History of Kalamazoo county, Michigan, Part 43

Author: Durant, Samuel W. comp
Publication date: 1880
Publisher: Philadelphia. Everts & Abbott
Number of Pages: 761

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A great war-trail connected all their confederate nations from the Hudson, at the mouth of the Mohawk, to the foot of Lake Erie ; and to-day the turnpike, built about 1800, the Erie Canal, opened in 1825, and the great New York Central Railway, with four steel tracks, follow closely the ancient war-trail of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee.

The earliest road in New England of any importance was the famous " Bay Path," immortalized by Dr. Holland, which ran from Shawmut, now Boston, westward, crossing the Connecticut River at Springfield ; and this followed the old Indian trail of the Wampanoags, the Narragansetts, and the Mohegans, selected long before.

The great " Braddock road" through Virginia and Penn- sylvania to the Ohio River, made classic ground by the foot- steps of Washington, was but the old " Nemacolin's trail"

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HISTORY OF KALAMAZOO COUNTY, MICHIGAN.

of the Lenni-Lenape, enlarged and improved by the white man ; and so we might go on showing how in all parts of the Union the early trails and war-paths of the red men were chosen by our ancestors and the later pioneers as the foundation for our modern " national road," our improved turnpikes, and our iron ways.

Michigan was traversed in all directions by the trails of the Indians, and it is said that the site of the present flour- ishing village of Kalamazoo was the focus of no less than sixteen distinct and prominent trails, converging here from every point of the compass. The beautiful " Kekena- mazoo" valley was evidently a region of importance before the advent of the white man.

And here also, undoubtedly, a still more ancient race occupied a great centre of population. Their curious "garden-beds" indicated an extensive system of cultiva- tion, and it is more than probable that in the mysterious ages of the past these lost Autocthones had their homes and cities, and converging highways, where now stands the busy modern town, and where the tide of life and com- merce goes on its thundering way. Who can foresee what another thousand years may do for this now populous and thrifty region ?

EARLY ROADS.

The earliest road in Michigan, running west from Detroit and Monroe across the State, was the Chicago road, which passed through the southern tier of counties, the Detroit branch passing through the counties of Wayne and Wash- tenaw. At Ypsilanti the Detroit road divided, the northern line running west through Ann Arbor, Jackson, Marshall, Battle Creek, and Kalamazoo, while the other bore to the southwest towards Hillsdale County.

These roads were begun about 1823, but it was many years before they were completed across the Territory to Lake Michigan. Each of the early roads was known in common parlance as the " old Territorial road," including those that ran north and south as well as those running east and west.

In November, 1829, an act was passed by the Territorial Legislature authorizing a road from Plymouth, Wayne Co., through Ann Arbor, to Grand River, where the St. Joseph trail crosses the same ; thence through " Cohgwagiac" and Grand Prairies to the mouth of the St. Joseph River. Jehial Enos, of Grand Prairie, was one of the commission- ers appointed to lay out this road.

On the 18th of June, 1832, an act was passed to provide for a Territorial road from the mouth of Battle Creek to the mouth of the Kalamazoo River, across Gull Prairie, and thence following the river to its mouth.

On the 22d of June, in the same year, an act was passed providing for a Territorial road from White Pigeon, via Prairie Ronde and Kalamazoo, to Grand Rapids. John S. Barry (afterwards Governor of the State), Isaac N. Hurd, and E. B. Sherman were appointed commissioners to lay out the same.

An act was approved on the 16th of February, 1838, authorizing a State road to be laid out from Niles to Kala- mazoo, making Twin Lakes, on section 16, township 5 south, range 15 west, a point in the line.

In connection with the subject of early roads, and the

experiences of the pioneers upon them, we are constrained to incorporate the following article, by A. D. P. Van Buren, which is inimitable in its way. It was originally contrib- uted to the Battle Creek Journal :

"RECOLLECTIONS OF THE OLD TERRITORIAL ROAD AND ITS TAVERNS.

" The emigrant was not a traveler in the full sense of the word. He was emigrating,-removing from one State to another for the pur- pose of residence. He had to find a way to travel, or make one. It was an earnest business with him, and to its accomplishment things of minor importance must yield. Did he seek for pleasure, it was lost in the sore trials and calamities that befell him by the way. Did he desire to learn by observation, he found himself put to his wits' end to devise a way to get by an impassable mud-hole, or over a broad marsh cut up into a hotch-potch by the passage of heavy-loaded wagons over it, or to get around a swamp, or to invent means to ex- tricate his wagon from the mire. And finally, did he seek enjoyment in musing over the charming scenery along his route, it was shaken out of him while riding over a corduroy-road. Yet, through all these trials, haps, and mishaps, the emigrant enjoyed journeying through these beautiful regions. The natural picturesqueness of the country,

. its surface so charmingly diversified with forest-land and opening, hill and prairie, marsh-land, lake, and stream ; and, above all, the hope of soon reaching the spot in such a land which he could call his own, buoyed him up and cheered him on in his pilgrimage from day to day.

" And having halted for the night, he, in the evening, around the cheerful fireside in the log tavern, delighted in telling over the adven- tures and mishaps of the day, and in listening to those of others. Or perhaps the

"Stage-driver 'told his richest stories, While the landlord's laugh was ready chorus.'

or the teamster sang a song or engaged in jokes and repartee.

" This new and attractive region was an interesting study, ever entertaining me as we journeyed westward. It was like finding another volume of ' Arabian Nights,' that held me enraptured with its wondrous and delightful stories, from Detroit to our new home in the interior of the State.

" But now, in the year of grace 1875, as I sit at my task and essay to revive the memories of that eventful journey into Michigan, it is like the attempt to recall the recollections of an old volume I had . read thirty-nine years ago. Alas, how many of those memories have 'Gone glimmering through the dreams of things that were !'

" In the spring of 1825 an emigrant, with his family and effects in a lumber-wagon, drawn by an ox-team, started out from Detroit, and, taking the old trail, pushed on into the wilderness of Wayne County, and pitched his tent on the present site of Plymouth. This was William Starkweather, whose son William is now living in Battle Creek. Mr. Tibbitts, Roswell Root, John Van Sickles, and others, followed him in the same year. These were the founders of Ply- mouth.

" Remembering the kindness of our host, Peter Fralick, and the pretty girl that waited on us at the tavern, whom we, years after- wards, found to be a sister of Mrs. Milton McCamly, of Battle Creek, we commenced our journey. There were two roads from Detroit to Ten Eyck's,-the Territorial road, ten miles long, and the Spring- wells road, something longer, south of it. Ten Eyck's tavern was near the present village of Dearborn; while west of it, on the Chi- cago road, was Ruff's noted old stand, where Wayne now is, and Shel- don's tavern, farther towards Ypsilanti. But following the Territorial road from Ten Eyck's, the first old tavern was Bucklin's, kept by a 'greasy old chap' of that name from Pennsylvania. And here .we passed through the Bucklin woods, rendered so memorable by the miry and sunken condition of the road that ran through them. It was to this road that the old hackneyed phrase ' the bottom has fallen out' was first applied. This was surely the worst road between De- troit and Ann Arbor.

" There was another tavern kept in these woods, but I do not remem- ber by whom. It was on the rise of ground, west side of the bridge that crossed the Rouge. The house was on the east side of the road, and a well was on the opposite side. It was said that a man had been murdered here and thrown into this well, which was then filled with

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stone. Search was afterwards made for a body, but none was found. The next tavern was kept by Gen. Swart, and the place was called Swartzburg. The general was known as a high-toned gentleman. Beyond this, a short distance, we came to 'Tonguish Plains,' named thus after an old Indian chief, but who was always called ' Old Toga,' and the plains Toga's Plains. Some five miles farther brought us to Plymouth. The road had been along the Rouge-that laziest of all streams-most of the way.

" Leaving Plymouth on the third day's journey, the common phrase that 'every mile was an inn,' if not verified, was often brought to mind, as we soon came to Crane's tavern ; and not far from this was Jackson Freeman's inn, well known in the early days; and some seven miles from Plymouth was Esquire Pray's tavern, so long and extensively known on this road. Five miles farther in a southwest- erly direction brought us to Dixborough, which was twelve miles from Plymouth. The founder of this huddle of houses was Captain John Dix, from whom the place received its name. He was from Boston, had been a West Indian sea-captain. He owned a farm here, had built the first grist- and saw-mill and a store, all of which were of untold benefit to the new settlement for many miles around. When the Texas excitement broke out Captain Dix sold out and went to the Lone Star State.

" We stayed at Dixborough all night. The tavern, I think, was a rude frame structure. The landlord's name I have forgotten ; but I shall never forget our stopping at his tavern. It was crowded with .emigrants. After supper, on going into the bar-room we found that crowded also. A tub of water was standing in the corner of the room, and a settler, who had been fishing during the day, asked any one present to put his hand into the water and 'heft' his fish. Some one did as requested, but instantly withdrew his hand with a yell and convulsive jerkings, as if shocked by a galvanic battery. This created much laughter and curiosity as to what caused the man to act thus. But he remained mum as to the cause of his strange actions. Another tried it, and another, with the same result. The crowd became bois- terous with laughter and sport and eager with curiosity. The per- formance went on till some dozen, as they attempted to 'heft' the fish, went through with the same Indian yell and a fandango on the floor. Finally, the settler took a pair of tongs and, taking the myste- rious thing from the tub, held it up to the crowd. Some one cried out, 'lamper eel ?' It was an electric eel, whose great electrifying power is well known.

" Dixborough appeared to prosper for a number of years, and was getting along well in the world. It even began to put on 'village airs' and talk about ' country folks.' But the more sagacious saw that its hopes of a large town would soon be dispelled as the 'baseless fab- ric of a dream.' For when the Chicago road from Ten Eyck's to Ann Arbor became good, and travel passed over it again, the road by way of Plymouth and Dixborough, which was but an accommodation route, as it was on higher and dryer land, was left deserted by all but neigh- borhood travel. Then about this time 'tis said that a ghost appeared, whose wild babblings frightened the place so that it never grew much after it. People generally remember the ' Dixborough ghost,' and the sensation it created for a time. 'Twas claimed that a person had been killed there, and this ghost appeared to tell of the murderer. Where once stood the rustic village a smiling farm spreads out its well-fenced acres. There is an old solitary building, half decayed, that marks the spot where Dixborough once stood. 'Tis the old tavern.

"The next morning we resumed our journey. We now and then passed by a log cabin, whose smoke gracefully floated off among the forest-trees, and about which we saw small unfenced patches of wheat, amid the girdled trees, glowing in the sunshine like green, inviting oases in the surrounding wilderness. We found more and better im- provements as we neared Ann Arbor, some five miles from Dix borough.

"In February, 1824, two emigrants, with their families, might have been seen wending their way through the forest of Washtenaw County, on sleighs drawn by oxen, till they came to an inviting spot on the river Huron, where they halted. Here they decided to tarry. Build- ing an arbor composed of the branches of trees over their sleighs, they lodged therein until they could erect log cabins for permanent dwelling. These were Elisha W. Rumsey and John Allen and their wives, both of whose Christian names were Ann. From the circum- stance of their abiding for awhile in these arbors, and in honor of their good wives, who had been accustomed to call the little bowers over their sleighs Ann's arbor, they named the place Ann Arbor. Mr. Rumsey is buried in the place which he helped to found. His wife

died of cholera at Lafayette, Ind., and John Allen was among the first to go to California, where he died. We passed through the vil- lage, not yet in its ' teens,' though quite a large town. We took dinner the fourth day at a tavern a few miles from Ann Arbor. I think it was Pearl's. We were well entertained. Keeping the Territorial road, we passed south of Dexter. To this place Sylvester and Na- thaniel Noble came, the first settlers, in 1825. Afterwards came Samuel Dexter, from whom the place received its name, and who, 'tis said, brought with him from Massachusetts eighty thousand dollars. Some miles east of Ann Arbor we had left the timbered land, and found the road on the oak openings better ; but yet it was cut up so much by the heavily-loaded wagons that it was a ' strong pull and a long pull' from 'early morn to dewy eve' for our oxen. The rail was still the Archimedean lever to free our wagon from its miry difficulties, and where that failed, waiting to ' double teams' was yet the dernier ressort.

"The rivers and large streams were bridged, and the road over some of the worst marshes was corduroyed. This was true of most of the route. No one rode on the wagons but the ladies, and they walked when we came to difficult places, and at all other times when they were tired of riding. Among the names of taverns west of Ann Arbor that were famous in those days, Hurd's is as familiar as house- hold words. It was west of Lima and a little east of the present Chelsea. It was a log structure, situated on a rise of ground in a grove of hickories by the roadside. We remained there over-night. Just east of the 'short hills' was Davidson's. Whoever has stopped there will not have forgotten the jovial landlord, his amusing stories, nor the entertainment they received. I think Dunhan's tavern was in or west of the south hills. It is, at least, one of the hotel names that yet live in the memory of the pioneer. We probably halted for dinner and to feed our team at this tavern, then continued our journey till we reached Falkner's, at or near Grass Lake, where we stayed all night. Here my father found in the landlord, Col. Falkner, a man whom he liked very much. He was an able man, and a fine talker. They soon became acquainted. The colonel had been a member of the New York Assembly, and they shortly found they had many mutual friends in their native State. We stopped the next night at Jacksonburg, then a small and rather uninviting place. 'In the spring of 1830,' says Deacon W. Mills, of Galesburg, ' I saw two men with a horse and wagon and their axes start out from Ann Arbor westward. They cut their way through the woods to a point on the Grand River, where they struck their stakes and commenced to make betterments. They were two brothers named Blackman,-the Romu- lus and Remus who founded Jacksonburg.'

" The place soon began to thrive and grow out of the woods, then out of the 'burg' and into a large town. The old tavern, a frame building, stood in the lower part of the town, and was kept by one of the Blackmans. Here we met Dr. King, of Augusta, who was taking two of his sons, De Witt and Chauncey, to Ann Arbor to school. The next day, while continuing on our journey, my mother fell from the wagon, and received some injury. This was some two miles east of Sandstone, and near Beck's tavern, where, on account of the accident, we remained till the next morning, when we again started on our route. Mathers kept tavern at Sandstone, I believe. Of this place I have no distinct recollection; there was not much of a place, probably, to recollect. But that long corduroy road over the black marsh this side of Sandstone, who that passed over it could ever forget ? This marsh, before it was causewayed, was the 'Slough of Despond' in the new Pilgrim's Progress. For nearly a mile in width it was cut up by the loaded teams passing over it into one conglom- eration of black muck. Horses would sometimes mire in it, and in- stances are related where they were compelled to roll them over and over till they got them to hard land. Charles P. Lewis kept the tavern at Parma in 1836. Blashfield's tavern was near Parma. This is one of those famous old inns whose mere mention will yet wake a thousand recollections of those days in the minds of the surviving pioneers. The old landlord now lives at Yorkville, in Kalamazoo County. This day's travel brought us to Graham's tavern, some three miles east of Albion, and the next to Col. Maynard's well-known stand, three miles east of Marshall. I believe we spent a night at each of these inns.

" It was a beautiful day as we passed through Marshall. In 1831, Sidney and George Ketchum, two brothers, are said to have struck the first blow in the erection of their log huts in the then wilderness where Marshall now stands. We found, in 1836, two or three stores

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here and several houses ; quite an ambitious-looking place. Did it pretend to be a village? Did the poet have any allusion to it when he said,-

"' In every rustic village where Ten chimney smokes perfume the air Contiguous to a steeple, Of gentry folks you'll find a score, Who won't associate any more With common country people.'

" We could not see a steeple, nor ten chimney smokes contiguous to it, unless we counted those of the Pottawattomies, who lived in their ' country-seats,' not far off. The poet had no allusion to Marshall.

"I think we stayed at Lowell, between Marshall and Battle Creek, the next night. The day following we passed by Polydore Hudson's tavern at the Gulf, east of Battle Creek. Here we took the old road by way of Jo. Farnsworth's, Isaac Toland's, Warren B. Shepard's, and up the Conway Hill to Goguac Prairie. The first house west of Conway's was Mott's; Dorance Williams lived on the south side of his farm, near the woods. The old road formerly went this side of the prairie. East of him was Daniel Thomas, then Mrs. Peter Michael, in Frederick Peets' log house, Uncle Isaac Thomas, his son Frank, Hiram Orsen, and last, John Stewart, were all on the south side of the prairie. On the Territorial road, west of Mott's, was first Samuel Gregory's log house, and a log building on the northeast corner of his farm, tenantless. Then came Rice's, now W. B. Fink's. Giles Andrus, where his son Henry now lives, was next, then Uncle John Stewart's, in a small frame house where Foster now lives. There was a small log structure west, on the same side of the road, unoccupied. Deacon Joseph Young lived next, in a log house where his son David now lives. Enoch Stewart had a log house on his ' eighty,' directly opposite. Taylor Stewart's log house was next, and Eberstine lived in the log house on the southeast corner of Andrew Helmer's farm. Mr. Simonds and his son John lived just north of the prairie, and still farther north were Betterly, Reese, and Shepard; and west of them were Van Woert, Moyer, and the Tobies. Crossing the prairie, and turning at Deacon Young's southwesterly, we drove into the woods some two miles farther, and,

"' As twilight let her curtain down, And pinned it with a star,'

we halted before the new log house, our future home in Michigan. We looked around us for neighbors-nothing but the beautiful oak openings ! We were alone in the silent woods."

THE OLD STAGE-COACH .*

A retrospect of half a century in any art or industrial improvement, especially in these days of rapid advancement, gives us a striking indication of progress.

The old stage-coach was the fastest and best public con- veyance by land forty-five years ago. Its route was along the main post-roads ; and although a third of a century has elapsed since steam was harnessed to the flying car, and the whistle of the locomotive usurped the place of the echoing stage-horn that heralded the coming of the " four-wheeled wonder," bearing the mail with the traveling public and their baggage, yet along the by-ways and more secluded portions of our country the old stage-coach, the venerated relic of our past, is still the speediest mode of travel, and the stage-horn yet gives notice of its approach. Thus, in this direction, and in many others, we carry the past with us.

As one makes a pilgrimage, in imagination, along the old stage-route, the spirit of the past seems to start into life, and clothes every object he meets with an additional charm, bringing back the old associations, "withdrawn afar," and mellowed by the light of other days.

Reader, you can fancy this ancient vehicle-a black- painted and deck-roofed hulk-starting out from Detroit

with its load of passengers, swinging on its thorough-braces attached to the fore and hind axle, and crowded to its fullest capacity. There was a boot projecting three or four feet behind for luggage ; an iron railing ran around the top of the coach, where extra baggage or passengers were stowed, as occasion required. The driver occupied a high seat in front; under his feet was a place for his traps and the mail; on each side of his seat was a lamp firmly fixed, to light his way by night ; inside of the coach were three seats, which would accommodate nine passengers. You can imagine the stage-coach thus loaded starting out at the " get-ape !" of the driver, as he cracks his whip over the heads of his leaders, when all four horses spring to their work, and away goes the lumbering vehicle, soon lost to sight in the woods, struggling along the old Territorial road, lurching from side to side into deep ruts and often into deeper mud-holes. t

For bringing people to a common level, and making them acquainted with each other and tolerant of each other's opinions, give me the old stage-coach on the old pioneer road. You can ride all day by the side of a man in a rail- way-car and he will not deign to speak to you. But in the old coach silence found a tongue and unsociability a voice ; common want made them companions, and common hard- ships made them friends.

Probably this was the only place where the Democrat and Old-line Whig ever were in quiet juxtaposition with that acrid, angular, intensely earnest, and cordially hated man called an Abolitionist. Spurned and " tabooed" as an agitator, fanatic, and disturber of the public peace by both the old parties, his presence was as much shunned and despised as were his political principles. But this man thus hated was found " cheek by jowl" with Democrat and Whig in the old stage. Who shall say that these old poli- ticians, sitting face to face with a common enemy, and com- pelled to listen to " Abolition doctrine," were not benefited by it? Perhaps this was the leaven cast into the Demo- cracy and Whiggery of the past that finally leavened the whole lump.

When the roads were very bad the "mud-wagon," on thorough-braces, drawn by two span of horses, was substi- tuted for the regular coach. The verb trot was obsolete at such times, but the verb spatter was conjugated through all its moods and tenses. The wagon, the horses, the driver, and the passengers could testify to this, for they were often literally covered with " free soil." The driver, sitting high up on the front, was monarch of the road. Everything that could must get out of his way. If there was any opposition he had only to slap his hand on the mail-bag, and say, " Uncle Sam don't want this little satchel detained." And thus on they go. The driver, as he nears a tavern, post-office by the roadside, or village, whips out the tin horn from its sheath at his side, and sends forth a suc- cession of pealing notes that wake the slumbering echoes, which reverberate and die away in the distant arcades of the forest. The. tavern or village catching the first note of the horn is immediately awake. All are on the qui vive to witness the " coming in" of the stage with its load of pas-

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History of Kalamazoo county, Michigan, Part 43

Author: Durant, Samuel W. comp Publication date: 1880 Publisher: Philadelphia. Everts & Abbott Number of Pages: 761

Author: Durant, Samuel W. comp
Publication date: 1880
Publisher: Philadelphia. Everts & Abbott
Number of Pages: 761