tackled him for a job. He looked at me and wanted to know what I could do.
"I said, 'turn that big two-legged loafer over there out and let me have his place. I can do that job as good as he can,' pointing to a two-hundred pounder standing guard at the treasury department. My manner seemed to strike him.
" 'What's your name?'
" 'Bill Shelly.'
""'Where do you live?'
" 'Out in Indiana.'
"Looking me all over he took my address. In a day or two Sherman sent for me to come to his office. He gave me this job and I've been holding it down ever since. I've wit- nessed the count of the money in the treasurer's vaults several times since I've been here. Once when Arthur put in a new man, and when Cleveland changed the treasurership, and it all came up to a cent, I guess they run it pretty near on the square in there."
Bill was still on duty the last heard of him. His ever- lasting self-assurance and general good knack of getting at a man " soaked in" whenever he applied it. His good luck in getting this place was his own exertion. Well, why not let Bill Shelly, with one leg off, stand guard over Uncle Sam's money bags as well as any one else? He'll be as faithful as old dog Tray, and nothing will ever be missed by any of his connivance or neglect. This is a lesson for all horse traders. No telling what they may come to if they try.
WHITMILL STOKES AND HIS DITCH ASSESSMENT.
When Jacob Bronnenberg was County Commissioner, he was always on the alert as to county expenses. If anything ever went through the Commissioners' court that was against the interests of the tax payers, if he knew it, it was done over his protest. His eye and ear were always open to "catch on" to all that was going on around him. During his term, nearly every free pike in the county and a great many of the public ditches were made. Mr. Bronnenberg was opposed to the law on general principles, because he thought it was a burden
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upon the people ; that it was severe in its mode of taking from the tax-payers, the assessments, without a sufficient scope for redress. The people, generally, understood his position on the question, and looked to him to help them out. One of his neighbors, Whitmill Stokes, an old man with only forty acres of ground, had two assessments against him at the same time- one for a pike and the other for a ditch: both were up for hearing. The old man was the picture of despair, when the lawyers brought the case up. His heart sank within him when he thought of the monstrous bills he would have to pay on his little farm. He took his place beside Mr. Bronnenberg, sit- ting as close as he could get to him, from the time the case was commenced until it ended. He watched every move that was made. The pike assessment was finally passed upon, Mr. Bronnenberg took exceptions as to the amount against Stoke's land. " That's right, 'Squire ," chimed in Whitmill. Finally the ditch case came up. Stokes kept his seat as close as he could, keeping an eye on every move that was made. The assessment was duly fastened onto Stokes, whereupon he raised up in open court, with fire in his eyes, and clinched fists, and proceeded to lacerate every one in the whole outfit, from petitioners down to court and attorneys, winding up by saying : "If you d-d rascals take my land for that infernal pike assessment, I'll be damned if ever I'll ditch it. Would you, 'Squire?" He looked at Bronnenberg and brought his. fist down on the table, upsetting a large bottle of ink in Uncle Jake's lap. The assessments, however, were made just the same. While it was a hardship at the time, it has added many hundred dollars to the little farm in value.
MURDER AND SUICIDE.
One of the most horrible murders and suicides that has ever taken place in Madison county occurred in Richland township on Monday, the 22d day of November, 1886, in which Ethan A. Maynard was the principal actor, William H. Biddle being his victim. Maynard, after shooting Biddle four times, left him in a field to die, and returned to his own home, where he was met by his wife, who had heard the pistol shots, and after embracing her told her to give the alarm by ringing the bell, after which he bade her good-bye, saying that he was going to Anderson. He went to the barn as though he was getting his horse, but instead of that he was on altogether a different mission. Mrs. Maynard had hardly time to gather
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