The History of Wyandot County, Ohio, containing a history of the county, its townships, towns general and local statistics, military record, portraits of early settlers and prominent men etc, Part 55

Author:
Publication date: 1884
Publisher: Chicago, Leggett, Conaway
Number of Pages: 1072

USA > Ohio > Wyandot County > The History of Wyandot County, Ohio, containing a history of the county, its townships, towns general and local statistics, military record, portraits of early settlers and prominent men etc > Part 55

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One day the doctor met Storm coming from the stable with a vessel of milk. The quantity did not suit the doctor, so he took the bucket out of Storm's hand, proceeded to the stable and re-milked the cow with very satis- factory results. This chagrined and puzzled the old guard, but he did not surrender. The next time when Storm went to milk, he took two buckets with him. After milking half from the old cow in the first bucket, he hid it in the straw, and then finished milking in the other. He carried his scanty supply of milk to the doctor, d-ning " zee short-tail," with many emphatic embellishments, for holding up her milk. Here, the Doctor, in a fit of passion, grabbed the bucket and broke for the cow to show Storm that he was " a liar and a villain." After tugging away at the old cow for about ten minutes without any show of milk, he felt like, and did apologize to Storm for his rashness. But Storm was all smiles and good humor. He had convinced the doctor that the cow held her milk. The old guard was himself again and on top.

A few minutes after, Storm came from the stable with the other bucket of milk, telling the doctor that he had just yanked it from the cow. Here, the doctor transformed his eye-brows into a fine pair of exclammation points, and forgave Storm for all former delinquencies, blaming the frequent short crops of milk upon " zee dam cow."

This is one of the many little incidents that occurred, bringing forth the character of the old guard, which a life in the French Army had cultivated. Frequently have we seen old Storm, in a transport of imagination, living over again the scenes of his army life, going through the drill with a pitch- fork, and keeping time and step to the low chant of some patriotic air.

But a time came for old Storm to pass in his checks, and as the fever racked his brain, he marched with Death through the broken ranks of a shattered army -on-on-into eternity; exclaiming with his last breath, " Na-po-le-on-Waterloo! Zee old guard dies, but never surrenders."

DANCER.

One of the characters of Upper Sandusky in 1846, was a rotund, Punch - and-Judy sort of a fellow by the name of Dancer. He was about as broad

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as long and twice as natural. The fat boy in Pickwick is an excellent pict- ure of him, although he differed from the Pickwickian protuberance in one very essential quality. While the Pickwickian fat boy was always falling asleep, Dancer never knew what it was to bob an eye when old Huber was around.

Dancer was a barber; he was the white opposition to our old colored friend, Archie Allen. For those early times, Dancer was quite an æsthete. He always appeared in immaculate linen, and the little bunch of hair on the top of his head was a rosette of frizzes, a la mode, which not only gave him individuality, but produced also, a very stunning effect.

Dancer was always anxious to please. He was a model of politeness and broken English, and had good backing as long as Huber had the land office in the next room.

What made Dancer more popular than he otherwise would have been, was the fact that he had a good looking wife, who could smile equal to Sarah Bernhardt, and had the same inclination to make friends among the stronger sex. A door separated the barber shop from her boudoir, and when Dancer was out taking a gentle glass of soda water, Mrs. Dancer smiled upon his customers; and frequently men with no beard at all would drop in to be shaved, but drop out as suddenly when they saw Dancer turning the Bowsher corner in a ziz-zag break for his Malinda.

Another door from Mrs. Dancer's boudoir opened into the land office of the U. S. A., presided over by a very pious gentleman by the name of Huber. Mrs. D. would frequently open that door, and inquire of the old Christian if his head ached, and of course it always did. Then her enthusiastic and benevolent soul would go out for suffering humanity, the infirmities of the old man were dispersed, and his life of anxiety for the funds of the United States was interwoven with the bliss of angels. The result was that the smiles of Dancer lasted longer than the treasury, for while Huber became a defaulter, the countenance of the Dancer was still wreathed in smiles.

One night Dancer was down at Anthony Bowsher's corner, drinking seltzer water. Although reared in a country where seltzer was an innocent beverage, it proved too much for Dancer; he insisted that Anthony Bowsher had two heads, and that the old log shebang was built of porcelain and pre- cious stones. And when Dr. Hartz differed from him and intimated that " zee ' parvue' Dancer was zee demndest lunatical in zee catagorie," Dancer was 'only prevented from impaling the doctor on a razor, by " Red Thread," who happened to be present to take in all the spare drinks. After Dancer got quicted, he broke for his residence and barber shop.

It was very dark, was the domicil when he approached it; he thought he would turn in quietly and not disturb his soul-lit happy better half. But behold his surprise on entering the shop, where, without the aid of even star-light, he found Mrs. Dancer and one of his customers conversing on scripture, each insisting that there was no hell this side of Chicago. As Dancer was opposed to the discussion of religious subjects at the barber shop in his absence, he got up on his ear and just riddled things. The seltzer acted well in his work of destruction, and the barber shop soon looked like the last rose of the summer in a turnip patch. Of course this raised considerable of a scandal in a town of 300 inhabitants, and the cus- tomer's family was the first to hear the glad tidings. The wife wanted to know on what part of the scriptures he and Mrs. Dancer differed, when the husband, in despair, grabbed a rope, bid good-bye to his family and broke for the stable; he manipulated the rope over a joist and adjusted it to

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his neck, waiting in great anxiety for the family to rush out and rescue bim, but they didn't rescue worth a cent. Presently, one of his daughters went out to see how the corpse looked, when the would-be suicide suggested that he couldn't think of it just now, as " a circus would be here next week," and he wanted to see one more elephant before he joined Lazarus in Abra- ham's bosom.

Dancer never recovered his barber trade, but a small patrimony to his wife established her in his affection as well as in the grocery business. Huber was a defaulter and wiped out, and a few months in the grocery bus- iness put Dancer on the ragged edge; and quietly all dropped out of sight, leaving Time, the great avenger of events, to send forth his stentorian cry of " Next !"

T. SPYBEY, TAILOR.

On the site where now stands the Catholic Cathedral, in 1845, stood the shell of a new frame shanty. It had roof and weather-boarding, but lath and plaster were improvements to be added when fortune rallied to the aid of its architect and builder. This improvised tenement was to fur- nish the subject of our sketch shelter from the elements, and served as a domicile and place of business. It stood solitary and alone, gathering the sunbeams in summer, and bracing itself against the winds through winter. A small tin sign over the front door read: "T. Spybey, Tailor;" and all you had to do was to pull the latch string and walk in. Like a graceful Turk spread over the table was Thomas, and, without losing a motion of his needle, would give the nod of recognition so sweetly and re- freshingly, that you instantly lost sight of his infirmities, and felt only the beneficence of his presence.

Thomas was a widower with a little boy five years old. This constituted his household and family. He superintended every department of his edi- fice from kitchen to " good fits guaranteed." Where T. Spybey came from, or where T. Spybey, intended to go to, when he quit Upper Sandusky or this life, T. Spybey perhaps didn't know; nor is it to be wondered at, whether or no, T. Spybey cared. T. Spybey would frequently boast, however, that he was a full-blooded American, and could trace (but he never did) his lineage to Plymouth Rock. Like many other tailors, he inherited the intellect and genius that seem indigenous to that calling as well as its frailties and misfortune.

A great reader and a fine conversationalist was T. Spybey, but above all, brilliant in flashes of wit and humor; he was remarkable at repartee, and would frequently punctuate his utterances with thrusts that rolled and bubbled over with satire. More than once have we sat upon the table with T. Spybey, Tailor, and listened to tales of adventure, which, for our then young ears he would sandwich with good advice, never forgetting to take a stitch at the right time, and in the right place.

This was the bright side of T. Spybey, Tailor. If it had only been this, the angels would have spread their white wings over his home, and hung the brightest flowers upon his little tin sign, wafting upward the inspiration of one whose nature seemed all goodness; but this was not to be, for T. Spybey, Tailor, was human; and it was human for T. Spybey, Tailor, to get drunk. And of all men to revel at exercises bachanalian, in the language of A. Gott- fried, Esq., he was " the boss." When he worked at his trade, T. Spybey, Tailor, had no communion with the cup, but periodical drunks he would have, and continued them sometimes for weeks. It was in these drunken sprees that he became notorious. He never lost the use of his limbs, but

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was always on the go, calling on the neighborhood many times a day, flash- ing forth the oddities of his humorous nature, reduced and distorted by the bug juice of that early period.

As we have said before, the bright side of T. Spybey, Tailor was marred and made singularly unfortunate by an infirmity beyond his control, and although he furnished amusement for the town, the sight was a pitiful one; for around and about this drunken debauch, he was followed by his five- year-old boy, whose sunlit eyes were unconscious of a father's disgrace. The little fellow had never known a mother's care, but the father's devotion, though steeped in drink, had all the sanctity of parental love. He would hug the child to his bosom, and, with uplifted eyes, utter a tender prayer for its deliverance from all evil; the crowd around frequently melting to tears at so grand an exhibition of fervor mingled with the misfortunes of humanity. The little boy never doubted the faith or conduct of his father, and contributed to his pride of offspring in the many playful antics so com- mon to childhood.

One Sabbath evening, when T. Spybey, Tailor, was at about 90° Fahren- heit, and spoiling to raise a racket of some kind, he tottered into the Methodist Church and took a seat in the amen corner. He seemed to take in the sermon with evident satisfaction, for every now and then he would elbow Billy King in a place where he thought it would do the most good, and smile and nod his gratification at the speaker's eloquence. But the minister happened to drop the remark that " no drunkard could enter the kingdom of heaven;" and that raised the ire of T. Spybey, Tailor. He immediately rose to his feet, shook his fist at the pulpit, "and informed the preacher that he wanted him to be more pointed in his remarks, as some d-n fool in this corner might think he had reference to T. Spybey, Tailor-good fits guaranteed." He stalked out with injured dignity, mut- tering to himself it was all " a d-n lie," and that he could prove it by Josephus or any other tramp hatter from Jerusalem.

The next morning T. Spybey, Tailor, was arrested and taken before Mayor Bivens for disturbing a house of worship. The mayor, a shoe maker, held his office among the leather and lasts of his establishment, and his seat of justice was the veritable bench upon which be mended and saved soles. He ordered T. Spybey, Tailor, to stand up, when T. Spybey, Tailor, imme- diately sat down. T. Spybey, Tailor, had come into court with a bunch of onions in each hand, pulled fresh from somebody's garden, and was greedily devouring them; and when the warrant was read charging him with being drunk and disorderly, he responded by assuring the Mayor that it was, “ an- other d-n lie," and if he didn't believe him the head of the Stoga Ticket might smell his breath! Here he filled his fly-trap full of onions and made a dash for the Mayor. At all this, and no wonder, the Mayor got mad, { c ed sentence upon the culprit, imposing a fine, and ordering him into the custody of the Supervisor. But T. Spybey, Tailor, would have his say, and quoted Scripture and the constitution to prove that Bivens was a jack- ass, with the accent all on the last syllable; and "what he now wanted of him was the cash long promised for making that brass coat with blue but- tons, which the Mayor used on state occasions;" then with the dignity of a martyr, T. Spybey, Tailor, stepped out of the shoe shop and broke for the log corner after another drink.

As the world moved on, T. Spybey, Tailor, moved with it, out of one Free into another, sinking deeper as the waves gathered, with the faithful little boy still clinging to the wreck. When sickness and hunger peeped

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into the frame shanty, some relative or friend appeared, cared for the neg- lected child and nursed the father back to health. Then the little tin sign of "T. Spybey, Tailor," was taken down, the house sold, and father, son and friend bid adieu to Sandusky, never more to look upon the place or its people.

RUSSEL BIGELOW, INGIN.

In 1845, there was no one here to mourn for Logan but Russ. Bigelow. He was a Wyandot Indian, and the only one left of a once numerous tribe, that two years before, had emigrated to Kansas; or rather after purchase of the reservation here, was quartered there by the Government. Russ. didn't go with the tribe; not because he had any inclination to remain behind, but because his presence in the tribe at that time would have been very unhealthy for "big Ingin."

As we strolled through a sheep pasture one day with Doc. Garrett, he gave us the story of Bigelow's downfall; and on turning over some particles of concentrated grass, he cast a smiling countenance upon a pleasant-faced buck, and also informed us how he acquired the sobriquet of Doctor; but of that no matter now, as it may form the subject of another sketch.

A short time before arrangements were made with the Wyandots for sur- render of the Reservation, Russ. got into difficulty with one of his brother warriors and committed a grave offense, which brought down on him the fury of his race; and to preserve his carcass liquid proof, he sought safety in Canada, and there remained until the Wyandots had settled in their Western home.

Russ. in his young days was good looking, and quite a masher among the squaws. One evening, at singing school, in the old Mission Church, over which the Hon. Jonathan Pointer presided, Russ. was " luxuriant" on a dusky maiden, who happened to be the charmer of another brave by the name of Peacock. * This Peacock couldn't see any fun at the young squaw smiling so deliciously upon Russ .; allowed the green monster to overcome him, and in the sweetest accents of the most eloquent "chocktaw " called Russel an unmitigated son of a wheelborrow. This was more than his In- dian nature could stand, especially before the aristocratic moccasin-birds of Log Hollow, and at it the two went. Now the Indian looks upon it as a disgrace to imitate white men in a knock-down. They never strike from the shoulder. If it is not scalping-knife and tomahawk, it's go in on a back hold, down and gouge. Both were powerful Indians, but in this strug- gle Peacock proved the greater athlete. He had Russel down, and was on top; and a thought struck him that he would just go for and pocket a couple of eyes, but Russel's optics were tough that night, and would not tear worth a cent. The next bright poetic idea that Peacock got into his head was to feel in and about Russel's facial orifice for his false teeth, when Russel clamped upon Peacock's finger and yanked off a pleasant mouthful. Now, an Indian is a good deal like a Chinaman: cut off a Chinaman's head and he won't say a word. He may kick around a little and complain of the weather, but he ain't going to disturb the elements; but cut off his pig-tail and he'll boom and jerk around like an exploded boiler. It is not death so much that an Indian or Chinaman dreads as mutilation; for with them mu- tilation is disgrace. They are rich in the belief that the Indian develops and beautifies in the great hereafter, and for Peacock to promenade over the happy hunting ground with a finger looking like a piece of broken bologna,

*This is not the Peacock that our friends Capt. Worth and John S. Rappe use to dance with, and who was a Christian as well as a fiddler, but another and quite a different rooster, hallelujah.

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was more than heor his tribe could stand; hence Russel took the first mule for Canada.

In 1845, Russel returned to Upper Sandusky very much demoralized. He had punished all the whisky lying around loose in Canada, and come back to finish up on the old stamping-ground. For a short time after his return he carried with him a bow and arrow and shot for "little dimes," as he called the small Mexican or Spanish piece, then so much in circulation, representing in value 62 cents. These little dimes were carefully deposited at the Log Corner in exchange for " hy-key." He would bet you a little dime that he could put an arrow through a little chip thrown into the air, before the aforesaid little chip would fall to the ground, and he would do it every time. When he wasn't at this pleasant occupation, he would make bows and arrows for the boys, and the result was, that every boy in town who could, by any manner of means, get hold of a quarter, became a patron of Russel Bigelow. In those early times the boys didn't attack the old man and make him stand and deliver, like they do now. A quarter was a huge pile of money to the Upper Sandusky youngster in those days; the only fortunate exception was Cy. Mason, who was backed by the Hedges' estate and a liberal-minded dad. That is why the quarter bows became a little aggravating when Cy. would .splurge around, spoiling the heads of chick- ens, with a dollar outfit, upon which Russel had expended all his skill and the genius of his race. Thus Russel's unerring aim at shooting chips in the air and making bows and arrows for the boys kept him pretty well sup- plied with "little dimes," and as long as they lasted, it was "heap whisky for big Ingin." His meals were taken at everybody's kitchen, and for lodg- ing he generally selected one of the two blacksmith shops then existing in town. His partiality for blacksmith shops was on account of those institu- tions yielding him assistance in furnishing metal and the facilities for mak- ing arrow heads; and then, too, he would frequently pick up a little dime for holding somebody's horse, while the blacksmith swore at him, preparatory to nailing on a shoe. Sometimes when the horse was delicate and of good family, and Abe Trager the artist to manipulate a pair of troublesome hind feet, he would hire Bigelow to take the "cussing " which Russel would bear with Christian fortitude for a little dime. So the live Indian moved on, always managing to keep himself full of whisky or hy-key, as he called it.

When the bow and arrow business played out, and shooting chips in the air lost its attraction, Russel was driven, sometimes, to despair, for the lit- tle dime which was a legal tender for hy-key. He resorted to every scheme and device to raise the wind, never losing an opportunity to beg piteously from all who came within reach. When these failed, he became ugly, and would threaten all the horrors of Indian cruelty upon those who refused him the little dime. A few, through fear, would fork over; but as a general thing there was little attention paid to his savage threats. He finally be- . ne such a nuisance that everybody, who had muscle enough, was fre- quently compelled to exercise it in kicking the Indian out of his way. At last he was induced to follow the tribe to Kansas, by assurances that Pea- cock's vengeance had passed away, and that the Government installment would enable him to obtain hy-key at a low rate of interest. Thereupon Russel bade adieu to Sandusky, and joined the people of his race on the banks of the Big Muddy.

Russel, however, didn't remain long with his brethren. The civil serv- ic reform man who dispensed Government annuities to the Wyandots, com- promised with Russel on a barrel of forty-rod, and he soon sprouted into a

Robert Mckelvy

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little angel. He had traveled to the dark river and crossed over, ever aim- ing at the chip in the air, which still illumined with a halo of promise, sank forever in the great and mysterious hereafter; or in other words, Russel be- came a snake charmer, and died of the jim-jams,

J. M'CURDY, ARCHITECT AND BUILDER.

About thirty-eight years ago, an old white-headed man might have been seen kicking up a dust in and around the spot where now stands the county jail. It was J. McCurdy, architect and builder, and the contractor who had undertaken the work of erecting the edifice which now stands on the south side of the court house lot. McCurdy, then as old as Methuselah, was active as a boy, and could get more work out of men without swearing, than any other Christian within our recollection. He was a sincere old fellow who had a mind well stored with information, with just enough vanity to bring out all his prominent traits of character, and this he never failed to do.

We distinctly remember when the ground was broken for the jail build- ing; the enthusiastic precision of the old man in settling the lines, and the determination foremost in his disposition to throw out the first shovelfull of dirt, which he did with becoming reverence; for the old man no doubt believed that good luck followed in the van of rites and ceremomies. Every hour in the day the white head of the architect and builder could be seen moving about the work, never failing to lend assistance where it was needed and very frequently where it wasn't needed, to the annoyance and conster- nation of the workmen. The work proceeded slowly and every detail was watched with that scrutiny which flows from a feeling of pride. J. Mc- Curdy was proud of his profession, still prouder of his skill, and rose to the superlative over what he considered and believed to be his good taste and judgment.

In the erection of the iail Le was bound to immortalize himself, and with this feeling he came to the second story. Here the afflatus of a pent up genius took possession of him, and he proceeded to surround the name of McCurdy in a halo of glory. So to create the envy of all other archi- tects and builders as well as to command the admiration of generations to follow, he put two cut stones of the surface of about one square foot at each end of the front wall, to show to a dying world where the first story ended and the second commenced its upward flight. These two stones were the joy and rapture of the old man, and though not down in the contract, were thrown in as extras regardless of expense.

Often have we seen the old architect and builder walk backward to the middle of the road and gaze at the effect of these two stones with all the de- votion of an artist who had portrayed his dream love for the eyes of his darling. The old architect was not content in doing all the admiration himself. He wanted help. He was suffocating for the commendation of others over the crowning excellence of his life. So he called Dr. McConnell one day to assist him in the work of praise. The Doctor put on his spec- tacles, looked all over the beautiful facade, and inquired where the stones were. This dampened the ardor of the old architect somewhat, but he took a ten-foot pole and pointed them out to the Doctor. "Ah, yes, Mr. McCurdy, I see them now. I thought the mortar had run over at those points; but I see them now; yes, yes, there are two of them, and they do look like stones. Very good, very good, Mac, but I think they're about a quarter of an inch too high for the balance of the building." Here the old man's head turned a shade lighter, but revived immediately on the appearance of Col. Mc-

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Cutchen. The Colonel was exhorted to pass his opinion upon the two stones, which he did in a flow of compliments, assuring the old architect that there was nothing like it since the days of the Pyramids, and he would see that an extra appropriation was forthcoming, for certainly those two stones de- served an increase of salary. And many and various were the opinions and criticisms over the two stones, which were usually declared ornaments to the delight of the old architect.

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The History of Wyandot County, Ohio, containing a history of the county, its townships, towns general and local statistics, military record, portraits of early settlers and prominent men etc, Part 55

Author: Publication date: 1884 Publisher: Chicago, Leggett, Conaway Number of Pages: 1072

Author:
Publication date: 1884
Publisher: Chicago, Leggett, Conaway
Number of Pages: 1072