USA > Indiana > Boone County > History of Boone County, Indiana : With biographical sketches of representative citizens and genealogical records of old families, Volume I > Part 12
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If you only have one stalk or plant by itself you need not expect an ear of corn. It will be well for you to look into the reasons of this failure. Corn is not only the most productive of cereals and the richest as a food for man and beast, but the entire plant is very useful. The study of the uses of corn will help us to appreciate the value of the plant. Every one in this land knows how well all our domestic animals love it as a food, and we all know its fattening qualities. We also know something of its food properties for man. We know the Johnny cake, dodger, pan-cake, pone and muffin. The plain old bowl of mush and milk sticks to our memory and ribs to this day. Then there is hominy cracked and whole grain. And who does not long for roasting ears in mid-summer and corn puddings, succotash and heaps of tasty dishes. Who is there that does not enjoy in mid-winter the pop corn. See the grains dance around, turn inside out with fluffy snowy white- ness. There is no grain on the face of the globe that brings to man more real enjoyment and benefit than our plain common corn. The culinary art is developing daily delicate savory dishes from this bountiful source of food. We have only time to name starch, glucose, sugar, smokeless powder, paper, collodium, lubricating oil, explosive denatured alcohol, mattresses, cellulose, dextrin, cornpith, fodder and ensilage. Every particle is of use and can serve some good purpose. It is a great blessing to man. When perverted it becomes a great curse. Can you tell what it is that men sometimes make out of corn that entails untold misery and distress ?
You will note by these stories that corn was the chief cereal food at first. There was wild meat in abundance but no wheat at the start. Corn was the first product for food. They had to fight the squirrels, crows and other enemies or lovers of the grain, to get even a share of it for the family. Often the farmer would have to kill hundreds of them in trying to drive them away from his corn patch. There was no game law then to protect the squirrel, it was a big game for the farmer to protect his corn. After the corn was raised it was a task to get it made into meal. There were no mills at first. Many a pioneer in the very early days made his supper on parched corn and venison. And before the days of the mill they would break the corn in a mortar as the Indian did. Before the first mill in Boone county was built on Eagle creek, the early settlers if they went to mill would have to go back to Decatur county to have their batch of corn ground into meal. This would take them six or eight days, and the brave little woman would
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have to stay by herself while the defender of the home was off after bread. Note in the story the different processes in farming then, than now and you will have some conception of what our fathers endured in the beginning here. From the reap hook to the binder. From the flail to the separator, from parched corn and the mortar to the roller process of our day. From the Johnny cake and Dutch oven to the kitchen range. From the trails in the dense woods to the trolleys and steam roads. From the hackle and spinning- wheel to the myriads of spindles and mystic looms,-what a transition in the life time of one man.
EARLY RECOLLECTIONS.
Orchards bloomed around the home and the cabin nestled in the pink and white bring up the fond recollections of the old cider mill with its wooden crushers that would make the juice fly from the rosy cheeked apples while the horses went round and round with the long sweep, the great tank or trough that held the juicy pomace; the wide platform upon which was built cheese upon cheese of the crushed apples until there was a great stack held in place by straw at the edges; then came the thick boards and blocks of wood on top and under the huge beams held in place at the press end and stretching far out and worked up and down by a lever. My! how the cider came run- ning out when the weight of the beam came upon the stack of pomace. Didn't we, boys gather around the flowing stream of sweetness with shining tin cups and fill ourselves up properly? As soon as the first flush was over the levers at the long end of the beam were set to work and they would squeeze and squeeze until every drop was out. Then came the apple butter stir, the boiling down three into one and the filled barrel that was always left out in the orchard with bung out and long rye straws handy. How fond recollection clings around those cider making days and the moonlight plays in the orchard with rye straws and a bungless barrel of sweet cider.
Our fathers planted the fruit trees just as soon as the forest trees were removed. They grew luxuriantly, and in a few years there was abundance of fruit. Apples, peaches, pears, plums and of all sorts common to this clime. Those good old days are yet fresh in the memory and full of halo. When the autumn day closed and the "frost was on the 'pumkin' and the fodder in the shock" after the ingathering of the fruits, the family would gather
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around the hearth ; glowing with fire and flames creeping between the crooked logs like great red tongues, there was a merry ring with Tom the great cat and the faithful dog counted as much members of the family as any in the bunch. What a delight and ecstacy of joy there was in those evening parties of the family, and much more when neighbors would join in the company, making the cream of the social custom of the youthful country. The basket of apples was always there and the pitcher of cider and nuts with lap stone and hammer. What innocent joy in the circle from grand- parents all around, including the youngest and even the cat and dog. How we loved to watch the pictures in the fire come and go, and the flickering shadows and pictures on the walls. How we waited for the apple on the hearth as it sputtered and stewed eager for it to be pronounced done. There we mingled night after night cracking nuts and jokes. We flung the long apple peel around the head to see what letter would be shaped on the floor or heated the great iron shovel and placed the apple seed upon it to see how our hopes and expectations would fly away. Thus night after night our fortunes were told. The very best of all these pleasant evenings in which each member of the family could take part and be happy, mother never com- plained about us scuffling out the carpets or throwing apple peelings and nut shells on the floor. If they would become too thick for comfort she would take the broom, which was always handy in the corner, and whiff them all into the fire. This was the great social feature of the pioneer days, and we have doubted whether what we call the progress of civilization has added to the pleasures or the moral influences of these good old times of our fathers. They are much more enjoyable than the stiff public social functions of our day that are so full of forms and "just so's" that everybody feels that he is in an iron jacket. It might be a good thing to take up some of the innocent pastimes of past days and incorporate them in our social features of this age. Just imagine that you are around the old family hearthstone and the circle complete, and see if it does not rejuvenate you. Think of the fra- grant Rambo as it mellows into fall, and the coming of the golden bell- flower or the pale green pippin, the spicy baldwin. Then think of honest Old Ben Davis, the faithful Winesap, Northern Spy, Limber twig, and by all means do not leave out the dusky Golden Russet. Oh, the apples, apples every where and ever the same, great red, ripe, luscious globes, bear-
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ing in their shining skins the sweetness of spring blossoms and summer's long sunshine. Around these cluster many a fabled song and story. Classic lore gives us Eris vexed because she was not invited to the wedding, threw down the golden apple marked "To the Fairest," which provoked a quarrel between Juno, Venus and Minerva. Did not the choice of Paris bring down the vengeance of the Immortals, the Trojan war, and many other horrors? Let Homer tell you about vexed Tantalus, from whom the winds ever blew the apple for which he so longed. It must have been with an apple that Eve got the better of Adam. It was the target at which William Tell shot on the head of his son. It was the one thing above all others that in- fatuated the erratic "Johny Apple Seed" and moved him to plant every- where. The English had a good old custom of "Howling" the tree, call- ed "Wassaing the orchard." On Christmas eve they would take a large bowl of cider and sprinkle about the roots of the trees surrounding the best and singing three times round,
Hail to thee, old apple tree, May'st thou bud and may'st thou blow May'st thou bear apples enow, Hats full, caps full, Bushel, bushel, sacks full, And my pocket full, too. Hurrah!
Then would come a merry troop of boys to the orchard, dancing around the tree and sing and shout merrily :
Stand fast, root : Bear well, top Pray God, send us a good howling crop Every twig, apples big Every "bow" apples enow.
The poets have all tried to sing the song about the apple, Bryant, "The Planting of the Apple Tree," Holland, "Celler Full of Rosy Fruit," Whittier, "The Winter Fireside," Alice Carey, "Farm Song," and O, down in your heart have you not sung many a time as you were trying your luck in guessing the number of seeds or twirling the paring,
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One I love, two I love,
Three I love, I say,
Four I love with all my heart,
Five I cast away ;
Six he loves, seven she loves,
Eight they both love,
Nine he comes, ten he tarries,
Eleven he courts,
And twelve he marries."
Say, don't you wish today that you could believe as you did in those good old charming days of the pioneer and have the faith and simplicity of that day?
The great days connected with the apple were cider day, paring festivities, the gathering of the fruit and apple-butter day. At the close of cider day usually came an evening of paring apples for the apple-butter the next day. The choicest apples were reserved for this use, usually sweet ones. They were carefully gathered and brought into the family room in heaping baskets after supper and all hands that were skilled set to work. This was the preparation for the apple-butter festivities of the morrow. Everything must be in readiness for the day so that nothing would hinder the work. Bright and early next morning everybody about the home was astir early in order to get a good start. The great bright copper kettle was brought forth, shining like the sun and to a boy looking about as big. It was hung on a long pole, filled with cider, and a fire kindled under it. The cider was boiled and skimmed until it was clear of all scum and the apples were put in. After they were well cooked and danger of settling to the bottom and burning was over mother would appear on the scene and her vigils began. The stirrer was made of a piece of a board, long enough to reach to the bottom of the kettle. A long handle was inserted in one end of the paddle in a hole at one end, at right angles so the person stirring could sit away from the fire. All day long mother watched over the great shining kettle and stirred and stirred to keep it from scorching.
It was a tedious process in those good old days, but it was good and more than one boy and girl would linger around the outdoor camp waiting and watching for the time when mother would pronounce it done. She
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would lift the long handled stirrer from the kettle and announce it done. There were always two or three of us with generous slices of bread ready to clean the stirrer. Those were good old luscious times. We never knew which gave us more delight, the stirring off of sugar in the spring or the stirring off of a great kettle of apple butter at the close of a sleepy October day. It generally took the entire day to make the round, but the jolly festival in the evening stirred by the rollicksome play made it the most joy- ous festival of the year to us youngsters. Modern methods have changed all this. It saves hard work and knocks out all the fun, and the butter does not taste so well as it did when mother made it seventy years or more ago.
They will take a copper coil nowadays instead of the big copper kettle and with steam heat, put in the cider syrup and pared apples and in a short time turn out what they call a clearer, smoother and some say a more delici- ous product than ever mother could make. We have our doubts. They come from the memories of the past. The modern product does not have the richness of taste or the color. It is pale and too fine spun and made more for looks than taste.
Very early in the history of Boone county, Dan Cupid took up his abode and began business just as he did elsewhere in the land. The first we hear of him was in Eagle township. He is reported as entering the home of David Hoover, our first county clerk. Just how he entered is not recorded, but he got into the cabin in some way and captured the accomplished daugh- ter of the clerk and by some influence caused him to enter upon the records of the county the following as the first in the history.
Boone county, Indiana, to-wit :
To any person legally authorized to solemnize marriage in the county of Boone :
Greeting: You are hereby authorized to join in the holy bonds of matrimony, Elijah Cross and Polly Hoover, both of said county, according to the laws of the State of Indiana and of the same make due report.
Given under my hand and the adopted seal this 13th day of January, 1831.
(Seal.) DAVID HOOVER, Clerk.
The very same day the following record follows: Be it remembered that on the 13th day of January, 1831, a marriage license issued to Elijah
(10)
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Cross and Polly Hoover, both of Boone county and both of lawful age, a certificate of which of whose marriage is endorsed on the back of said license in these words, I, Benjamin Harris, a justice of the peace, in and of the county of Boone do hereby certify that Elijah Cross and Polly Hoover, both of said county were legally joined in marriage by me on the 13th day of January, 183I.
BENJAMIN HARRIS, Justice of the Peace.
By this record it seems that Mr. Cupid set up shop at Zionsville, fash- ioned his arrows after the best of the Indians and had them train him in shooting so he became an expert and could bring them down off hand.
The home of David Hoover on the banks of Eagle creek was among the first in the county and became the center of attraction in the county. It was in this house, an unpretentious round log cabin, the first religious meet- ings were held by Rev. James McKoy, a Baptist minister in 1825. It was in this house that the first probate court was held and David Hoover was the first clerk of the court; and be it known that it was in this house that Dan Cupid first took up his abode in Boone county and began business. He was successful at the start and has kept up a brisk business ever since. It chanced that one Elijah Cross was mysteriously drawn by some unseen force to this cabin and pierced to the heart by one of Cupid's arrows. He never recovered. The shot was fatal and resulted as previously stated. The new clerk of court and father of Mary, the fair, had to give up his daughter and give Elijah the papers to lead Mary captive. How was she gowned? We knew that you would ask that question. Everybody will want to know how the first bride of Boone county was arrayed for the nup- tials. We can assure you that it was no hobble or wide crinoline. Neither of those styles had come to the county at that early date. She was robed like an angel in pure white, full skirt with embroidery of her own handy work, a handsome pink sash, with neat ruching around the neck and wrist and white silk mitts and hose and tan shoes, looking as neat and handsome as any bride of our day. The groom was a handsome stalwart Tennessee lad of twenty-four, was neatly dressed in store clothes, fresh from the best shop of Cincinnati. He was marrying the first lady of the land, the judge's daughter, and he would have to have some look about him. He looked like he had just come from the band box. Conventional black, swallow tail coat, buckle shoes, white hose and kid gloves.
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The wedding tour was on horse back, ending at his own home, where the happy couple began home building at once. It was the first newly wedded home in the county and was happy and successful. It was located where Zionsville now stands and was blessed with ten children: Martha, David H., Rachel A., Levinia E., Jacob A., John G., Louisa C., James L., Columbus W. The parents are at rest in Crown Hill cemetery at Indianapolis.
James Whitcomb Riley says :
Right here at home, boys, in old Hoosierdom, Where strangers allus joke us when they come, And brag of their states and enterprise- Yit settle here; and 'fore they realize, They're "hoosier" as the rest of us, and live Right here at home, boys, with their past forgive.
Right here at home, boys, is the place, I guess, Fer me and you and plain old happiness. We hear the world's lots grander-likely so- We take the world's word fer it and not go- We know its ways ain't our ways-so we'll stay Right here at home, boys, where we know the way.
Right here at home, boys, where a well-to-do Man's plenty rich enough-and knows it, too, And's got an extry dollar, any time, To boost a feller up 'at wants to climb And's got the git up in him to go in And get there, like, he purt' nigh allus kin!
Right here at home, boys' is the place fer us! Where folks' heart's bigger'n their money pu's; And where a common feller's jes as good As any other in the neighborhood; The world at large don't worry you and me Right here at home, boys, where we ort to be!
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Right here at home, boys-jes right where we air ! Birds don't sing any sweeter anywhere, Grass don't grow any greener'n she grows Across the pastur' where the old path goes- All things in ear-shot's purty, er in sight, Right here at home, boys, if we siz'em'right.
Right here at home, boys, where the old home place Is sacred to us as our mother's face, Jes as we rickollect her, last she smiled And kissed us-dying so and reckonciled, Seein' us all at home here-none astray- Right here at home, boys where she sleeps today."
A PICTURE OF THE GROWTH IN EIGHTY-FOUR YEARS.
There have been such great changes in that time that we can only name a few of them. During our life there has been a complete change in every- thing that is used to produce food, raiment, homes, transportation and com- munication. Take bread, the staff of life. The wheat was sowed broad- cast, reaped with a sickle by hand, threshed with a flail, winnowed with a sheet, ground by great stones with straight faces, one stationary and the other called the upper millstone running around. The bread, pies and cakes as good as you ever saw, were made by mother and cooked in a big dutch oven out-doors. We remember the first cook stove also, the first heating stove that ever came into the home. After the sickle came the cradle to cut the grain and then the reaper, raked off by hand, next self rakers, next bind- ers which lead up to our bunchers and headers of this date.
THRESHING. .
After the flail came the threshing floor, then the chaff piles, next the separator, horse-power, then steam, and now the machine to take the sheaf, cut the bank, stack the straw and sack the wheat.
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RAIMENT.
The old flax hackle, the carding machine, the spinning wheel, the reel, the warping beam, the loom and with all these the fond recollections of mother's handy work. The first dress I ever wore mother carded the wool, spun the yarn, wove the cloth, cut and made the garment and it was nice, warm and healthful.
TRAVEL.
Well do we remember the horse back, the ox cart, the farm wagon, the first carriage, the old dirt roads, mud in winter and dust in summer. We remember the old stage coach and the wickedness of the driver, the first canal, the first turnpike, the first railroad in eastern Indiana. We need make no mention of the cycle, the trolly, the auto, the airship of this day. We have witnessed all these innovations.
There have been equal changes in school life and opportunities, in churches and their privileges, and in our homes with all their modern im- provements and appliances. When we take a retrospective view the changes are so marvelous that we can hardly believe our own memory. We wonder if the changes will be so marked in the next fifty years. We feel like saying, on with the world, let it move. It is not subdued yet. All the elements and forces are not yet serving man. The work is not all done. Our young men need not fold their hands and say the work is all done. There is noth- ing for me to do. There is still need of work of skill and of thought. If all hands are folded, the ship of state and all in it will drift back. It will take effort and much toil to go forward. Up and at it.
BOY WANTED.
"Wanted-a boy." How often we This quite familiar notice see, Wanted-a boy for every kind Of task that a busy world can find.
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He is wanted-wanted now and here;
There are towns to build ; there are paths to clear ; There are seas to sail; there are gulfs to span, In the ever onward march of man.
Wanted-the world wants boys today And it offers them all it has for pay. 'Twill grant them wealth, position, fame, A useful life and honored name.
Boys who will guide the plow and pen;
Boys who will shape the way for men ;
Boys who will forward the tasks begun ;
For the world's great work is never done.
The world is eager to employ
Not just one but, every boy
Who, with a purpose stanch and true,
Will greet the work he finds to do.
Honest, faithful, earnest, kind-
To good awake; to evil blind-
A heart of gold without alloy-
Wanted-the world wants such a boy.
A TRUE STORY.
In the "dark and bloody land" in the morning of the past century, as near Independence day as could be and miss it, July 3, 1807, there was a baby boy born in Shelby county, Kentucky, and christened William E. In 1811, Thomas and Anna Lane, the parents of the hopeful, moved to Indiana terri- tory and settled on the banks of the beautiful river, in what is now known as Harrison county.
In 1828, William E. came to the county of Boone and entered land near the north part of what is now Eagle township. After locating his home and cutting the trees for his cabin, he returned to his father's home to see the girl that he had left behind. He told her all about his venture into the
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deep woods and the rich farm that he had entered and of the bright prospects he had for a future home. He doubtless added parenthetically, if she would only go also to share its joys with him. He may not have said anything about its fears, for it was satisfactory to Miss Betsy, the pet name he had given her. In the fall of 1830 they were married and on the thirty-first day of December of that year, they started on their nuptial tour to the north to locate and build a home. In the spring of 1831, he called in a few of his neighbors to erect his cabin, eighteen by twenty-three feet. It was covered with clapboards riven out of red oak, and held to their place on the roof by stiff poles laid across. Into this cabin the young bride was taken and they began home building with high hopes. There was an opening for a door but no shutter.
In that day of Boone there were rattlesnakes, wolves, bears and wild boars infesting the land, the latter most formidable of all. The greatest difficulty of that early period was in going to mill. These were far apart, there were no roads except the blazed way, and it was extremely difficult to follow them. William could not reach a mill without being gone over night. They talked it over. Elizabeth was a brave Kentucky girl. She assured Will that she was not afraid, so the sack of corn was made ready. They had no wheat in those days. Old Doll was brought into service and one bright morning in October, William bade Betsy good bye, and set out for the mill. The last words he said before disappearing in the woods was, "don't be afraid Betsy, be a brave little girl." It was a long, lonesome day, and when the shadows of the night crept early into the great woods Betsy's heart began to flutter and she wondered how she would pass the long, lone- some hours of the night. She had never staid all night by herself before. She had been told of the wild animals that infested the woods and most dreadful of all were the Indians. What could she do if one came to her door? She would rather meet all the animals than one Indian. She could not barricade the door for there was no shutter, only a comfort or home- made coverlet. Barricade it with chairs and tables? Bless your life she did not have any; no stoves, or box, nor anything, and William had taken the gun. It would do no good if she had one, for she was not trained to shoot. She only had one defense, that was old Tige, the faithful dog. He would look at her, read the anxiety in her face, and say as plain as a dog could speak with tail and eyes, "I will take care of you this night." Betsy
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