USA > Michigan > Lapeer County > History of Lapeer County, Michigan : with illustrations and biographical sketches of some of its prominent men and pioneers > Part 27
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John Blow was the first man to bring a plow into town, and he claims plowed the first furrow.
The first span of horses in the town was owned by John M. Lamb, and the second span by Seth Hall.
Dr. N. B. Eldredge was the first physician that located in town, coming here about the year 1844, locating at the Corners, one mile north of Dryden village. He was a well educated and success- ful physician, but he soon got disgusted with the calling, took up the law, became an ardent politician and Democrat, of the liberal stamp however. In 1849 he was elected representative from this county in the lower branch of the legislature, and served one term. Leaving this town about the year 1853, he located in what is now Lapeer City, and made the law a specialty as a profession. In 1861, at the breaking out of the rebellion, he was one of the first to re- spond to the call for troops to put down the rebellion, and assisted to form a company in the county which formed a part of the famous Michigan Seventh, of which he was captain; he afterward became major of the regiment, and was with the regiment at the battle of Ball's Bluff, at which Colonel Baker, of the noted California regiment, was killed. He was afterward made colonel of the Michigan Eleventh which formed a part of the Army of the Cumber- land.
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES.
The following reminiscences were gathered from the recollec- tions of Mr. and Mrs. John Blow and Mrs. Uttey, aged people, who settled in the northwestern part of Dryden between the years 1834 and '37. Mr. Blow and a brother, James Blow, first came to Mich- igan and made locations about the year 1834. They put up at Mr. Mattoon's on this first visit. Mattoon had made a little clearing, and had a yoke of young cattle, but not a furrow plowed, and Mr. Blow assisted Mr. Mattoon in plowing a garden spot, and this was the first furrow turned in the town. John Blow and his wife live at the old homestead; James Blow has for years been hopelessly insane, and an inmate of Pontiac Asylum. Mrs. Samuel Uttey lives with her son at their old homestead. She had a large family, triplets with all the rest, and has buried more than half her children and her husband. One of the triplets died in infancy, one was killed in early manhood by the fall of a tree, the third lives at or near Dry- den village.
The early settlers of Dryden were most of them very poor. Mr. John Blow, a pioneer, says that with but one or two exceptions, the people in the township were divided into two classes, the poor and the extremely poor, those included in the first class being fortunate enough to possess an ox team, the second had none, and depended upon such work as they could get to clear their land and get a living. The ox team in those days was almost an essential in getting a living, and few of the early settlers of the town were so happy as to possess one. In those days, while the land was being cleared, the only way in which one of the very poor settlers could get his land plowed, was to work for those who had teams a sufficient length of time to pay for team work to break the land, and in those days with the plows they had, they thought from three to five yoke of cattle, according to the state of the ground, only just enough to do the work. Many of them
RES. OF. B. R. EMMONS ALMONT, TP. LAPEER, CO.MICH.
RES. OF G.W. CARPENTER. MAYFIELD . T.P. LAPEER, CO. MICH.
RES. OF GEO. DAVENPORT. HADLEY. T.P. LAPEER CO.
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having expended their all for land had not even a cow or anything in the line of furniture, except what they made themselves. They were forced to work away. from home in the lumber camps, or any where else they could get employment, and many times their chil- dren cried for bread. When we add to this the suffering from some dis- ease incident to a change of climate, the wonder is that any sur- vived, or that all did not forsake their clearings and try to find more inviting homes. Mrs. Blow relates an affecting incident which will show the severe suffering these pioneers endured :
"One fall we had all been sick with chills and fever, John, the children, and myself. He being unable to work, we had nothing to eat but the potatoes and turnips in our garden. This was not the food we needed, but we did as well as we could, knowing that we were as well off as most of our neighbors. I had suffered so much that I got very weak and babyish, and one day I was thinking about our pork barrel that stood in the shed with some brine in it, and won- dered if there was not one little scrap of meat in it; it seemed just as if there must be some there. I called John and to please me, he went and emptied the brine out of the barrel; there was a thick lay- ing of salt in the bottom; he put his hand into it to satisfy me, and found a piece of pork. He scraped away the salt and found a whole laying of pork on the bottom of the barrel. We both cried over that meat; it was just what we needed then, and in a little while we were able to work again."
Mrs. Uttey says: " But worse than everything else, many of the men loved whisky better than their families, and the scant earnings of the father went to buy whisky for himself, instead of bread for his family."
One resource was left to these poor people. In the township at the north of them, now known as Attica, there was plenty of pine timber, and they would go into these forests and take logs suitable for shingle bolts, and make shingles, not esteeming it any wrong to appropriate what they so much needed, or to cut timber on the lands of the government or of speculators.
Some of the wives of these early settlers did far more for the well being of their families and society than their husbands.
Another pioneer of later date, a settler in the township within the first decade of its history, locating just on the north line, was Simon Hodges, whose eccentricities though he has for years been dead, are still laughed over by the early settlers. He belonged to what Mr. Blow called the "poor class," being the happy possessor of an ox team besides his land, a wife and seven children. One story that illustrates his character is told with great gusto by his old neighbors, and Dr. Caulkins, who was one of the actors in the little scene.
Mr. Hodges' oldest son, a youth of seventeen or eighteen years of age, the better to assist his family, some time after his father's settlement on his new farm, went to work in the woods on Belle River, and while there was attacked with the malarial fever so prev- alent in a new country. He made a desperate effort to reach his home, and succeeded in doing so; but after walking most of the way, as might be imagined, was in a pitiful condition from fever and exhaustion, and grew worse so rapidly that during the follow- ing night a messenger was hastily dispatched to Thorneville for the doctor. There was no road for much of the way except a trail that could only be followed by footmen or on horseback, and the doctor, who had but just come into the place, was perfectly ignorant of the route; but he mounted his horse, and guided by the messenger, who carried a lantern, he made his way through the darkness and rain, for it was a stormy night, as best he could, and at last reached his destination. On his arrival he found the family in great anxiety and no small alarm, with reason, the doctor thought, on a hasty examination of his patient. He at once took measures for
the relief of the sufferer, and sat down to watch the effect of the remedies. As he sat there watching the poor fellow who lay as pale and almost as lifeless as a corpse, noting with astonishment the huge frame before him, and considering his youth, the hard labor he had been pursuing, his overgrown bulk, and the exertions he had made to reach his home while it was possible for him to do so, he was not without grave apprehensions as to the result. The father, a keen observer, evidently divined what was passing in the doctor's mind, and at last addressed him thus:
"Guess you think he's a pretty big boy."
. "Yes," was the reply, "a pattern cut out for a large man. How old is he?"
"Seventeen, most eighteen," replied the father; "he's a big boy and a good boy, too. Why he's worked out and bought us all the flour we've had since we've been here, and if he should die I don't know what we should do. I declare I'd rather lose my oxen!"
Happily the parent's feelings were spared so severe a test, for youth and a good constitution, aided by the doctor's skill, triumphed over the disease, and the son still lives, a prominent and wealthy citizen of Attica.
The following is from the sketch of Lucius Kendrick :
"Among the early settlers was the quiet, sedate, and somewhat eccentric old bachelor, Levi Washburn, known among all his ac- quaintances as 'Deacon Washburn,' a name given him from his very staid and quiet demeanor and his straightforward and honest mode of dealing. He was a great hunter of wild game, and also a very reliable and successful 'land looker,' and for some two or three years, from 1835 to 1838, he was employed the most of the spring, summer and fall months in showing those in quest of wild land where they could find the object of their search. On one occasion he was employed by one Deacon Dickenson, a famous land spec- ulator, to assist him in looking up choice selections of land. Deacon Washburn led his brother deacon far into the dark, deep forest, some ten or twelve miles to the north of any settler; night overtook the two deacons in this far off place in the wilderness, and obliged them to provide for a night's rest in the woods. As luck would have it they found themselves in the midst of a hemlock grove, from the branches of which they made a couch and taber- nacle for the night. As a precaution against an attack from the wolves, Deacon W. hung his old coat high up on the branch of a tree, and the twain lay down to rest; one to sleep and the other to watch. Deacon Washburn was soon asleep, while the other deacon was unable to get a bit of sleep or close his eyes. Nine, ten and eleven o'clock, and no sleep for the watchful land speculator. In the meantime the sky became overcast with murky clouds, and the muttering of distant thunder and the frequent flashes of the lightning gave quite strong assurances of an approaching storm. Added to the gloom caused by the constantly approaching storm, and to make the situation the more terrible to the affrighted deacon, the wolves commenced their midnight howl, which in a short time approached a perfect pandemonium. And still the other deacon slept as sweet as a child, totally unconscious of what was passing, or the terror of his much affrighted companion. The rain came down in torrents, and the wind blew, and the tall forest trees swayed to and fro in the blast. The affrighted deacon could stand it no longer, and he called to Deacon Washburn to awake and advise what should be done.
"Do you not think," said the much affrighted speculator, "that we shall be torn in pieces and eaten up by the wolves before morn- ing?"
"No," said the quiet Washburn, "I have no such fears. I think we are perfectly safe."
This did not satisfy Mr. Dickenson; he thought they should
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have a season of prayer, and called on Deacon Washburn to lead. This was a request that for the moment he knew not how to answer, as he was not in the habit of engaging in vocal prayer, so he replied :
"You mistake me, Deacon D. I am not a deacon of the church, but of the world. All my prayers are made in secret to Him who seeth in secret and rewards openly."
Whether they had any vocal prayer or not, tradition saith not. The storm after having spent its force passed over, and the stars shone out, and the wolves, although they kept up their mournful requiem, kept a respectful distance, and in due time daylight dawned in the east and the sun came up, and it was probably the most welcome of any in the whole course of the life of one of the twain at least. They have long since passed from earth to their reward.
James B. Whittaker, one of the settlers of 1836, was another of those eccentric persons who had an individuality peculiar to himself. He was a native of Rhode Island and thoroughly imbued with all the characteristics of the ocean coast. He was a practical digger, and a man of wonderful strength in his hands and arms. At the usual gatherings, such as town meetings and elections, he would amuse the boys in this wise: He would place himself about four rods from the boys who were provided with a quantity of potatoes; these the boys were allowed to throw at him, two of them throwing at the same time. The feat was this: He, with the forefinger of each hand pointed toward the boys, would receive the potatoes on the end of his fingers, splitting the vegetables into fragments. This he would do almost invariably. On one of these occasions when Mr. Whittaker had been imbibing a little too freely the boys used frozen potatoes, and with such force as to nearly break his fingers. This so exasperated him that it was with some difficulty that they escaped his wrath, and it was about the last of his diverting the boys in that way.
" Of the early pioneers of the town but few remain, a majority of them having passed that bourne from which none return. An- drew Mattoon and wife, who settled here as early as 1834, are still living, in the township of Attica; they having sold their original home some years since and located where they now reside. Mr. M. is probably the oldest man in this part of the county, being now over ninety years of age, He is quite infirm in health and nearly blind. His home, in the early history of the town, was always the resort of the weary and way-worn traveler, and his table was free to such as chose to share his hospitality. In the years intervening from those early days, he has seen much affliction. From a large family over one-half have passed over the river before them, and await the coming of the parents on the other shore."
AN INDIAN SCARE.
During the month of March of the year 1837, reports were in cir- culation among the settlers that a band of some three hundred Indians were encamped in the wilderness north of the Flint, to the northeast of Lapeer, and that their movements were such as to cause serious apprehensions as to what might be the object of the savages. The knowing ones (and there are always such in all communities), were certain from what could be learned from the Indians that their object was anything else than peaceful. Wild stories were set afloat of the threats and declared intentions of the barbarians. Aunt Judah, a very knowing and credulous old lady, was quite voluble in all the visiting circles, detailing the incidents of early Indian barbarities in the olden times, most vividly remem- bered and touchingly described-of the murder and scalping of whole families and communities, the burning of dwellings and every- thing connected with savage warfare and human suffering by cap- tivity and living death. Stories of like character found their way
to the remote cabin of the timid pioneer, and for a time the terrors of a savage destruction of life and property were believed to be im- minent and more than probable. Here in the midst of a dense forest, liable at any time to an unseen and imaginary foe of magni- fied numbers and savage intent, the promptings to which on the part of the supposed savages could only be vaguely surmised by the frightened pioneer, days and weeks passed of painful suspense. No one could be found who had seen the redskins in person, and the most reliable news was generally third or fourth-handed from the one who had seen the Indians. One night about the middle of April of this year, after a somewhat sultry night for the time of year, there were strong indications of a rain storm, and as it had been quite dry for a week or two, my mother was busy just before dark in arranging the various means to secure what rainwater she could from that which would fall upon the somewhat large roof of the humble log house in the woods; in the early evening the clouds which had promised a plentiful shower lifted themselves into the heavens and disappeared; scarcely a breath of air was moving, and naught was to be heard except the occasional hoot of the owl, and the shrill whistle of the ever-present whip-poor-will, and the busy chattering of the katy-did and katy-didn't. At this time we had a boarder, whom for short we will call Mack. He was a man of con- siderable ability, fond of reading and music, and as a vocalist helped to while away many a lonesome hour, with a variety of songs, sacred and secular. The family retired to rest at the usual hour. There were two beds in the main room of the house, which, in fact, was all the room below. This room assumed the quadruple pur- pose of parlor, sitting-room, kitchen, cook-room and bedroom. In one of those beds in the corner of the room slept my father and mother, and in the other corner slept .Mack and myself. About eleven o'clock, and after the family were in the close embrace of Morpheus, they were all suddenly awakened by a loud noise-a crash, and by one blow from some unknown person, or cause, the lower sash of one of the front windows was thrown nearly across the room, and the glass nearly all broken out. Mack immediately sprang out of bed and ran to the door; he said, however, before reaching the door, "This is the work of savages." On opening the door he saw, or thought he saw, the form of the retreating savage pass around and behind a large brush-heap near the house-he heard his stealthy and cautious step as he passed over the dry brush; there was no mistake about it. "This," said the much excited Mack, "is the warning to something terrible. We shall, in all probability, all be massacred and scalped before morning, and we may as well prepare for the worst." It would be idle to say we were not all of us terribly frightened. Mack had surely seen an Indian and heard his retreating footsteps. My mother, who was a woman of more than common nerve and energy, was on this occas- sion completely overcome, and wept quite passionately. When she had become sufficiently composed to express herself, she said she thought it cruel that after having endured so much as she had in bringing up a large family, she should be brought here into the wilderness to be butchered by savages, and the victim of Indian ferocity. Father took things a little more cool, but was more or less excited, and expressed regrets of having come to Michigan- more especially as the removal from the East had been in direct opposition to the wishes of my mother and the most of the family. Danger was imminent, and something must be done, and that speedily. As good luck would have it, we had two guns-an army musket and a rifle-plenty of powder and lead, but no balls at hand. A light was at once made, and the windows closely cur- tained, so as to shield the family from being an easy and sure mark for the enemy. It would not do to waste time to run balls, as everything depended upon prompt action. Slugs in sufficient num-
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bers for a short battle were soon prepared and the guns loaded; the muster of the effective men showed our force to be four-father, Mack, a younger brother, and the writer. My mother went into the chamber to be company for the younger children, with the un- derstanding that in case we were overpowered and murdered, she and the children were to pass out of the chamber window on to the roof of the linter part, jump to the ground, and if possible escape to a place of safety. The next thing to be done was to dispose of the forces. The balance of the room aside from the space occupied by the beds, was about sixteen feet square. In each corner of this space was stationed one of our number; two with axes and the other two with guns. Thus disposed of, we waited in quiet impa- tience, mixed with mortal fear, for the attack from without. - The agreement was that we were to sell our lives as dearly as possible, scarcely expecting it possible to escape the wrath and vengeance of our unseen foe, supposing, of course, they were in sufficient force to accomplish any object they might have. One, two and three hours passed, and no attack; what could it all mean? We had received a warning in a shape not to be misunderstood, and Mack had seen an Indian on the retreat. Was it not enough to warrant the putting our forces on the war footing and watching for the foe? This had been done, but still the foe kept in ambush and we were all alive. As the night wore its slow hours away, the air became chilly and we felt the need of a fire, which up to this time we had not presumed to build, for fear it might give the enemy an advantage over us. With much hesitancy, we resolved to have a fire, and one was built. Cautiously and with much fear, we left our several positions and drew up to the very cheerful fire. Each and all had their surmises and fears to express, but in low and subdued tones, not much above the whisper .. We still expected an attack, and that in all probabil- ity not one of our number would see the light of another day. In that state of mind it was very natural to traverse our past lives and present moral status, and see if we were prepared to exchange worlds, and if it would be well with us should it be our fate to do so that night.
Gradually, and by degrees, the restraint which had acted like a spell upon us during the hours of inactivity and alarm grew less, and we began to converse with a little more freedom. The conver- sation naturally turned upon religious subjects and personal experi- ence. We were certain that if we lived we would certainly do very much better, and try hard to be good if so be we were spared this great danger. Time passed a little more rapidly and unobserved while this conversation was being had, than in the former part of the night, and on noticing the clock we found it was three o'clock-and all was well-all alive and no attack. We listened for a time in hopes to catch some intimation of the position of our supposed un- seen foe; all was still save the occasional croaking of the frogs in the pond near by. In the mean time the moon had risen, and was what is called three hours high, and was shining brightly on the front of our cabin. We had waited all this time and no develop- ment had been made, and we were quite impatient to be relieved from our uncomfortable and tormenting dilemma. Cautiously, and with much trepidation, we ventured to open the door and take a survey, as far as possible, of the situation. We looked among the heaps of brush and as far as possible into the dark forest beyond; all was still, and an oppressive silence, like the house of death, was impressed on everything. As we stood there vaguely speculating upon the results of the night and its watchings, our attention was drawn to a wide board, some sixteen feet long, with one end lying directly under the window that had been so suddenly thrown into the room, while the other end rested upon the wash-tub, sitting under the eaves of the stoop. A rake that we used for raking leaves and brush lay with one end under the eaves of the stoop and the
other near the window also, and by the edge of the board. In a moment the whole thing was explained. In all probability our pet hog (we had but one) had come along and rubbing against the rake . which supported one end of the board which my mother had placed under the roof to conduct the rain-water into the tub, had turned it out of position sufficiently to cause it to fall, and the rake was of the right length to bring the corner of the board against the sash, with the result as stated. The innocent cause of all our fright and alarm was doubtless frightened by the fall of the board, and was running away when Mack opened the door and saw the savage and heard his footsteps. A hearty laugh over our folly and fright, and we all retired for the few hours left of the night never to be forgot- ten.
On the Monday following we thought it would be well to have the guns discharged, as we supposed them too heavily loaded for any ordinary game, and the musket in particular, was so subject to recoil when fired off with a heavy load, that none of us had the courage to discharge it. To avoid all mishaps in this direction, the breech of the gun was placed against a stump and so fastened as to hold it in position, a string some sixteen feet long was tied to the trigger and pulled off, carrying the slugs about twenty feet, with a report about as loud as an ordinary popgun. This showed us what kind of soldiers we were, and how well we were provided for an In- dian attack.
In the course of a couple of weeks we were quite surprised to see a company of the redskins come into our enclosure, each of whom was provided with a gun and the usual traps of an Indian. For a moment we were really frightened, as there were some ten of them, but they only made a halt and passed on. From what we afterward learned, this was about the whole of the three hundred supposed to be encamped, as before stated, and this was the last of our Indian experiences.
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