History of Bay County, Michigan, and representative citizens, Part 9

Author: Gansser, Augustus H., 1872-
Publication date: 1905
Publisher: Chicago : Richmond & Arnold
Number of Pages: 738

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trees, to gather maple syrup when the weather should mend.

In 1833, Judge Miller, who had been on a business errand to Midland, in the month of December, was thrown into the ice-cold water, while paddling down the Tittabawassee, and narrowly escaped drowning. He was 25 miles from home, and 16 miles from the nearest set- tler's cabin, so the prospects for drying his wet clothes seemed slight indeed. A few miles down stream he saw a lone wigwam on the river bank, and a lone Indian woman was pre- paring a meal. Miller told her his mishap, and was invited to come ashore and dry himself as well as dine, which he gladly did. He never happened near an Indian's camp in all the years that he traveled among them, that he was not invited to have the best in the wigwam, and at night the stranger was always given the best place in the tepee to sleep. He did not like their begging or drinking propensities, which grew worse with the passing years, yet during his entire life in the valley, Judge Miller re- mained the steadfast friend of the wandering red men.

The McCormick, Trombley and Williams families assuredly did much for the Indians of this valley and the natives showed their appre- ciation in many ways. The propensity of the red men for fire-water, and their begging often became very obnoxious to the early settlers, and is to this day the cardinal sin of the Indians of this State.

But to the settlers there were many offsets for these failings. Tailors and dressmakers were scarce in the settlements and the pioneers soon became accustomed to wearing moccasins and other wearing apparel made by the skillful hands of the Indian women. The larder of the pale faces was never empty, if there was any game for the red men to shoot. The Indians

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enjoyed the many novelties introduced by the settlers, and often stood for hours watching some old pioneer run a spinning wheel, a black- smith at the forge, a cobbler mending shoes, or a farmer in his field.

The Indian was full of curiosity, but ap- parently without any desire to imitate these arts of peace. The warrior could be amused by these novel industries, but to him they were at their best but arts to be practiced by women and slaves. The race of hunters and rovers could not adapt themselves to the life of a farmer or a mechanic. They did not have the power to adapt themselves to new and novel conditions, and to assimilate in a single genera- tion the cardinal principles of another and a finer civilization, which faculty has made the Japanese people the marvel of the world in the opening years of this 20th century. For ages these aborigines had found in the chase at once their recreation and their livelihood. Could the Christians really expect this strange race to fall at once into their footsteps, and to change at their bidding their whole mode of life, of thought and action? Yet many of the early settlers in Bay County deemed the In- dians a slothful, shiftless and almost worthless race. And certainly the Indians proved total failures here, both as farmers and fishermen. The pioneers found out at some cost of time and money, that the red men of the Northwest would never be to them what the Ethiopian negro has ever been to the South.

Our liberal but sometimes too philan- thropic government has tried for years to give to the young braves a first-class education. Many Indian youths from the bands of this vicinity have attended school at the Carlisle Indian School. During all the years they spent at school they longed for the freedom and care-free life of their primitive shacks on the Kawkawlin and elsewhere, and in many cases

the young warriors had hardly graduated from these seats of learning, before they drifted back into the shiftless moods of their ancestors. Cases are not rare, where these Indian students turned their learning into evil channels. Not many moons ago a graduate from one of the Indian schools in this part of the State was found guilty of forgery. He found that an easy way to get ready cash. He had been taught the art of writing, but no pedagogue could instill into the red man the habits of in- dustry and thrift common to the white race.

When one compares the red men of to-day with the aborigines as the pioneers of this county found them, we cannot fail to notice a slow but steady improvement along these lines. The Indian women especially have de- veloped habits of thrift and industry that promise better things for the remnant of the race in the years to come. Comparatively few, however, have yet proven themselves equal to the task of getting something better than a scanty living from the acres they cultivate or the occupation they follow. Hereabouts they have been most successful in catching the finny tribes of the bay, probably because this business is more sportsmanlike after the manner of their forefathers. But the copper-colored citizen of to-day is not much different from the primitive Indian of the pioneer days. No race exhibits a greater antithesis of character than the na- tive warrior of America. The pioneers found him daring, ruthless, self-denying and self- devoted in war, generous, hospitable, honest, revengeful, superstitious, commonly chaste, and slothful in times of peace. Since he was more numerous in the valley than the early settlers, he filled a large place in their every- day life and furnished all that is romantic and picturesque in the recital of their pioneer ex- periences.

The early settlers in this valley came mostly

HISTORY OF BAY COUNTY

from New York and the New England States, and were, therefore, familiar with the habits and the failings of their red neighbors. Their main characteristics were hospitality and genu- ine friendship. If one had a barrel of flour, it was divided with the others, share and share alike. No one was allowed to want for what another had. The food of the pioneers, like their clothing, was plain and substantial. Cheap, coarse cloth, often home-spun, or the hide and fur product of the Indians, furnished the wear- ing apparel of the pioneers, made to order by the thrifty and industrious housewives or their equally helpful daughters. Fine dresses of silk for the women were as rare an extravagance as broadcloth for the men. Fit or style was secondary to wearing qualities.

Since most of our pioneers came from the birthplace of the "town-meeting," they took from the first an active interest in the wise and honest government of their adopted State. Being prudent, intelligent and public-spirited, they were good and safe citizens.

They were not lacking in a healthy sense of humor. The region was wild and dreary enough to discourage the most sanguine, but the early settlers were not afflicted with melan- choly. They were too busy and too vigorous to ever allow their life in the solitude to become monotonous or dreary. The records of those early days recite many laughable incidents among the pioneers, who were at all times anxious to have posterity understand that per- petrating practical jokes was one of the leading industries in the colony. Harry Campbell and Jule Hart divided the honors as the most popu- lar jesters of the community, and few are the reminiscences of a humorous vein recited by the old pioneers that do not include these twain.

Harry Campbell was the faithful chorister of the first church meeting house in the settlement. One of his idioms consisted in starting the con-

gregation off with one of the popular airs of the day, instead of the announced hymn, keeping a sober face meanwhile, until the leader would remind him, that he had evidently turned to the wrong number. Sober as the deacon him- self, Campbell would turn calmly to the hymn desired, only to repeat the mistake at the first opportunity.

George Lord (the future mayor of Bay City) and Jule Hart had fisheries on the bay shore, and shared for years the "fisherman's luck" which is to this day a proverbial and changeful quantity on stream and bay. One day Hart told Lord that his foreman Joe re- ported that the fish were running "like blazes," and he wanted extra men to pack and dress the fish. Lord hunted up all the idle men he could find along the river, and was just starting for the bay, when Hart came running up to an- nounce that he had just heard from Joe again, and that the fish had stopped running. Lord saw he had been sold, and like an Indian bided his time for revenge. Some weeks after Jule Hart was enjoying a game of penny-ante in the saloon in the basement of the Wolverton House, which was the fashionable club room of those days. Lord saw his chance. An In- dian had just entered with three muskrat skins. "Ugh!" said Lo, "Jule Hart, you buy um skins?" "Yes, give you ten cents for them. Here is your money, throw them in that cor- ner!" The Indian did as he was told and de- parted, while Hart hardly looked up from the game. Lord hooked the skins out of the win- dow, had a Frenchman stretch them on shin- gles, and sell them to Hart, who willingly paid for them. It looked like easy money, buying skins while the game went on. Meanwhile Lord and a confederate, who also had "one coming" for Hart, hustled around to get more "skinners" for Hart, and every little while those skins would be hooked out of the win-

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dow, and brought back in all manner of dis- guises. When the game came to an end, Hart rose from the table, remarking that he had lost at the game, but he had been buying a thunder- ing lot of skins just the same. Imagine his sur- prise when he found but three skins in that corner. Just then Lord appeared at the win- dow. "Say, Jule, it has been just as good a day for skins, as that day last fall was for fish !" Lord was made disbursing officer by the little settlement for the proceeds of the three muskrat skins. which were appropriated for the general good, in the manner common in those days.

At another time Hart noticed a well-dressed stranger about town, and soon was busy telling of the wonders of the valley and the hospitality of its settlers. A herd of ponies was grazing along the river bank, and Hart assured the stranger that anybody could have one of the ponies who could catch one. The stranger soon found several boys to help him catch a steed, and the fun was uproarious until the Indians owning the herd arrived. The stranger escaped with his scalp.

In the early pioneer days. hotels were few and far between, and travelers camped out wherever a roof could be found for shelter. A lawyer in Lapeer had a barn which was often used by travelers without so much as asking for the privilege. One day a new arrival drove his cow into the barn, put some hay in the loft and made himself at home. The lawyer soon after left for Bay City, so he told Rev. Mr. Smith, the Congregational minister of the lit- tle flock at Lapeer, that he had a good milch cow at his barn which he did not want to take with him, but that the cow had a peculiar habit of giving down no milk, unless she was milked before 5 A. M. The preacher allowed he was an early riser, and he was soon enjoying a bountiful supply of milk. One fine morning he was shocked by hearing a vulgar voice calling

him thief, robber and similar pet names. "I've caught you at last, you hypocritical, thieving parson, preaching honesty to the people, and robbing your neighbors of their milk. I'll break your head!" When the irate farmer got out of breath, the parson managed to say, that it was his cow, that the lawyer had given the animal to him, with the hay in the loft, the night before he left. Explanations and a good laugh followed the exposure of the lawyer's plot.

This lawyer had a penchant for donating other people's property to the churches and preachers of Bay City as well. He had a pile of hardwood in a field then outside of the city, but now one of the fine residence sections of Greater Bay City. A well-to-do farmer had a · large pile of wood in an adjoining field. When a church deacon asked for a little help, the law- yer in a burst of generosity told the deacon that if he would haul it all off both fields at once, he might have it all. Needless to say that wood was promptly hauled to the minister's yard. After much excited inquiry, the farmer learned how his wood had been donated to the church, and it was surely burned beyond recall.

At another time he was asked to contribute something towards the erection of a new church in the settlement. The lawyer knew of a pile of lumber some Eastern parties had piled up on the river bank, and this lumber he promptly donated to the cause, insisting only that it be secured right away. By the time the owners came to look for it, the lumber had been both dedicated and appropriated, and the law- yer was lauded throughout the city as a big philanthropist.

When Albe Lull came to Portsmouth, he was told that the loons caught in the river were a delicacy fit for an epicure. Before long he caught a loon, and invited his neighbor in to share the delicacy. This neighbor was too busy

HISTORY OF BAY COUNTY

to participate, but the new arrival had the loon put on to boil at 10 A. M. At 12 Mrs. Lull reported that the loon was nowhere near ten- der, so they kept a roaring fire going, but by 3 P. M. the loon was still like adamant. The Lulls had all the persistence of the genuine pio- neer, so that loon was kept boiling well into the next day, by which time the entire settlement began to take an interest in the Lull's culinary department, and eventually it dawned on the Lulls that they had tried to do the impossible, when they started to cook a loon.

Among the old settlers Squaconning Creek was pronounced "Squire Conning." Harry Campbell met a wandering dentist at Saginaw and induced him to row 18 miles to Ports- mouth, to look after the mouth of "Squire Con- ning." At Portsmouth he was told that he had passed the "Squire's" mouth some miles up the river, whereupon the settlement enjoyed a good laugh. Incidentally the dentist found some work in his line down here, so he did not regret looking for the "Squire."

One of the early settlers to select the mound for his cabin was a rollicking Scotchman, named Thomas Stevenson. His one failing was the genuine Scotch "hot stuff," which he usually bought by the barrel. One of these barrels was delivered to Jule Hart, who kept it in his warehouse for his friends, old Tom himself getting a drink of it occasionally and cussing it furiously, as "poor Indian whiskey." Finally he wrote to Detroit asking about his barrel. They promptly replied that they had Jule Hart's receipt for it. Then Stevenson stormed down to Hart's warehouse, where a council of war had been held meanwhile and Tom's barrel filled with river water and care- fully hid away. Stevenson found his barrel, cussed Jule for not finding it sooner, and over- looking it so long, and after some trouble and expense got it into the basement of his cabin.

Then he invited all the boys to come and have a drink of the "real stuff." After this character- istic introduction, the river water failed to tickle the palate of his hardy neighbors, and when the truth dawned on Tom Stevenson, it was time for Jule Hart to get busy at his fish- eries on the bay shore, with a scout out to warn him if danger approached in the person of an extra-dry Scotchman. And it required a full barrel of the best "extra dry" before Tom would again allow the pipe of peace to circulate in the settlement.

Many good bear stories were told by the old settlers around their camp-fires, but none was repeated with more zest than Harry Camp- bell's. Probate Judge Sydney S. Campbell had Harry to dinner one day, and while Harry was toasting himself in front of the fireplace. the Judge came rushing into the house, shouting "bear" at the top of his voice. Bear were a common sight in the wilderness, and guns were equally common, so it was only the work of a minute before Harry was "hot footing it" through the clearing of stumps to the woods, which then began where Washington avenue's fine business blocks now stand. Scouting cau- tiously into the thick underbrush toward a big black object, Harry concluded that it must be a tame bear, for it showed no inclination either to fight or to run away. On closer inspec- tion he found it was only a large, coal-black hog, and the laugh that followed the discovery might have been heard at Wenona, across the river, were the wind favorable. On the way back, Harry placed a six-inch charge into the old gun and bided his time. Presently Harry wandered down to the river and soon came .hurrying back with the information, that a thundering large flock of ducks had just settled in the river near the fishing dock where Fifth avenue now reaches the river. Judge Camp- bell's sportsman's blood was up in an instant,

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and the rest of the company followed as a mat- ter of course. The Judge hurried to his favor- ite log, from which he never failed to bag his game, aimed carefully and "blazed away." The spectators were never quite certain which end of that gun was most fatal. It knocked the venerable Judge flat on his back, some dis- tance east of the log, too sore for utterance, while the ducks were mowed down as by a cyclone. When the Judge came to, he won- dered what had got into that infernal old gun. But Harry quickly set him right, by suggesting that probably he had been shooting ducks with a bear charge. All present saw the point, and are said to have joined themselves into a relief committee, vying with each other in relieving the sufferer by copius applications of whiskey internally and externally, with a little faith cure thrown in, by occasionally taking a little themselves to relieve the mental anguish of the duck hunter.

One of the earliest arrivals at Portsmouth was a retired merchant from New York State, who sought rest and solitude, and a chance to gratify his main passion, which was hunting and which was generally gratified. Yet his pleasures were not unmixed with alloy. He stammered a little, and when Judge Birney said to him one day : "This is a great place for change and rest," he replied promptly : "Th-th-this is a magn-ni-ni-nif-ficent place f-f-f-for b-b-b-both. The I-I-In-d-d-dians g-g-get your ch-ch-ch-change, and the tavern kee-kee-keepers g-g-get th-th-the REST." Of the same jovial soul was it written, that an anxious friend down East heard he had been killed by the Indians. A letter inquiring if this sad news were true came directly into the hunter's hands. He set the fears of his friends at rest by writing curtly: "Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated !"

Judge Miller was always positive that the

pioneers of this valley were an obliging lot. He used to quote this note which he received from a worthy German settler while he was teaching school in the South End: "Mr. Teecher : Pleas excuse Fritz for staying home. He had der meesels to oblige his vader. Louis Muller." A more vigorous epistle came from a robust Irishman : "Just you knock hell out of Mike when he gives you any lip and oblige, Tom."

The settlers seemed to agree with Oliver Herford, who wrote :

Some take their gold in minted mold. And some in harps hereafter, But give me mine in tresses fine And keep the change in laughter.

Some of the irrepressible wags of that set- tlement were wont to tell this story of Ephraim S. Williams. During the Mexican War there was a camp meeting near Mosby's clearing on the river. The roving missionary asked Brother Williams to pray for the success of the Ameri- can arms, which he did. In the course of his petition he said : "And, O Lord, do help the American arms, and do not forget the legs also. Take the arms, if you must, but spare the legs, spare the legs!"

One day while James Fraser and Medor Trombley were riding across the prairie to Quanicassee, they passed a little log cabin in the swampy wilderness. Mr. Fraser remarked that he pitied the poor man who lived here. This riled the occupant of the shack, who shouted through the open door: "Gints. I want yer to know I'm not as poor as you think. I don't own this 'ere place."

The greatest activity prevailed in the valley during the mosquito season. Some of the pio- neers' mosquito legends would discount the best fish story ever told. Baking day was the mos- quitoes' delight and the housewives' torment.

HISTORY OF BAY COUNTY

They organized a modern plan of campaign against the "animals," which was rigidly car- ried out, in more senses than one. After "shooing" out the kitchen and securely fast- ening the doors and windows, for fear the winged monsters would carry off the "dough," of which none of the pioneers had an over-sup- ply, the brave women would begin the real ex- ercises of the day by placing some maple sugar on the stove. The sugar smudge would often drive out the housewife, but it is nowhere al- leged that these organized defensive measures ever seriously interfered with the business of the mosquitoes. But they had all the elements of a formidable demonstration, as the soldiers among the pioneers were wont to put it, and were comforting to reflect upon in after years. Alas, the mosquito does not recall altogether pleasant memories. They, at least, were no joke, if they were "suckers!"

Unwillingly, I own, and what is worse, Full angrily men harken to thy plaint ; Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse, For saying thou art gaunt and starved and faint. Even the old beggar, while he asks for food, Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could ! -William Cullen Bryant.

But we must turn from this page of mirth, and look again upon the more serious side of pioneer life in this settlement. Yet a good joke was the music and the spice of life for these pathfinders. Isolated in a wilderness they formed a world by themselves. And to this day they will tell you, that while the privileges and the diversions have multiplied with the years, yet their real enjoyment, the hearty ring- ing laugh and the rugged jest, have been lost in the whirlpool of modern business activities, and the rush of a multitude of strangers from strange lands.

But we have anticipated our narrative! The

recital of pioneer life has carried us beyond the years when William R. McCormick found but two log cabins along the entire river from the Carrollton sand-bar to the bay. Let us retrace our steps, and follow the development of our settlement as we glean it from the meagre rec- ords at hand.

In 1834, John B. Trudell built a log cabin near the McCormick mound, where he lived for 16 years with his wife, a daughter of Be- noit Trombley ; and Ben Cushway built his log cabin and blacksmith shop near the west ap- proach of the Lafayette avenue bridge of later days. Leon Trombley (father of Mrs. P. J. Perrott and Louis Leon Trombley ), who was an Indian trader and farmer, about this time declined to trade his horse for a whole section of land that to-day is in the very heart of Bay City. In later years he used to say, that he little thought then that this swamp, with its prairie grass high enough to hide a man, and with impenetrable woods, where the wolves howled continuously, would within 30 years become a thriving and attractive city. He kept his horse. But there were other Trom- bleys who had more faith in the future of this little-known valley. In 1835 we find Medor and Joseph Trombley building the first substan- tial frame house, with a warehouse in connec- tion for storing the goods they exchanged for the Indians' furs and venison.

The persistent booming Michigan's interior had received from Governor Cass, and later from Governor Stevens T. Mason, showing that Michigan was not a hopeless swamp and a barren wilderness, together with easier trans- portation facilities, made Michigan the El Dorado of the West in 1835. The craze for land speculation was at its height in 1836 and 1837. The few traders and hunters in the Saginaw Valley during those years had nothing to do but show the country to these speculators.

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They received liberal pay in bank-notes, which being largely "wild-cat" were as worthless and elusive as this terror of the backwoods itself. Among the first to recognize the advantages of this valley were Governor Mason and the late Judge Albert Miller.

James Fraser, born in Inverness, Scotland, February 5, 1803, the son of a soldier who had lost a leg in 1796, in the wars with the French, was another pillar among the elite who created a city and county out of this wilderness. Hay- ing accumulated a few thousand dollars by thrift and industry, he immigrated to the Uni- ted States in 1829, coming straight to Michi- gan. He lost nearly all his money in a disas- trous attempt at building a sawmill near Ro- chester, Oakland County. With less than $100 he started a small grocery in Detroit, and started life anew. In 1832 he married Elizabeth Busby, a brave young woman of more than ordinary personal charms, whose parents had only the year previous emigrated from Eng- land. In 1833 he determined to settle on some land he had located on the Tittabawassee. From Flint the family entered the wilderness on the Indian trail, Mrs. Fraser and infant riding on an ingenious ox-sled he had built, while he and her parents rode on horseback. After getting his family settled in the solitude, he returned to Detroit to bring up some cattle for his ranch. Between Flint and Saginaw they became stam- peded, and while chasing them he hung his coat with all the cash he had in the world, over $500, on a tree near the trail ! and never after found it. Long years afterward, when he had amassed a fortune, he used to say, that this was the greatest loss of his whole life. He cleared a nice farm, and planted a flourishing orchard, for years the pride of that neighborhood. But farm life was too tame for this man on horse- back. He spent most of his time in the saddle, looking up lands, and in 1836 moved his family

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History of Bay County, Michigan, and representative citizens, Part 9

Author: Gansser, Augustus H., 1872- Publication date: 1905 Publisher: Chicago : Richmond & Arnold Number of Pages: 738

Author: Gansser, Augustus H., 1872-
Publication date: 1905
Publisher: Chicago : Richmond & Arnold
Number of Pages: 738